What does it mean to be part of the LGTBIQ+ collective and, at the same time, be a deaf person? How does one experience this double belonging in a world that continues without fully hearing or seeing? Let’s talk about accessibility, pride and community.
Living between two worlds… or in one of your own
Imagine that you enter a talk about sexual and gender diversity, but there is no interpreter. Or that you attend a Pride demonstration, and you cannot access what is shouted, what is sung, what is claimed.
Now imagine that in addition to that, many times you don’t feel understood within the deaf community either. Because, of course, being LGTBIQ+ is still taboo in many environments. Especially if we talk about trans, non-binary or intersex people.
For many, being deaf and queer is living between worlds that do not always intersect. But it is also creating a new one, one’s own, where both identities can flourish without having to hide or explain themselves all the time.
Double invisibility
Invisibility is not just about not being on the cover. They just don’t count on you. Don’t let them think about you when designing a campaign, an event or content. There should be no subtitles, no sign language interpreter, no safe spaces.
The LGTBIQ+ deaf community experiences a double (or triple) exclusion: due to their orientation or identity, and due to their way of communicating.
And it’s not that queer deaf people don’t exist. Quite the opposite. But many times they are separated from the collective’s reference spaces, either due to communication barriers or due to lack of representation.
Sign language and pride: much more than communication
Sign language is not a simplified version of Spanish. It is a complete, rich language, with its own grammar and culture. For deaf people, it is not just a tool: it is a way of being in the world.
And yes, there is also a queer way of inhabiting it. There are own expressions, visual games, signs related to identity, desire and the body. LGTBIQ+ pride is also signed, it is also celebrated with the hands, with the body, with the look.
Have you stopped to think about what a Pride march would be like with adapted visuals, banners in sign language or shows with interpretation at LSE? It’s not just accessibility. It is recognition.
Barriers within the group
Lack of accessibility is not the only obstacle. Within the LGTBIQ+ collective itself, there is still a lot of ignorance about the deaf reality. Some people believe that it is enough to write things on their mobile phone. Or that nothing happens if there is no interpreter “because they can read lips.”
(Spoiler: no, not everyone can. And yes, it is exhausting).
There are also ableist attitudes that are still present: from paternalism to the idea that a deaf person “will not be able to understand certain things.”
And that hurts. Because the collective, which should be home and refuge, sometimes also reproduces exclusion.
What does it mean to be visible?
For a deaf queer person, visibility is not just about coming out of the closet. It means being in the conversation. For being able to participate, debate, laugh in a group without missing half of it.
It means having references. Seeing a deaf, racialized and bisexual person in a series. Or a deaf trans activist at a round table. Or a deaf drag queen succeeding on networks with signed content.
Visibility changes lives. Because when you see someone like you, you understand that you can be there too. That you have the right to occupy space.
Things that can (and should) be done
All is not lost. There are very specific things that we as the LGTBIQ+ collective can begin to improve:
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Include LSE interpreters at events and talks
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Subtitle all content on networks, videos, reels, etc.
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Collaborate with deaf activists to design more inclusive campaigns
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Train and raise awareness in the deaf community, without falling into tokenism
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Create mixed and safe spaces where both cultures coexist
Small gestures make a big difference. You don’t have to be an expert in LSE to start including. You just have to have will, empathy and humility.
What about multiple identities?
Sometimes intersectionality complicates things even more. Because there are deaf people who are also trans, racialized, neurodivergent or migrants. And there the layers of discrimination intertwine in a brutal way.
Who hears their voices? Who represents them? Who thinks of them when we talk about inclusion?
Accessibility cannot be an addition, nor an option, nor a symbolic gesture. It has to be a transversal priority. Or it won’t be real.
A critical look: is enough being done?
Some LGTBIQ+ organizations claim that they are already working on the inclusion of people with disabilities, but in practice many of these actions are superficial. Events where the interpreter is anecdotal, materials half-translated, or campaigns that do not consult real deaf people.
And, on the other hand, within certain associations of deaf people, it is still difficult to talk openly about sexuality, gender or emotional diversity.
There is progress, yes. But there are also many pending issues.
Conclusion: hands also shout pride
The fight for LGTBIQ+ rights must necessarily be an accessible fight. If not, who are we fighting for?
Queer deaf people exist, resist and transform. They are creating culture, activism, spaces of care and vindication from their own perspective.
And they deserve to be at the center. Not as an exception, but as an essential part of the whole.
Perhaps the next time we think about diversity, we should ask ourselves: who are we not listening to? Who are we not seeing?
Because a pride that does not include, is not really pride.
