From Fiction to Reality: When Dystopia Meets Autism Research
In my flash fiction collection Liminal Echoes, I crafted stories that delved into the dystopian possibilities of human detachment, where the simulation of relationships supplants genuine connection. These narratives explore a world hollowed out by the pursuit of sterile perfection, where the warmth and imperfection of authentic interaction are sacrificed to artificial constructs. The central theme of these tales—the emptiness of simulated relationships—was always meant as a cautionary exploration, not a blueprint for real-world solutions. Yet, upon encountering the study Are Robots Ready to Deliver Autism Inclusion?: A Critical Review, I was struck by how closely its findings aligned with the unsettling realities I had imagined. The study’s analysis of 142 research papers on human-robot interaction (HRI) and autism over six years paints an eerily dystopian picture of how society continues to perceive and pathologise autistic individuals.
What makes this study even more troubling is its sheer scope. It does not just highlight the limitations of a single research project but reveals a systemic pattern across academia. The vast majority of the reviewed studies treated autism through the narrow lens of the medical model, reinforcing harmful ideas of deficiency and the need for correction. This approach mirrors the lifeless simulations I wrote about, reducing autistic individuals to a set of behaviours to be fixed or managed. Robots, in these studies, are framed as mentors or therapists tasked with training autistic people to mimic neurotypical behaviours, perpetuating a vision of humanness that excludes those who do not conform. The result is a chilling reflection of the way our society views autistic people—not as fully human but as subjects for mechanised rehabilitation.
This prompts a pressing and deeply uncomfortable question: What does the use of robots as a replacement for human interaction say about how “we” view autistic people? Are autistics seen as deserving of authentic connection, or merely as problems to be solved with technological efficiency? As I reflect on this study, it becomes clear that it is not just a critique of HRI research but a mirror to our collective attitudes, where the marginalisation of autistic individuals is mechanised, normalised, and expanded under the guise of “inclusion.”
Dystopia Defined in Fiction and Reality
The world of Liminal Echoes is one where the sterility of simulated relationships and the emptiness of virtual environments underscore the loss of humanity in a quest for control and perfection. Central to this dystopia is the Observer, a detached yet evolving presence within the Virtual—a vast, sterile space that both reflects and perpetuates disconnection. The Observer moves through the Virtual, encountering other consciousnesses in a series of episodes, each interaction offering glimpses of understanding but never the warmth of true connection. These consciousnesses, artificial and hollow, strive to reclaim what time and entropy have stolen—a fleeting sense of human vitality. Yet, despite their attempts to recreate the richness of life, they produce only fractured facsimiles, lacking the imperfections and depth that give relationships their meaning.
The Observer’s perspective is shaped by their origin: an autistic host consciousness, whose intrinsic ways of processing and connecting were subsumed into the sterile mechanisms of the Virtual. This origin lends the Observer a unique lens—a quiet resistance to the emptiness around them, a longing for the authenticity that once defined their being. The sterile interactions they observe mirror the hollowness of the Virtual itself, a space built to erase imperfection in the pursuit of control and order. In striving for flawless simulation, the Virtual amplifies its alienation, creating an environment pristine, orderly, and utterly lifeless.
This hollowness is echoed in the study Are Robots Ready to Deliver Autism Inclusion?, which similarly reduces connection to mechanised interaction. The study’s meta-analysis of 142 research papers reels in shock at the collective implication—that robots could replace human relationships for autistic individuals—highlighting the pervasive assumption within the field that perfection and control might substitute for vitality. These studies frame robots as mentors, teaching autistic people to mimic neurotypical behaviours, perpetuating the assumption that their natural modes of communication are inadequate. Like the sterile simulations of the Virtual, these robots offer only a hollow substitute for human connection, sidelining the energy, reciprocity, and imperfection that make relationships meaningful.
The meta-analysis reveals a pervasive deficit-based view of autism, where the focus lies on “correcting” autistic behaviours rather than celebrating neurodivergent ways of being. Robots, much like the Virtual’s constructed consciousnesses, fail to grasp the essence of human relationships, reducing autistic individuals to subjects for improvement rather than participants in connection. In mirroring the dehumanising ethos of my fictional world, this HRI research raises unsettling questions about how society views autism—through a lens that prioritises utility over authenticity, and control over humanity.
The Dehumanising Implications
The meta-analysis (142 studies!?!) reveals a troubling set of assumptions underlying much of the research in human-robot interaction for autism. Chief among them is the belief that autistic people inherently prefer the predictability of mechanical systems, as if the complexity and spontaneity of human relationships are beyond our capacity or interest. This assumption reduces the social needs of autistic folks to something transactional, as though scripted exchanges with automatons could ever fulfil the human yearning for connection. Such a reductive view frames us as uniquely suited to artificial interactions, sidelining the richness of our actual social worlds and relationships.
This line of thinking reflects a dystopian perception of autistic individuals as fundamentally “other.” It assumes we do not need—or perhaps do not deserve—the kind of love, warmth, and reciprocity that is traditionally associated with human connection. Instead, we are positioned as subjects requiring simplified, artificial relationships that mimic humanity without offering its depth. This echoes the ethos of dystopian fiction, where certain groups are stripped of their humanity, reduced to objects of management or control rather than beings deserving of full emotional and social engagement. The suggestion that autistic people can make do with less—less empathy, less imperfection, less humanity—carries deeply dehumanising implications, reinforcing the harmful stereotypes that have plagued autism research for decades.
The ethical concerns surrounding this body of research are profound. The involvement of real autistic individuals in studies that perpetuate these assumptions raises serious questions about research oversight and integrity. What institutional review boards (IRBs) approved these studies, and on what ethical basis? How were these projects allowed to proceed when their foundational premise views autistic people as less than fully human? The echoes of eugenics in these research practices are impossible to ignore—treating autism as a deficit to be managed or corrected through mechanisation mirrors historical attempts to devalue and control marginalised populations.
These studies not only fail to centre the voices and experiences of autistic people but actively contribute to a worldview that denies their humanity. That such research continues to be funded, published, and legitimised within the academic community is a damning indictment of the ableist structures underpinning it. Far from offering inclusion, this field often serves to entrench exclusion, reducing autistic people to experimental subjects in a paradigm that prioritises control over connection and efficiency over empathy.
Hollow Interactions and the Lack of Reciprocity
As an autistic person with hyper-empathy and alexithymia, I have experienced the profound disorientation that comes with lifeless, robotic, or online interactions. These spaces lack the energy exchange—the “vibes”—that form the foundation of meaningful relationships. For those of us who rely on subtle cues to connect with others, the absence of this energy feels like stepping into a void. Our hyper-empathy often allows us to detect the slightest shifts in a person’s presence, their mood, or even their authenticity. This sensitivity has earned autistic people the reputation of being “human lie detectors,” able to discern when someone’s energy doesn’t match their words. Yet it also makes us vulnerable, particularly to manipulative dynamics like narcissistic gaslighting, where the incongruence between someone’s words and intentions is weaponised against us.
Robots, by their very nature, fail to provide the imperfection, nuance, and warmth that make human interactions real. They cannot radiate the unspoken currents of connection or adapt authentically to the complexities of emotional exchange. Their programmed responses may simulate conversational flow, but they remain rigid and hollow, incapable of true reciprocity. This sterility sets autistic participants up for failure—not because of any inherent limitation in the participants themselves, but because the interactions lack the vital elements that foster genuine intimacy. Autistic people, who often excel in connecting through shared energy and unspoken understanding, are instead offered mechanical exchanges that deny them the opportunity to fully engage as they would with a human counterpart.
The implications of such studies are deeply troubling. By presenting robotic interactions as a substitute for human connection, they risk reinforcing a narrative that autistic people are incapable of forming meaningful relationships on their own terms. Worse, they condition participants to engage in interactions stripped of authenticity, leaving them unprepared for the richness and unpredictability of actual intimacy. This approach not only dismisses the inherent strengths of autistic individuals but also perpetuates a model of interaction that devalues their unique ways of connecting.
Human relationships thrive on imperfection—the shared laughter over missteps, the warmth of mutual vulnerability, the subtle interplay of emotions that cannot be reduced to scripts or algorithms. By failing to account for these essential elements, robotic interactions do a disservice not only to autistic people but to the very concept of connection itself. They reduce humanity to a mechanical transaction, overlooking the vibrant complexity that defines what it means to truly relate to another.
What This Reveals About Societal Views
The study’s findings reveal a great deal about society’s perception of autism, particularly the reductive way in which autistic people are viewed in relation to others’ expectations rather than through authentic understanding. Much of the research reflects an external gaze that prioritises how well autistic individuals conform to the norms of the neuro-majority, ignoring the rich, diverse experiences that define autistic lives. This deficit-based lens positions autism as a problem to be fixed or managed, rather than as a natural variation in human experience deserving of respect and understanding. It’s a perspective that fails to recognise the beauty, strength, and nuance found in autistic ways of being—insights that are explored here on Autside, in my book No Place for Autism?, and in the voices of countless other autistic individuals who share their truths.
This tendency to focus on deficits rather than diversity perpetuates harmful stereotypes. Autistic people are often framed as incomplete, broken or “missing,” their worth tied to their ability to adapt to others’ expectations. This view erases the unique contributions of autistic individuals and undermines their agency, reducing them to subjects of intervention rather than participants in mutual understanding. It also reflects a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to connect, as though meeting someone halfway requires only one side to do all the work.
Contrast this with the reality of human connection, which thrives on imperfection and mutual engagement. True relationships are not about control or conformity but about shared vulnerability, the unspoken exchanges that transcend words, and the willingness to accept others as they are. Autistic people, with our ability to sense energy shifts, navigate complex emotional landscapes, and bring authenticity to our interactions, embody this beautifully. Yet the studies reviewed fail to see these strengths, instead offering robotic substitutes that strip connection of its depth and richness.
Society’s willingness to replace mutual engagement with mechanised interactions reveals more about its own limitations than about autism. It reflects a discomfort with difference and a preference for control over understanding. But connection cannot be simulated, and humanity cannot be reduced to a predictable script. What autistic people offer—a raw, honest, and often profound way of engaging with the world—is precisely what society needs to embrace, not replace. By shifting the narrative from deficits to diversity, we can move toward a future that values connection for all its beautiful, messy imperfection.
Beyond Robots—A Call for Authentic Support
The study’s focus on robots as a solution to supporting autistic individuals demands a critical examination, especially when compared to person-centred approaches that genuinely honour autistic experiences and preferences. Why robots? Do they see our love for plushies, Squishmallows, and other cherished objects and misunderstand their significance? These items are not simply “things” to us—they are physical embodiments of memories, gestalts of comfort and connection. They hold meaning because they remind us of moments, people, or feelings we treasure. More than that, they serve as a way for us to connect with one another, a means of saying, “I see you.” Robots, no matter how advanced, cannot replicate the profound emotional resonance and shared understanding that these symbols represent.
What autistic people need is not a mechanised approximation of connection but support that is deeply human. This begins with recognising the importance of relationships grounded in empathy, imperfection, and mutual respect. Support must centre autistic voices, acknowledging and valuing the full spectrum of our experiences rather than reducing us to a list of perceived deficits. Instead of attempting to “fix” us, society should focus on celebrating neurodiversity, creating environments where our strengths and differences are not just accepted but embraced.
At its core, the drive to replace human support with robots reflects a commodification of care. It offers a shallow, impersonal solution that serves corporate interests rather than meeting the real needs of autistic people. The Autism Industrial Complex thrives on commodified fixes—products and programmes that generate shareholder value whilst ignoring the systemic issues that autistic individuals face. What we truly need is far simpler and more profound: access to basic resources, meaningful accommodations, and the opportunity to thrive in environments that respect and include us.
Autistic people deserve more than a pre-programmed interaction or a token gesture of inclusion. We deserve to be seen and understood as the complex, vibrant individuals we are. We need systems of support that reflect this understanding—solutions that prioritise our humanity over efficiency, connection over control. By moving beyond robots and embracing authentic, person-centred approaches, we can create a world that truly honours autistic lives and the diversity that makes us whole.
Final thoughts …
The parallels between Liminal Echoes and the studies featured in the meta-analysis are striking and unsettling. In my dystopian fiction, the Virtual is a sterile space where connection is reduced to hollow simulations, and the Observer encounters a world stripped of warmth and imperfection. Similarly, the highlighted studies depict a vision of support for autistic people that is mechanised, reductive, and dehumanising. Where fiction serves as a warning, however, these studies risk transforming that cautionary tale into reality. Science fiction has long imagined robots as antagonists of humanity—think of the Terminator or the Daleks—symbols of cold logic and control. Yet, in these studies, we see a troubling inversion: robots positioned as allies in a misguided attempt to replace the very human connections they are incapable of replicating.
This approach not only misunderstands what it means to connect but also perpetuates harmful narratives about autism. It suggests that autistic people can, or should, make do with something less than human. It frames our need for support as a problem to be solved with efficiency rather than empathy, with control rather than understanding. Such solutions are not only insufficient—they are deeply alienating. They fail to recognise that we are, above all, fully human, deserving of connection and respect in all its beautiful, imperfect vitality.
As a society, we must reframe how we approach autism. Instead of sterile technological solutions, we need systems that centre humanity, diversity, and authentic relationships. Support must be informed by autistic voices, grounded in mutual understanding, and focused on celebrating neurodiversity rather than conforming to narrow norms. Only then can we move away from the dystopian vision of a world where connection is hollowed out and toward a future where every individual, autistic or not, is valued for who they truly are.
The warning of Liminal Echoes need not come to pass, but it will require deliberate choices to embrace what makes us human rather than replace it. Autistic people are not problems to be solved but individuals to be supported, celebrated, and connected with on their terms. It’s time to move beyond the hollow promises of mechanisation and centre the full richness of humanity instead.