I hadn’t planned to write anything for Deaf Awareness Week. But a recent conversation shifted something in me. Something that needed to be said.

“No One Is Truly Disadvantaged” That was the claim. The argument? If we just treat everyone as individuals with unique needs, rather than focusing on the differences, inequality disappears.

It almost sounds appealing. Fair. Uplifting.

But then I thought about the early days of special education, a stark example of good intentions gone wrong. Deaf and blind students were often placed together, the logic being "treat them all the same." The devastating result? Blind pupils couldn’t see sign language; Deaf pupils couldn’t hear speech. By ignoring fundamental differences, well-meaning policies created profound barriers. This "sensible" setup for those in power was tragically ignorant and left a devastating legacy for those who had a right to receive a well-rounded education.

It makes you wonder: Have we really moved on as much as we think?

The misguided belief that difference doesn’t matter or is 'less than' still seeps into policy, services, and everyday attitudes. It's a quiet but powerful force that continues to marginalise, often masked by the well-intentioned implication, "I didn't know."

During that conversation, I finally said: “It’s not that simple. Services aren’t accessible to everyone.”

The person looked genuinely surprised and they asked for an example.

I thought immediately of the statutory body I had just contacted to file a complaint. The only initial contact method listed? A phone number, an insurmountable barrier for many Deaf people, especially when the issue is sensitive or complex.

I explained this. Fighting back the tears because it involved trying to keep people in the community safe.

The person I was speaking with responded, “I didn’t know.” Then, just as sincerely: “Why is this happening?” 

Isn't that the crucial question we should be asking proactively, instead of passively assuming a level playing field exists?

 But that was just one example from that week, like a single drop in the ocean of daily frustrations needed to navigate:

These aren’t mere inconveniences; they are profound acts of exclusion, breeding isolation.

A recent BBC program, Reunion, poignantly illustrated this when a Deaf man equated solitary confinement with his everyday experience in the mainstream population. “That’s how I feel at swimming club,” I confessed to my partner,  surrounded by talking bodies, yet utterly alone in the silence.

One of the deepest, repetitive, wounds came years ago, escaping an abusive relationship and seeking solace in a local domestic abuse organisation. Requesting a BSL interpreter to join a group with other women, a lifeline to connect with shared experiences, I was met with a firm no, deemed disruptive to the “group’s ethos.”

Later, the concession was to ask the group’s permission for my inclusion. The chilling echo of my abuser's power to reject me resonated deeply. I left.

Turning to a Deaf-focused service brought its own closed door, a scheduled video call that never happened, leaving my already fragile confidence further shattered.

Even the supposed safety net of a mental health crisis plan relied solely on a phone number, a stark reminder of whose needs are prioritised. It took weeks to find a precarious workaround. Thank goodness I was never in need of this service, it was just a matter of protocol to have it for out-of-hours support.

Two years later, the cycle began again. The local service, to their credit, adjusted somewhat to meet my needs (offering individual support instead of a group). The specialist Deaf service? Still no reply.

And I get to points where I possess the energy and resources to fight these battles. What about those who don't?

We inhabit a world brimming with technological marvels, yet basic access remains a distant dream for many. True progress hinges on individual empathy, the willingness to see the need, the skills to adapt, or simply the initiative to find out what can be done. This is fundamental human compassion.

Every barrier I encounter demands extra time, significant emotional and educational labour, and constant self-advocacy. The cumulative weight of this effort is rarely acknowledged.

Thankfully, some shine a light. My GP practice recently went above and beyond, arranging an accessible in-person evening appointment this week, with a specialist GP who travelled in, because they knew a phone-based system would not be suitable for me. Their proactive communication and genuine effort were a stark contrast to the norm. This level of consideration should be standard, not a rare exception.

So, this Deaf Awareness Week, let’s finally dismantle the comfortable delusion that we do not need to see difference to achieve access and equality.

True equality demands the active recognition of difference and the determined removal of the barriers that unjustly transform difference into profound disadvantage.

This is not just a matter of policy; it is a matter of basic human decency. 

The persistent excuse of "I didn't know" is no longer ignorance; in the face of lived experience, it becomes wilful indifference, a silent endorsement of inequality. 

If you claim to know the answer and continue to deny the very existence of barriers, the responsibility is yours, and yours alone: to open your ears, eyes, and mind and truly learn from those who navigate a world designed without them. Examine the echo chamber you inhabit; your social media feeds, curated by your clicks, will only reinforce your existing beliefs, blinding you to other truths. 

For many, like myself, these barriers are simply the fabric of daily life, so ingrained they often go unspoken. I choose to build a better world, not by diminishing others' experiences, but by actively working towards a more inclusive one. 

Ultimately, the conscious choice to ignore the barriers faced by others directly fuels their perpetuation. Let us choose instead to see, to listen, and to act.  
 

#deaf #engagement