Deaf Identity Revisited 167
“a generative force of becoming, of individuation and differentiation.... What is
negated by negative passions is the power of life itself—its potentia—as a dynamic
force, vital flows of connections and becoming” (Braidotti, 2011, p. 288).
In alignment with the spirit of the time, mirroring the quest of deaf identity,
Laborit’s story ends here, at the point of arrival, inscribing herself in the diaspora of
deaf heroines. However, two decades further, in view of major transitions in the deaf
educational landscape and biotechnology, questions arise as to whether deaf people
are still finding their way to the firelight and whether there is room for everyone
around the fire. Archetypical variants of the “mother,” the house, and the fire in the
story of Epée are connected with warmth and light, hospitality, and security, evoking
a sense of togetherness and belonging among deaf people.
Agnes’s reluctant storytelling refers to cultural changes of neoliberalism in the
Flemish and Western contexts and identity narratives that are tied to these cultural
settings. She calls for a fireplace that is open for all deaf people, including those who
cannot identify with dominant forms of thought. In her call for including various
forms of deaf fiction and storytelling in and beyond education, McDonald (2010)
explicitly calls for a broad interdisciplinary framework to widen our understanding
of being deaf, “while being mindful that deaf history is not confined to the history
of the signing deaf community” (p. 469).
Their narratives are in relation to collective deaf resources, simultaneously
changing these resources through their storytelling. Indeed, they challenge this
archetypal myth, making cracks in this mirror to let light in and create space for who
they are. Donna McDonald reflects on the limits of this origin tale and the tales of
deaf heroes and heroines in identity formation:
Nevertheless, reading those fictional stories and memoirs helped me. They
guided my task of self-examination in which I set about answering questions
such as, Who am I in relation to my deafness? What does my being deaf mean
in relation to other people? What additional tasks in developing my sense
of self have I had to take on board (or avoided) because I am different from
other people? (Corker, cited in McDonald, 2012, p. 172)
As described by Braidotti and also highlighted by research that covers many ways of
being deaf (e.g., Young & Temple, 2014), our lives already show that we have moved
beyond tradition: “We move about in the flow of current social transformations, in hy-
brid, multi-cultural, polyglot, post-identity spaces of becoming (Braidotti, 2002). We
fail, however, to bring them into adequate representation” (Braidotti, 2006, p. 90).
Ideally, societies should provide a rich and diverse range of identity narratives
with which children, young people, and adults can interact in the construction
of their identities (Verhaeghe, 2012; also see De Clerck, 2016). Life storytelling,
memoirs, and biographies can inspire deaf people in their nomadic pathways. It is
not unusual for deaf people to exchange one fixed identity for another, especially
when taking into account the relative power of these notions to inspire forms of
emancipation in an identity-based time frame; however, deaf nomads may (need
to) find strength in order to travel alternative roads and live up to their potential.
Another instance of the desire that can be awakened by autobiography— beyond
deaf autobiography—is the story of Ayfer Iceloglu (in press), a Flemish deaf