Those of us who work in interpreting, whether we call it a field, a profession, or an industry, arrive here via many different pathways.
In my observation, there are two common paths. Some come through language itself. They begin as translators, interpreters, linguists—people drawn to words, to structure, and to meaning, often working within or alongside language service providers and others in the language industry. Others, like me, come through equity, access, and inclusion: through community engagement, through policy work, and through building systems that respond more fairly and more intelligently to diverse communities.
Language was my starting point, but it was also my turning point.
For many years, my work focused on systemic change, strengthening policies, improving community engagement practices, and supporting institutions to better include those who were often left at the margins. I was concerned with participation: who is at the table, who is not, and why. I spent years examining how institutions respond to communities, how policies unintentionally exclude, and how good intentions often fail in practice.
Again and again, language surfaced as a primary barrier, one that could be addressed, and often was. Sometimes this was done in thoughtful, comprehensive ways; other times through ad-hoc, temporary solutions. Regardless of the approach, language services were often where the conversation stopped. The deed done. The issue considered addressed.
To me, language is a critical tipping point: language is the threshold. It is the first step into the room. It creates the possibility of connection, but it does not guarantee it.
What happens beyond that threshold is where the real work begins. Inclusion is not achieved simply because two people technically understand each other’s words.
That is why the conversation cannot focus only on those accessing a service. It must also include those providing it, those designing the systems, and those responsible for engagement, risk management, client safety, compliance with legislation and policy, and organizational effectiveness. They are as much part of the equation as individuals who do not communicate in the dominant language. Communication is relational. It affects everyone in the room.
Years ago, volunteering on a UNICEF project in Ecuador, I began to see how fragile communication can be when it depends on whoever happens to speak both languages in the moment. When I was back in Canada and working in healthcare environments, I witnessed situations that unsettled me. Bilingual individuals were asked to step into complex, emotionally charged encounters without preparation, without a framework, and without clarity about their role. The assumption was straightforward: if you speak the language, you can interpret.
Interpreting is structured meaning-making within human systems. It is a critical element in a multilingual, multicultural community.
Filling a Much Felt Gap: Interpreter Training
The Interpreter’s Lab did not emerge from a business plan. It emerged from recognizing a gap between what systems required and how we were preparing people to meet those demands. I was not interested in producing more bilingual helpers. I was interested in strengthening professional practice, building education that respected the complexity of the work and helping institutions understand that language access is not an optional courtesy. It is part of operational integrity.
Over time, I have come to see interpreting as one of the most underestimated professions within public service systems. Interpreters stand at critical intersections, in courtrooms, clinics, classrooms, and social service offices, supporting conversations that shape decisions about health, legal status, education, and family life. And yet the profession is still too often framed as an extension of bilingualism rather than as a discipline in its own right.
Perhaps that is because many of us arrived here indirectly, some through language itself, others through equity and access work, and many through lived experience.
Wherever we entered, many of us arrived at the same realization: communication across languages is neither simple nor neutral. It is shaped by power, context, and training, or by the absence of training.
Language opens the door. What we build beyond that door, the standards, the competencies, the expectations, the accountability, determines whether inclusion is genuine or superficial.
The work we do at The Interpreter’s Lab and through our many initiatives continues to sit at that threshold, not only preparing interpreters through programs and curricula that advance the profession. but also asking how systems understand and support the work. Because if we value our own professional integrity, whether as clinicians, lawyers, educators, or policymakers, we must also value the integrity of the communication that underpins it.
Language gives us the opportunity to learn from and about one another.
What we choose to do with that opportunity is the real measure of systemic change.
