Swaero, a word that has been adopted by the students and alumni of Social Welfare schools and colleges in Telangana, has made its way to the Compact Oxford English-English-Telugu Dictionary.
The new edition of the dictionary defines it as: “Swaero: SW+Aero (Social Welfare+Sky is the limit) literally means the sky is the limit to the social welfare students, also used as a type of aspirational identity by students and alumni of social welfare schools as an additional name to their given names to fight the stigma against their traditional caste identities”.
Former IPS officer and politician R. S. Praveen Kumar, who headed the social welfare schools department when the word was coined, shared his joy at the development. “Never imagined that a tiny attempt of redefining the identity of underprivileged students would find its place in the famous Oxford Dictionary!” he posted on a social media site.
The 2023 Inc. 5000 List of US fastest-growing companies includes 11 language services providers (LSPs) in its latest issue, with eight of them repeating from 2022, and one from 2021. The listing is based on percentage revenue growth from 2019 to 2022.
To be ranked in 2023, privately held American companies must be for profit, independent, founded before 2019, and must have generated a minimum revenue of USD 100k in that same year. The minimum revenue for 2022 is USD 2m.
Piedmont Global Language Solutions (PGLS), an Arlington, Virginia-based company founded by Mohamed Hussein, a Somali American entrepreneur, was listed for the second consecutive year, and in 2023 it is the only LSP listed among the top 500 fastest-growing companies (#424).
In last year’s Inc. 5000 list, Boostlingo was ranked higher than PGLS, an impressive position given that it was the first time the company had made the list. The LSP was listed for a second time (#619) in 2023 and has grown 947% over three years. It was also listed in the Inc. Best Workplaces list for 2023.
A company specializing in media technology services that include localization and accessibility, Blu Digital Group (#963), is also a repeat LSP from last year. It has grown 616% over a three-year period.
Following in descending order is Propio Language Services (#1034). A long-time provider of interpreting and document translation services, the company has made the list several times before. Its percentage revenue growth of 574% is about three times higher this year than in 2022.
Two LSPs Enter the List for the First Time
A Florida company called Bilingual Global, in operation since 2018, has entered the Inc. 5000 list for the first time (#1321). The LSP describes itself as a “business processing outsourcing” (BPO) firm providing multilingual customer service and support in more than 150 languages.
Also newly ranked this year is government business specialist firm FedWriters (#3046). The company, based in Virginia, has been around since 2010 and offers a host of content development services, including translation and interpretation.
Five additional LSPs made this year’s list, all repeating from previous years. Terra Translations climbed the list with 363% growth this year (#1570).
The Spanish Group (#2660) had 202% growth, a figure comparable to its 2022 (#2275) 257% growth. Eriksen Translations (#3866), CQ Fluency (#3878), and GLOBO Language Solutions (#4692) complete this year’s selection of fastest-growing LSPs on the Inc. 5000 list for 2023.
Contact us if you think we missed a company that should be listed. For more financial insights from Slator, check out the Language Industry Investor Map and the latest installment of the Slator Language Industry Buyer Tracker.
Dorothy Casterline, who as a young researcher at Gallaudet University in the early 1960s helped write the first comprehensive dictionary of American Sign Language, a book that revolutionized the study of Deaf culture, died on Aug. 8 in Irmo, South Carolina. She was 95.
Pamela Decker Wright, a professor at Gallaudet, the only university designed for the deaf or hard of hearing in the United States, said Casterline died, in a hospital, from complications of a fall.
As an undergraduate English major at Gallaudet, in Washington, in the late 1950s, Casterline, who had lost her hearing at 13, caught the attention of a professor named William Stokoe. In addition to teaching literature, Stokoe was investigating the grammar and syntax of sign language, which at the time was considered nothing more than a gestural derivative of spoken English.
Stokoe believed that there was much more to it. His goal, which he realized in 1965 with Casterline and another professor, Carl Croneberg, as co-authors, was to compile the first systematic dictionary of what they came to call American Sign Language.
“The book was Bill’s idea, but Carl and Dorothy did most of the work,” Wright said.
Stokoe had the vision, but he also had a problem: Not only was he hearing, but he had never studied sign language before arriving at Gaullaudet in 1955.
Casterline was one of his star students, who “wrote essays better than nine-tenths of the hearing students whose papers I had read for a dozen years elsewhere,” he wrote in the journal Sign Language Studies in 1993.
She was also something of an outsider, even among the deaf students at Gallaudet. Having been born in Hawaii to Japanese American parents, she was among the first students of color at the school — and, Wright said, most likely the first person of color to join the faculty.
She graduated with honors in 1958. She then joined the English faculty as an instructor and worked as a researcher with Stokoe’s Linguistics Research Laboratory, alongside Croneberg, who was also deaf. (Stokoe died in 2000. Croneberg died in 2022.)
With a grant from the National Science Foundation, the trio filmed thousands of hours of interviews with people from all walks of life: children and college students, men and women, Northerners and Southerners.
It was the task of Casterline, who had fine, precise handwriting, to transcribe the interviews and then use a specialized typewriter to compile and annotate them. She worked late into the night and on weekends, sometimes with her newborn son in one arm.
The result was a vast collection of signs, which, they argued in “A Dictionary of American Sign Language on Linguistic Principles” (1965), constituted not a variant of English but a language unto itself, with its own rules. The dictionary organized its entries by hand formations, not by the alphabetical order of their English equivalents.
It was not immediately welcome, either in the Deaf community or among linguists generally. The idea that sign language was merely a visual, gestural adjunct to spoken language was too ingrained.
“We’ve always had — and continue to still have — pictures to illustrate how a sign is made, so we’re conditioned to think of American Sign Language as a picture language,” Casterline told Jane Maher, the author of “Seeing Language in Sign: The Work of William C. Stokoe” (1996). “Seeing these strange symbols for the first time can be daunting.”
But by the 1980s, the dictionary had become a cornerstone of a robust emerging cultural identity.
“I feel that if the book hadn’t been published,” Wright said, “I am not sure where we would be now.”
Dorothy Chiyoko Sueoka was born in Honolulu on April 27, 1928. Her father, Toshie Sueoka, was a stonemason and ironworker, and her mother, Takiyo (Yanagikara) Sueoka, was a housemaid.
Dorothy, who was known as Dot, lost her hearing in seventh grade, though she never knew why. She completed high school at what is now the Hawaii School for the Deaf and Blind. While there, she successfully lobbied the Honolulu police to cease barring deaf residents from driving cars.
She spent three years after high school working to save money to attend Gallaudet; at the time, only students who lived in the 48 states could receive financial assistance. She enrolled in 1955 and graduated three years later.
She married James Casterline, who died in 2012. She is survived by three grandchildren. Her sons, Jonathan and Rex, died before her.
After working on the dictionary, Casterline left Gallaudet to raise her family. She also worked for a company that added captions to classic movies.
Years later, she remained proud of her work with Stokoe and Croneberg.
She helped write the dictionary, she told Maher, “to show that deaf people can be studied as linguistic and cultural communities, and not only as unfortunate victims with similar physical and sensory pathologies.”
This story was originally published at nytimes.com. Read it here.
The Seattle Times does not append comment threads to stories from wire services such as the Associated Press, The New York Times, The Washington Post or Bloomberg News. Rather, we focus on discussions related to local stories by our own staff. You can read more about our community policies here.
She collaborated with two professors at Gallaudet University on the first ASL dictionary, laying the groundwork for a flourishing in Deaf identity over the last 50 years.
Dorothy Casterline, who as a young researcher at Gallaudet University in the early 1960s helped write the first comprehensive dictionary of American Sign Language, a book that revolutionized the study of Deaf culture, died on Aug. 8 in Irmo, S.C. She was 95.
Pamela Decker Wright, a professor at Gallaudet, the only university designed for the deaf or hard of hearing in the United States, said Mrs. Casterline died, in a hospital, from complications of a fall.
As an undergraduate English major at Gallaudet, in Washington, in the late 1950s, Mrs. Casterline, who had lost her hearing at 13, caught the attention of a professor named William Stokoe. In addition to teaching literature, Dr. Stokoe was investigating the grammar and syntax of sign language, which at the time was considered nothing more than a gestural derivative of spoken English.
Dr. Stokoe believed that there was much more to it. His goal, which he realized in 1965 with Mrs. Casterline and another professor, Carl Croneberg, as co-authors, was to compile the first systematic dictionary of what they came to call American Sign Language.
“The book was Bill’s idea, but Carl and Dorothy did most of the work,” Professor Wright said.
Dr. Stokoe had the vision, but he also had a problem: Not only was he hearing, but he had never studied sign language before arriving at Gaullaudet in 1955.
Mrs. Casterline was one of his star students, who “wrote essays better than nine-tenths of the hearing students whose papers I had read for a dozen years elsewhere,” he wrote in the journal Sign Language Studies in 1993.
She was also something of an outsider, even among the deaf students at Gallaudet. Having been born in Hawaii to Japanese American parents, she was among the first students of color at the school — and, Professor Wright said, most likely the first person of color to join the faculty.
She graduated with honors in 1958. She then joined the English faculty as an instructor and worked as a researcher with Dr. Stokoe’s Linguistics Research Laboratory, alongside Mr. Croneberg, who was also deaf. (Dr. Stokoe died in 2000. Mr. Croneberg died in 2022.)
With a grant from the National Science Foundation, the trio filmed thousands of hours of interviews with people from all walks of life: children and college students, men and women, Northerners and Southerners.
It was the task of Mrs. Casterline, who had fine, precise handwriting, to transcribe the interviews and then use a specialized typewriter to compile and annotate them. She worked late into the night and on weekends, sometimes with her newborn son in one arm.
The result was a vast collection of signs, which, they argued in “A Dictionary of American Sign Language on Linguistic Principles” (1965), constituted not a variant of English but a language unto itself, with its own rules. The dictionary organized its entries by hand formations, not by the alphabetical order of their English equivalents.
It was not immediately welcome, either in the Deaf community or among linguists generally. The idea that sign language was merely a visual, gestural adjunct to spoken language was too ingrained.
“We’ve always had — and continue to still have — pictures to illustrate how a sign is made, so we’re conditioned to think of American Sign Language as a picture language,” Mrs. Casterline told Jane Maher, the author of “Seeing Language in Sign: The Work of William C. Stokoe” (1996). “Seeing these strange symbols for the first time can be daunting.”
But by the 1980s, the dictionary had become a cornerstone of a robust emerging cultural identity.
“I feel that if the book hadn’t been published,” Professor Wright said, “I am not sure where we would be now.”
Dorothy Chiyoko Sueoka was born in Honolulu on April 27, 1928. Her father, Toshie Sueoka, was a stonemason and ironworker, and her mother, Takiyo (Yanagikara) Sueoka, was a housemaid.
Dorothy, who was known as Dot, lost her hearing in seventh grade, though she never knew why. She completed high school at what is now the Hawaii School for the Deaf and Blind. While there, she successfully lobbied the Honolulu police to cease barring deaf residents from driving cars.
She spent three years after high school working to save money to attend Gallaudet; at the time, only students who lived in the 48 states could receive financial assistance. She enrolled in 1955 and graduated three years later.
She married James Casterline, who died in 2012. She is survived by three grandchildren. Her sons, Jonathan and Rex, died before her.
After working on the dictionary, Mrs. Casterline left Gallaudet to raise her family. She also worked for a company that added captions to classic movies.
Years later, she remained proud of her work with Dr. Stokoe and Mr. Croneberg.
She helped write the dictionary, she told Ms. Maher, “to show that deaf people can be studied as linguistic and cultural communities, and not only as unfortunate victims with similar physical and sensory pathologies.”
CHRISTIANSBURG, Va. (BP) – When leaders at Hope Valley Church began developing what would become the real-time language translation resource “Polyglossia,” they were simply trying to meet a need for a deaf member in their church.
Heath Kouns and Nathan Ehresman were part of the leadership team which planted Hope Valley in 2018. The two noticed that Bill, who is deaf, was only able to attend Sunday services when which his wife Lisa, a hospice nurse, was there to translate into sign language for him.
“As long as his wife was there, she would interpret,” Kouns said. “We’re a small church plant, we couldn’t afford to have someone coming to sign, so he would only come when she was there. There were lots of weeks when she couldn’t attend, and so Bill would just stay at home those weeks.
“We put our heads together looking for all kinds of solutions that might help. How do we engage Bill? We tried other apps like Google translate and other things, but none of them worked very well, the performance and accuracy just wasn’t there.”
Kouns, who has multiple degrees in electrical engineering, and Ehresman, a software engineer, came up with a better way to help Bill connect with the congregation. They created a way for the transcript of the sermon to appear in real time on a tablet.
“We put together a solution that basically took the sound directly off the sound board. Really ever since then, [Bill] has been faithful. Even if his wife’s not there, he’ll come in, come by the sound booth and grab his tablet and go sit and interact with the service.
“His wife said that this is the most involved he’s ever been in a church, because before then he always struggled to understand. He would often feel excluded. She said this is the most engaged he has ever been.”
The two essentially developed a better way for the audio from the service to be captured and translated without background noise.
They created a “Gateway box” which would be plugged into a sound board or other audio source device. The box would then take the audio feed directly from the source, send it to servers in the cloud, transcribe the audio and then post it onto a public webpage.
Users would simply access the webpage, usually by scanning a QR code, and the real-time transcription would begin appearing on their tablet or other device.
The system is designed to work better for one person speaking to many, as opposed to other translation apps which work better for a conversation between individuals.
Soon others who were deaf or hard of hearing began using the resource to follow along with Hope Valley’s services.
The two thought they were finished developing the technology, but soon a need at another church in their area inspired them to add language translation to the equation.
Another local pastor was telling Kouns about a large population of Ukrainian refugees who had been placed in his community.
“The lightbulb sort of went off in that conversation,” Kouns said.
“I was texting back and forth with Nathan saying ‘Is this possible? Could we do this?’ After some investigation, we basically went off and retooled it and added translation and some other features that made it a little bit easier to use.”
Once the technology was retooled, local churches surrounding Hope Valley began testing it out, with resounding results.
To gauge interest, Polyglossia was made available for attendees to use at the 2022 SBC of Virginia Annual Homecoming last fall.
The strong interest continued, and Polyglossia’s translation service now works with more than 90 languages.
Since last fall’s Homecoming, dozens of churches have begun using Polyglossia during their services, the technology was demonstrated at the 2023 SBC Annual Meeting, and many churches and SBC entities have reached out to test out the service.
Polyglossia’s services have since been used at several official SBC of Virginia events.
One such event was a church planting training event, held at the SBCV’s office in Glen Allen, Va.
Kouns said there were 16 church planters at the event, and the training presentation was being translated into nine different languages among the planters at the same time.
The technology is also being used for more than translation from English to other languages. Some Spanish-speaking churches have begun using it for their younger second- and third-generation members to translate Spanish services into English.
Kouns said although the technology is based around Artificial Intelligence, it is not meant to take the place of people like translators and pastors. In fact, he said some translators have reached out to them about using the resource to aid them in the work they are already doing.
“There are positives and negatives (of using AI) certainly, but certainly from the engineering side of me, it can be used as a tool and a good tool,” Kouns said.
Ultimately, Kouns and Ehresman simply want the resource to help churches spread the Gospel and unite people in their congregations.
“In Revelation 7 there’s this beautiful picture of everybody standing before the throne and it talks about every tribe, every people and every tongue,” Kouns said.
“The word there for tongue in Greek is ‘glossa.’ The name Polyglossia came from that reading of Revelation 7.
“Our tagline is ‘Every nation, every people, every language,’ with the idea that we don’t need to be a divided Church here on Earth just because of language. We’re getting to the place where we have tools that we can, as we will in Heaven, be able to worship together at the same time and same location. That’s really what we want to see is the ability to bring people together, overcome those language barriers and allow us to serve the one true God true together.”
“I am writing to give you the good news that both Juan* and Lucas*, whose cases your team translated, have been granted asylum!”
That was the email I opened one late night this past month, informing me that the cases of two of my clients could finally move forward. As a project manager at Respond Crisis Translation, a language justice collective of 2,500 translators and interpreters who mobilize around-the-clock, every month I am on the receiving end of notices of hundreds of emergencies in which language access is crucial to accessing lifesaving services and basic human rights.
Juan and Lucas — pseudonyms to protect the privacy of these clients — speak K'iche’, an Indigenous language from Guatemala. They are minors who fled to the United States to seek safety from economic violence and persecution.
They are just two of more than 1 million people seeking asylum in the US who have been denied the basic, fundamental right to quality language translation at the border. For those who speak Indigenous and other marginalized languages, this problem is particularly acute, as immigration and border officials routinely fail to provide trained translators for those languages.
Many of our clients have been forced to languish for months in detention centers without seeing a single person who speaks their language or can help translate their case. The violence of the US asylum system, with its militarized borders and immigration prisons, gets compounded by the cruelty of language deprivation.
Recently, two of our translators led an interpretation session for a woman who attends a monthly meeting for survivors of domestic violence. The woman, thousands of miles from her country of origin, meets for two hours every month to share her experience in her own language and hear the facilitator's advice in her mother tongue.
Before finding our organization, though, the woman said it had been impossible to locate competent Bengali interpreters. Translation agencies were unable to find female translators, much less interpreters who are trauma-informed. When you are the interpreter, you put yourself into the stories you hear; if someone is telling a story of abuse, you have to understand how to create a safe and dignified space for the storyteller.
The same thing happened when I was managing a case for the Afghan languages team. We helped translate a short story for children migrating to the United States. Thanks to our dedicated translators, the children were able to share a story that enabled them to express emotions about their experience during a critical time in the immigration application process.
These are just a few of the hundreds of stories I have witnessed in my two years as a project manager at Respond Crisis Translation, and there are countless other stories that deserve to be heard.
Respond Crisis Translation’s network offers interpretation in over 166 languages to provide trauma-informed translation and interpreting services for anyone who needs it. We often hear that there is an “interpreter/translator shortage” at the border. But as a crisis translator and project manager, I see every single day that there is no shortage of talented, multilingual people who have the skills and desire to do this work.
The problem is the lack of funding for these services. The problem is technological “solutions,” like the CBP One mobile application used by US Customs and Border Protection to help migrants schedule appointments at points of entry. All asylum seekers are now forced to undergo the process through this app, even though the app features only a handful of languages, is poorly translated and inaccessible.
The problem is also a country that devalues translators and language diversity and, as a result, leaves countless migrants without support. Asylum seekers come with a trauma — they would not have left their home countries if that weren’t the case. But the US government, by keeping them from telling their stories, virtually weaponizes their languages against them.
This is a violation of fundamental rights. Language rights are human rights. Translation and interpretation are essential work. At Respond, we will continue to work tirelessly to advocate for thousands upon thousands of asylum seekers who are up against the daily, systemic violations of legally protected language rights.
Stay up-to-date with the politics team.Sign up for theTeen VogueTake
COMMents