Disabilities in Star Wars: The Evolution of Representation and the Impact of KB in Skeleton Crew
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the Star Wars universe captured our imaginations with tales of heroism, rebellion, and hope. But for decades, many of us who lived in this galaxy—one filled with varied experiences, identities, and challenges—yearned to see ourselves reflected on screen. In my earlier article on Diversity in Star Wars, I outlined the strides and struggles the franchise has had in representing women, people of color, LGBTQ+ individuals, and those with disabilities. I argued that representation must go beyond tokenism, crafting characters whose stories hold weight and meaning.
This piece focuses specifically on the representation of disability in Star Wars, an area where the franchise has historically fallen short. While steps have been made toward improvement, Skeleton Crew, Episode 6 Zero Friends again, delivered a groundbreaking moment with the character KB. Her story embodies the nuanced, authentic representation that the franchise has long needed.
A History of Representation in Star Wars
Since its inception in 1977, Star Wars has shaped global pop culture, but its legacy hasn’t been without shortcomings. For years, the franchise largely sidelined diversity, with white male protagonists dominating the narrative. Female characters, such as Princess Leia were groundbreaking for their time, but often relegated to secondary roles. It wasn’t until the sequel trilogy that Rey became the franchise’s first female protagonist. Similarly, representation for people of color has been sporadic, with Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams) and Mace Windu (Samuel L. Jackson) standing as early but isolated examples.
Disabilities in the Star Wars universe have also been underrepresented. While iconic characters such as Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, and Darth Maul are technically disabled due to prosthetic limbs, their augmentations often erase the realities of living with a disability. More grounded portrayals, like Cliegg Lars, who uses a wheelchair after a Sand People attack, or Saw Gerrera, who relies on a breathing apparatus, are rare and often limited to supporting roles.
Blindness has been explored with characters like Kanan Jarrus (Star Wars Rebels) and Chirrut Îmwe (Rogue One), whose disabilities are depicted as sources of strength. However, these portrayals sometimes feel disconnected from the lived experiences of disabled individuals. The franchise’s most nuanced portrayal may have previously been 99, a genetically defective clone in The Clone Wars. Ostracized for his physical malformations, 99 demonstrates wisdom and courage, ultimately earning respect despite systemic bias. These portrayals, while important, highlight how much room Star Wars needed to grow in authentically representing disabilities.
My Previous Argument: Moving Beyond Tokenism
In my earlier article on Diversity in Star Wars, I emphasized that representation is not about checking boxes; it’s about creating multidimensional characters whose stories contribute meaningfully to the narrative. I argued that “While diversity and inclusivity is extraordinarily important, it is also vital that it happens organically. When attempting diversification, it has been realized that some companies, organizations, and groups end up falling for “the quota.” Diversity can easily turn into a checklist, rather than a factor that allows creativity to flourish and develop into more realistic, engaging and truly rich stories. When the checkbox is used to write new material, the quality of the narrative drops significantly, and can actually become offensive.”
For example, while Rose Tico in The Last Jedi was a groundbreaking character as an Asian-American woman, her lack of development left audiences feeling that her inclusion was superficial. The same critique applies to disability representation. Too often, disabled characters in Star Wars exist on the periphery or serve as metaphors rather than fully realized individuals. I called for more characters whose disabilities are integrated into their identities and narratives, not sidelined or erased by technological fixes. This is why Skeleton Crew Episode 6, with its focus on KB, felt like such a significant step forward.
Skeleton Crew: A New Approach to Representation
Skeleton Crew is a Star Wars series that has been lauded for its fresh perspective, focusing on a group of young adventurers navigating challenges in a vast galaxy. Episode 6, Zero Friends Again stands out in particular for its handling of disability through the character of KB. Unlike previous portrayals, KB’s story is deeply integrated into the episode’s narrative, emphasizing her humanity and the impact of her disability on both herself and her friends. This episode sets up KB’s character development before diving into her representation.
Zero Friends again: WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD
The episode begins with the group splitting up under the pressures of their journey. Fern and Neel decide to climb a steep cliff to reach their ship, while KB and Wim follow a group of Trash Crabs in search of an alternate path. The episode’s tension peaks when KB’s augs — a life-sustaining device — fail due to corrosion. This leaves her unable to move, forcing Wim to assist her in repairing the device. Meanwhile, Neel’s struggle to keep up with Fern highlights the episode’s broader theme: the importance of recognizing and accommodating individual differences.
KB: A Breakthrough in Authentic Representation
In Skeleton Crew Episode 6, Zero Friends Again, KB’s character is a transformative moment for disability representation in Star Wars. KB’s story is not a subplot or a footnote—it is central to the episode’s narrative. Her augs, a life-sustaining device, are a realistic depiction of how medical technology can both sustain and complicate life. When her augs corrode due to a lack of maintenance, KB becomes unable to move, forcing her friend Wim to help her repair them.
While KB and Wim are off on their own, KB freezes up saying, “I… I can’t move. My augs are corroded”. The tension is immediate and palpable. She instructs Wim to gather droid servos, then guides him step by step: “Unwind the lighter wires. Replace the micro-fuse.” The vulnerability demonstrated while showing Wim how to help her resonated deeply with me, and mirrors the experiences of many disabled individuals who rely on others during crises.
Teaching someone how to help — while exposing your vulnerability — requires immense courage. For me, it called to mind teaching my boyfriend how to assist me with my disabilities, be it getting me certain medications, helping me move around, etc. Moments like these are challenging—not just physically, but emotionally. You don’t want someone to see you at your weakest, and there’s an inherent fear of being judged or pitied. Yet, the trust KB places in Wim, and the way he rises to the occasion, is both touching and empowering. It’s a delicate balance between empowerment and discomfort, and Skeleton Crew captures it beautifully.
Living with Disabilities and Limitations
In this episode, KB also expresses frustration with Fern, as Fern seems unable to recognize KB’s limitations. While KB’s body is in a near-paralyzed state, Wim asks KB, “Is this why you didn't want to climb? You could've just told Fern.”
“Sometimes, she's not exactly living in the real world…Ever since my accident, Fern always assumed I could do anything she could. Like I’m not different.” KB says, highlighting the pressure many disabled individuals feel to meet the expectations of others. Oftentimes, it’s hard for abled-bodied people to see or understand the struggles of living in a disabled body, and they truly cannot fathom having those limitations themselves. When this happens, disabled people are left in a position where their limitations are not only misunderstood, but they also end up isolated from their peers, and having to push themselves, potentially putting themselves in life-threatening situations, like KB did.
“But I am different.” KB continues. At this moment, my tears started flowing, HEAVY. “Pretending I can run around on a freezing cold moon, through a bunch of steam, climb a cliff, after days without maintenance, that’s just not reality.” Hearing a character reply so earnestly that she was different was prolific in more ways than one. In this moment, KB was not only admitting to herself that she’s different and accepting her reality, but she is also sharing this with a friend, who may or may not accept this about her; putting her in once again, an extremely vulnerable position.
Innocently, Wim replies, “So, then, just tell her that,” to which she responds that she can’t do that. Wim questions her, asking why not. ”Because...she doesn't have patience for that. You know how she is. And then... I'll have zero friends again.” This moment perfectly encapsulated the physical and emotional toll of living with a disability. When you have disabilities, seen or unseen, the reality is that not everyone is going to be understanding, supportive, or accommodating of your needs.
“That's so dumb,” Wim says, “anyway, you could just be friends with me and Neel.” This adorable moment made me cry tears of happiness for KB, as the feeling of finding people who truly accept you for who you are is one of the greatest feelings for people living with disabilities.
Mere-difference vs. Bad Difference Debate
As a somewhat sidebar; I’ve been reading a lot of philosophical texts about disabilities, and the “mere-difference” vs “bad-difference” argument. The mere-difference vs. bad-difference debate in disability philosophy centers on whether disabilities are inherently negative (bad-difference) or simply variations of human diversity (mere-difference). The bad-difference view suggests disabilities are deficits or impairments that inherently reduce the quality of life and require correction or mitigation. Conversely, the mere-difference view argues that disabilities are neutral forms of diversity, like race or culture, and any negative experiences arise from societal barriers and biases rather than the disability itself. This debate influences perspectives on inclusion, accommodation, and the value of diverse experiences in society.
I’ll be writing a separate article about this, but I tend to gravitate to the bad-difference argument. This instance with KB is a great example for arguing the bad-difference. Even in a perfectly accommodating and understanding society, without regular repair, KB’s life is truly at risk and is challenging for her in many ways that society alone cannot fix. This is not to say that it’s “bad” to have disabilities, or that disabled lives are not equally valuable and important, but I do think it inherently makes life more difficult – especially for those with physical disabilities and pain. KB’s challenges (e.g., needing regular maintenance) illustrate the "bad-difference" view while still affirming her resilience and value.
Relating to KB: A Personal Connection
For the first time, I felt seen in a way I never expected. Watching KB’s journey brought me to tears. Her struggles with her augs—a life-sustaining device she wears on her head—paralleled my own experiences living with cerebral palsy and epilepsy. Her fear of climbing because of the potential failure of her augs, which would lead to her death, mirrored my own fears of seizures and the physical limitations I deal with caused by CP. This struck a deep chord. As I’ve written previously about The Stairs, even descending stairs without proper accommodations can put me in a potentially life-threatening position. And yet, KB’s story wasn’t just about her disability; it was about her humanity and the bonds she shares with those around her.
Family Dynamics
KB’s family dynamic also resonated with me and my family dynamic. As someone who also has two lesbian moms, seeing KB with her moms felt deeply validating. A disabled girl with two moms in Star Wars…and it’s well written? Love it.
My mother and father divorced when I was young, and both happened to remarry women, creating a nontraditional family structure for me of three moms and a dad. This, along with my disabilities, has been fundamental in my view of “otherness,” and has ignited my passion for advocating for and accepting others' differences, whatever they may be. I rarely see these types of family dynamics reflected accurately in media. KB’s family is not treated as a novelty but as an integral part of her character, demonstrating that love and support come in many forms.
Community and Understanding: The Episode’s Core Message
Episode 6 emphasizes the value of community and mutual care. Neel acknowledges his own limitations when he says to Fern, “I’m sorry, but not everyone can do things the same way you can.” His desire to bring the group together, underscores the importance of empathy.
The reconciliation between KB and Fern is another highlight. Fern’s apology for not listening and KB’s admission of her fears mark a turning point in their friendship. These moments show that vulnerability and honesty are not weaknesses but bridges to deeper understanding. This theme resonates far beyond the Star Wars universe, offering a lesson in compassion and connection.
Why KB Matters
KB’s story represents a significant step forward for Star Wars and disability representation. Unlike past portrayals that relied on metaphor or sidelined disabled characters, KB’s journey is central to the plot. Her disability is neither erased nor exaggerated; it is presented with authenticity and respect.
The episode’s broader message — that differences are assets, not obstacles — is vital. Through KB, Fern, Neel, and Wim, Skeleton Crew demonstrates that understanding and celebrating these differences enrich our connections and make us stronger as individuals and as a community. KB’s story reflects the broader potential for media to normalize and celebrate diversity without relying on tropes or oversimplification.
Moving Forward: A Call to Action
While KB’s story is a triumph, it also serves as a reminder of the work still to be done. Star Wars, and the entertainment industry as a whole, must continue to evolve. Authentic representation—whether of disabilities, race, gender, or LGBTQ+ identities—requires care, depth, and collaboration. It’s not just about who is on screen but how their stories are told.
Creators must actively seek out diverse voices in their writing rooms and production teams. Fans, too, have a role to play in advocating for and supporting media that prioritizes inclusion. KB’s story reminded me that even in a galaxy far, far away, there is space for all of us. Together, we can ensure that the stories we tell reflect the beautifully varied realities of the world we live in. Representation matters because it shapes how we see ourselves and others. KB’s story is a testament to the power of inclusion, and her journey offers hope for a future where everyone can feel seen, valued, and celebrated. That is a victory worth pursuing.
Shout out to Myung Joh Wesner and Bryce Dallas Howard on a fantastic episode of Star Wars, Skeleton Crew. As a disabled artist, I thank you for including KB’s story in this wonderful adventure. Organic diversity in Star Wars is forever appreciated.
On the rare occasion that either of you actually see this — let me know if you want to do a Zoom interview about the show! I’d love to discuss this further!
Sincerely, Briana Raucci
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