Disability, Invisibility, & The Model Minority

When people look at me, they’ll see my most visible identity, my Asianness. What they might not see are my hearing aids hidden underneath my long hair, allowing me to essentially “pass” as someone with normal hearing. I don’t use sign language, and I don’t have a “deaf accent” that people with hearing loss might have. But even though my disability seems invisible to others, the internal conflict I once felt between my Asian and hard-of-hearing identities did not. During high school, I always felt that both identities intersected to give me a sense of invisibility. I was aware of the stereotype that Asians were supposed to be smart and excel in school, so I felt that my own academic achievements would render me as another model minority. At the same time, I wanted to prove that I could excel in spite of my disability, fearing that society regarded me as less capable because of my disability. But I did this by acting almost as if I didn’t have a disability, staying quiet about my struggles to hear during class discussions where I couldn’t hear everyone clearly or see their facial expressions for

context. As I fought against being relegated to one stereotype, I found myself entrapped by the other one. Looking back, my perception of these two identities was simplistic and lacked nuance. I’ve learned more about both my identities since then, and have come to appreciate how each label does not adequately capture how diverse individuals really are. Asian Americans aren’t a monolith, and disability isn’t either; in fact, the word disability encompasses a hugely diverse group of people. I don’t have to feel pressured to excel in everything just because I am Asian, and there are plenty of high-achieving students with disabilities, including those with hearing loss. There was also the fact that hiding my hearing aids meant that my experiences with being hard-ofhearing remained hidden, while my Asian identity was always visible. Outside of the classroom, there are subtle ways that being hardof-hearing affects my life: I prefer my 3-syllable full name over the nickname “Jess” so I’m more likely to hear my name. I might seem shy in loud settings because I’m afraid I’ll mishear what people say and respond with the wrong thing. If I kept my disability hidden, it prevented others from communicating with and understanding me better, adding on to my self-perceived invisibility from the model minority myth. I’m now much more comfortable talking about my hearing loss - making what was once invisible visible.

I’ve realized instead how being hard-of-hearing and Asian American has come together to give me a unique perspective in different situations. This “prism” of mine is best reflected in my experience of watching the now Oscar-winning movie Parasite. I was captivated not only by the sheer cinematic genius of the movie but also my sheer joy in being able to completely understand the movie through the subtitles and pick up all the subtle foreshadowing in the dialogue. It was such a contrast to all the other times when I’ve watched movies in theaters, when I’m not able to pick up everything that’s being said because there aren’t captions for English. Watching Parasite, I was essentially at the same level as any other moviegoer who didn’t understand Korean, relying on the captions for translation. Most people need subtitles for translation; I need them by default—even in my native language. Subtitles help confirm what I think I hear and have become my preferred way of watching media. When Parasite won Best Picture, I screamed in excitement with my fellow Asian friends. It was a groundbreaking achievement of many firsts, for not only Korea, Asians in film, and foreign-language movies, but subtitle-users of all kinds. Every time I saw a headline or social media post celebrating the awards, I felt a wave of pride and emotion. The cherry on top was that Parasite helped to bring the importance of subtitles into popular discourse, and legitimized the normalization of it. Sometimes I do wonder what it’d be like to hear “normally”. Wouldn’t it be so much easier, to just hear people instead of feeling exhausted from hours of intentionally listening to people with my hearing aids? But without my experiences, I wouldn’t be the person that I am today. I wouldn’t be as empathetic, or adaptable in different situations. I wouldn’t recognize situations that aren’t conducive to clear communication, and attempt to find better, accessible workarounds. I wouldn’t appreciate the diversity of people’s individual experiences, or understand that others may have struggles that I don’t know about. In the end, the experiences that result from my identities have shaped me into the person I am today, and I wouldn’t trade that individual for anyone else.

Jessica Li

Edited by Janet Song Designed by Joy Yi Lu Freund