The deaf community is hungry to see itself in the most positive

The words of Lupe Ontiveros—“The deaf community is hungry to see itself in the most positive way”—resound like a cry from the depths of the human spirit. They speak not merely of silence, but of longing, not merely of a group, but of an entire people whose dignity has too often been hidden in shadow. The hunger Ontiveros describes is not for food or shelter, but for recognition, for light, for the chance to see themselves reflected with honor. This is a hunger older than centuries, shared by all who have been unseen or misrepresented, and it is as sacred as the hunger for justice itself.

The origin of this truth lies in the long story of how societies portray their own. The deaf community, like many marginalized groups, has been marked not by celebration but by caricature, pity, or invisibility. For generations, they have been defined by what they lack rather than what they bring forth. To be hungry in this way is to yearn for a mirror that shows beauty instead of brokenness, strength instead of limitation. Ontiveros, through her art and her advocacy, gave voice to this yearning, reminding us that representation is not ornament but survival—it is how a people come to see themselves as worthy.

Consider the story of Helen Keller, who was both deaf and blind. In her youth, the world thought her destined for silence and obscurity. Yet with the guidance of Anne Sullivan, she grew into a voice that resounded across nations. She stood before kings and presidents, declaring that her life was not defined by absence but by fullness—by vision of the heart, by courage of spirit. When the world saw her not as an object of pity but as a symbol of triumph, the deaf community found in her an image of itself clothed in greatness. She satisfied, if only partly, the hunger that Ontiveros later described.

But let us not think only of famous names. Across history, the deaf community has built languages of its own—sign languages rich with poetry, expression, and power. Though dismissed by many as lesser, these languages carry the full weight of human thought and feeling. When schools, governments, and societies denied them recognition, it was not merely words they denied but identity itself. To be told that your way of speaking is not valid is to be told that your being is not valid. This is why the hunger to be seen positively is so fierce: it is the hunger to exist fully in the world.

The lesson is clear: every community, whether deaf, blind, poor, or displaced, needs not only bread but also vision. People do not live on survival alone; they live on meaning, on reflection, on the knowledge that they are seen as whole and valuable. To withhold such recognition is to starve the soul. To grant it is to allow a people to flourish, to rise, and to contribute their gifts to the greater human story.

Practical wisdom calls us to act. Learn to honor the deaf community not by pity but by respect. Support art, film, and stories that present them as full, complex, radiant human beings. If you know sign language, use it; if not, learn a word or two as a gesture of solidarity. Speak against jokes or portrayals that reduce them to stereotypes. And most of all, seek to listen—not with ears alone, but with the openness of heart that recognizes dignity in every form.

Thus, let Ontiveros’ words be carried forward: the hunger to be seen in a positive way is not unique to the deaf; it is the hunger of all humanity. We all long for mirrors that show us noble, not broken; radiant, not diminished. And when we offer this reflection to one another, we do more than feed hunger—we create a world where no soul walks unseen, and no community is left to dwell in shadow.