Rebecca A Withey: The deaf clichés I wish writers would stop using (BSL)

So, I was recently watching a true crime documentary about a young deaf woman who was killed in the 80s by another deaf man.

The crime was horrific, there’s no doubt about that. But the actual script the narrator used? That was criminal too.

I’ll be honest, I lost count of the times I rolled my eyes throughout the episode.

At one point, the detective who presented the case told us, rather exasperatedly, that the “poor deaf woman couldn’t even cry for help.”

Erm… why? Was whoever wrote the script confusing being deaf with being unable to make a noise?

We were then told several times how the victim lived in an “insular deaf community.”

Insular? As in isolated from the outside world?

So presumably she left the house through a secret Deaf tunnel, bought her groceries at the Deaf supermarket and returned before anyone hearing spotted her.

She lived in a tight-knit deaf community. There is a difference.

And it got me thinking: why do writers keep reaching for the same tired language whenever deaf people appear in TV, film, books or journalism?

It’s like there’s a Deaf Cliché Starter Pack sitting next to the keyboard.

“Lives in a world of silence.” Tick.

“Couldn’t cry for help.” Tick.

“Interpreter is a bridge between two worlds.” Tick.

“Despite her disability…” Tick.

“Other senses became heightened.” Tick.

I’m not saying writers can never use these phrases. But when the same handful of descriptions appear again and again, it starts to feel like nobody has bothered to look beyond the cliché.

Take all the TV shows and movies that feature deaf characters and have the word Silent or Silence in the title…

I mean, why are we so obsessed with making deafness sound mysterious and poetic? Who says being deaf means living in some beautifully tragic bubble of silence?

Some deaf people have tinnitus, hearing aids, cochlear implants or distorted sound.  And some deaf people are very, very loud. I mean, ask my family. 

And then there’s all the cliches about interpreters too, who apparently “give deaf people a voice.”

No. Deaf people have voices. The interpreter just interprets – that’s their job. They aren’t sprinkling magical communication dust over the poor voiceless deaf person.

And please, can we retire the idea that an interpreter is “a bridge between two worlds” while we’re at it?

We’re regular people, buying meal deals in Tesco – not living on another planet.

Another phrase that grates on me is “Despite her deafness…”

“Despite being deaf, she got married.”

“Despite being deaf, she had a career.”

“Despite being deaf she walked to the shops.” (Breaks out in applause…)

Imagine doing this with anything else.

“Despite being left-handed, Susan became an accountant.”

You know, sometimes deaf people just… live their lives.

I remember one phrase that was actually written about me. The journalist said “she doesn’t let her deafness define her.”

Why is this presented as an achievement? Maybe being deaf is just a part of who we are? I certainly don’t wake up thinking:

“Right. Better overcome my Deafness again today.” 

And then there’s the media’s fascination with how deaf people may have other senses that are heightened.

You know what I mean? The complimentary superpowers that writers give deaf characters. You can almost see their thought process:

“Ah! Deaf? Excellent. Here’s your enhanced eyesight, incredible sense of smell, the ability to detect a crisp packet opening from three rooms away and the remarkable ability to lipread someone from 100 metres away.”

There can be differences in how deaf people use visual attention and other senses, of course. But we’re not Deaf Daredevil.

Come on, writers. I’m not asking you to get everything perfect. Just… think outside the cliché.

Ask a deaf person. Spend some time with us. Open the thesaurus. Discover how loud and sociable we are!

And please, for the love of all things holy, let “world of silence” finally retire.

There are far more interesting deaf stories to tell. Let’s put the old narratives to bed.

Rebecca A Withey is the Assistant Editor for The Limping Chicken. She is also a freelance writer, BSL consultant and creative artist based in the Midlands. Rebecca is a Deaf, bilingual BSL user.