Disney’s Illusion of Inclusion: Sign Language Is Not an Add-On
Disney’s recent release of signed versions of songs from Frozen 2, Encanto, and Moana 2 has been widely praised as a milestone for inclusion. For many viewers, this project signals long-overdue visibility for Deaf people and for sign language in mainstream media.
That response is understandable. For decades, sign languages have been marginalized, reduced to accessibility add-ons, or excluded from major cultural productions altogether. In that context, a high-profile company foregrounding signed performance can look like substantial progress.
Visibility alone is not inclusion; being seen does not equate to full participation or power.
A more difficult question is what kind of inclusion is being offered and who has the power to define it. From the perspective of critical Deaf and dis_ability studies*, the Disney project reveals both the possibilities and the limits of representation. When sign language is incorporated into media without a wider shift in authorship, decision-making, and institutional power, representation can be restricted.
The central issue is not whether signed songs should exist. They should. The issue is whether sign language is being treated as a fully legitimate language and cultural practice, or as an aesthetic enhancement attached to a finished product. That distinction matters because sign language is not simply a visual feature.
It is a lived language rooted in Deaf communities, everyday communication, embodied knowledge, and collective histories.
When sign language appears only within deliberately curated moments, especially in musical sequences designed for emotional impact, it can remain framed by hearing norms rather than by Deaf priorities. In that model, sign language is welcomed onto the screen, but only under conditions largely set by hearing-centered institutions.
It is visible, yet still not fully entrusted with narrative power.
This is why visibility should not be mistaken for structural change. Inclusion requires more than appearance; it requires shifts in decision-making power. The more meaningful question is not whether sign language appears, but whether its presence changes who leads, who decides, and who benefits.
Reports from the project’s screening suggest that the collaboration between Disney and Deaf West was planned over several years and led by Hyrum Osmund, a coda* (child of a deaf adult). The production reportedly involved a Deaf choreographer, a Deaf consultant, and Deaf actors. That involvement matters. Without Deaf expertise, a project like this could not be carried out responsibly.
At the same time, it is important not to diminish the contributions of Deaf West and the Deaf artists, consultants, and performers involved. If they were not only participating but also creatively directing the project, that influence deserves a clear acknowledgment. Their linguistic, artistic, and embodied knowledge may have been central to the quality, expressiveness, and cultural complexity of the signed performances.
Recognizing creative influence is not the same as holding structural power.
Creative contribution affects art, while structural power shapes authorship and decision-making. A coda may have deep proximity to Deaf communities, use sign language, and understand aspects of Deaf life through relational experience. Still, a coda is not a Deaf person and does not operate from a Deaf positionality. In this context, the project was still led by a hearing person within a hearing-centered institution. That distinction matters because proximity to Deaf communities does not automatically undo hearing power.
This is not about individuals. It is about structures. The history of Deaf communities shows that hearing people — including codas — have often remained in positions of mediation, authority, and control. They may support access without transferring power.
They may enable projects without altering who owns the budget, who defines the terms, who makes final decisions, and who benefits institutionally.
For that reason, it would be too simple to frame this project as a story of access being opened from within. Such narratives can reproduce ableist expectations of gratitude, in which Deaf communities are asked to celebrate visibility because space has been granted to them. But justice is not the same as being invited into an existing structure. It requires the ability to shape that system.
This is where the distinction between participation and power becomes critical. Deaf artists can shape a project, improve its quality, and make it meaningful, while the institutional framework in which the project exists remains largely unchanged.
Both can be true at the same time: the creative work of Deaf contributors can be significant, and the system that contains that work can still reproduce unequal power relations.
On that point, Disney’s project seems limited. Signed songs may create moments of beauty and recognition, but they do not by themselves establish lasting Deaf power in media. They do not necessarily create more Deaf-led storytelling, more Deaf creative leadership, or more institutional space for sign language as an ordinary part of narrative life. Without those changes, representation risks remaining symbolic rather than transformative.
A more effective model would go further. It would include sign language not only in exceptional scenes, but in the everyday worlds of characters — in conversation, conflict, humor, intimacy, routine, and play.
It would also place Deaf people in positions of sustained authority: as writers, directors, producers, animators, performers, consultants, editors, and executives with real influence over budgets, timelines, and creative decisions.
The choice to focus on songs is also worth examining. In a hearing-majority culture, music is often treated as a particularly powerful and emotionally valued form.
Signed songs, therefore, become legible to hearing audiences through a familiar framework: they are moving because they attach sign language to music, spectacle, and emotion. Yet this framing can unintentionally narrow public understanding of what sign language is for. It risks suggesting that sign language is most meaningful when it is visually striking, exceptional, or artistically heightened, rather than when it functions as an ordinary language of everyday life.
That is a serious limitation. Deaf people do not need sign language to appear only in special moments. They need media in which sign language is normalized — not as a symbolic flourish, but as a regular and respected mode of communication. Real inclusion would mean that sign language is present not only when a production wants to be admired for accessibility, but whenever Deaf lives are being represented on their own terms.
It is also important to remember that there is no single Deaf experience or Deaf community. Deaf communities are plural, internally diverse, and formed by diverse social positions, histories, and linguistic practices. Any meaningful approach to representation must take that diversity seriously rather than flatten it into a single celebratory story of progress.
Moving beyond symbolic inclusion
None of this means the Disney project has no value. It may offer recognition to some viewers, introduce sign language to wider audiences, and create opportunities for conversation. But it should not be mistaken for structural change. Its value stays limited as long as Deaf communities are visible in the product but not structurally empowered within the system that produces it.
If major media companies want to move beyond symbolic inclusion, the standard has to change. The question cannot simply be whether sign language appears on screen. The real measure is whether Deaf communities gain greater authorship, greater resources, greater institutional access, and more power over how their languages and lives are represented.
Sign language is not an add-on. It is a language, a cultural practice, and a site of community knowledge. True inclusion is not achieved through visibility alone; it requires a restructuring of power. Only when Deaf communities have genuine control over how their language and culture are represented will the media move beyond token gestures toward real change.
*The spelling Dis_ability Studies is intended to show that “disability” and “ability” are not simply natural opposites. They are produced through social ideas and structures and are closely intertwined. The underscore makes visible that there is a gap, a tension, and also a power imbalance between what is considered “able” and what is labeled “disabled.”
Coda: Coda is not capitalized in Germany.
Transparency Statement: This article was originally written in German and the author used AI to help translate it to English.
Image credit: Disney Animation Studios
