When the problems of society are blamed on autism
A recent article that is trending on LinkedIn seemingly highlights the profound loneliness experienced by many autistic people. It argues that society’s relentless pursuit of ‘independence’ for disabled people may, paradoxically, exacerbate isolation for ‘those on the autism spectrum.’ However, I may be alone in calling BS on this article. Sadly, the framing implies that autistic individuals and their support needs, rather than societal norms, bear responsibility.
Certain passages seem to tacitly accept an individualistic, settler-colonialist ideology around family structures and adulthood. This takes nuclear family disintegration as inevitable for ‘successful’ adults, who must then live solitarily without community ties. However, such framing may not hold true for all social groups.
For disabled and neurodivergent people specifically, remaining embedded within family and community networks is vital. For those with high support needs especially, interdependent relationships may better enable wellbeing than pursuits of independence rooted in colonialist assimilationist ideals.
Problematising those ideals makes space to validate diverse lifecycles, care webs and living arrangements as equally legitimate. Adjusting societal frameworks, rather than forcing individuals to separate from originary communities, represents a more inclusive approach. The following commentary will therefore analyse the complex intersections between disability, independence, and belonging through a critical lens. Here we go.
First things first
First things first. Who is the author of the article? At the top of the article, you’ll find a short bio of the author, Hari Srinivasan. Here it is for convenience’s sake (I added the hyperlinks).
Hari Srinivasan is a Ph.D. Neuroscience Student at Vanderbilt, an alum of UC Berkeley, a PD Soros Fellow, a Public Voices Fellow of The OpEd Project, a Fellow at the Frist Center for Autism and Innovation, a non-federal member of NIH’s Interagency Autism Coordinating Committee, and on the boards/advisory boards of DREDF, ASAN, ASA, INSAR, Duke U’s ACE and The Brain Foundation.
Seems pretty impressive. But something in the article caught my attention. The author’s use of person-first language (“As someone who has autism”) does hint at a medicalised perspective of autism, rather than framing it as a natural part of human diversity. Those in the neurodiversity community generally advocate for identity-first phrases like “autistic person / people” rather than person-first language like “person with autism.” This places the emphasis on autism being an inherent aspect of one’s identity, rather than something external that happens to “afflict” someone.
Further to the point, the author does not seem to use much terminology specifically popular in the neurodivergent community when discussing autism. The language choices appear more aligned with conventionally ableist academic / medical writing.
For example, in addition to using person-fist language, terms like “Autistic community” and “Autistic self-advocates” are absent. This makes me think that they’re outside of the mainstream of the autistic community and on the side of Big Medicine. Additionally, they employ the medical model term “disorder” and use the language of “challenges” in a couple places. In neurodiversity paradigms, different neurological wiring is framed more positively as “differences,” not deficits or challenges that need correcting. Finally, the clinical words “symptoms” or “exacerbations” appear as well. In all, the verbiage seems to draw from traditional clinical terminology - rarely seen in autistic self-advocates.
As board member in various neurodiversity organizations (see the links in their bio above), they likely are familiar with our common terminology. But, (benefit of the doubt here?) conventions in academic / professional writing may account for the lack of insider language from the autistic community. Regardless, word choices still shape impressions, so further adoption of insider vocabulary could beneficially reinforce neurodiversity perspectives. Again, my radar was activated by the medicalised language throughout the piece.
A final note here. Take a look at the collection of memberships and affiliations in the bio. One thing jumps off the page at me. Aside from ASAN, the listed groups seem rather concentrated on the side of medicalised approaches, research into biological causes, and the development therapies or “interventions.”
Appeal to authority?
Thinking about the collection of memberships and affiliations - listing one’s credentials and affiliations up front does touch the line of the argument from authority logical fallacy. When authors highlight their expertise or credentials before making an argument, it can seem like they are saying their conclusion should be believed because of their position of authority on the topic.
In this piece, the extensive list of the author’s roles and participation in various high-level autism organizations does seem somewhat unnecessary just to establish they have personal experience as an autistic person. It does subtly imply the author's arguments should be heeded because of their authority status within the autism research, policy, and advocacy domain.
However, they do disclose their identity as autistic early on as well, not solely relying on credentials for legitimacy. And personal lived experience should constitute sufficient grounds for commenting on these issues without having to justify it with professional expertise. Yet this long piece cites exactly one bit of lived experience, “I’ve experienced a revolving door of over a 100 support staff—and I plan on living for many more years.”
So whilst not an egregious logical fallacy, the front-loaded affiliations do rhetorically prime the reader to trust the author’s perspective because of their insider influence, as much as their firsthand knowledge of the issues. Trimming the lengthy organizational list would diminish that effect without undermining the author’s positioning.
Now the article itself
Mainstream society’s narrow construct of ‘independence’ stems from hyper-individualistic, settler-colonialist ideology regarding normative life trajectories. This cultural-historical context disproportionately subordinates and disempowers neurodivergent people.
Western thought has traditionally sanctified solitary, land-owning adulthood as an ultimate ideal - the so-called rugged individual. Such restrictive standards inevitably marginalise and exclude those with atypical wiring or support requirements outside capitalist metrics of productivity.
Through a Power Threat Meaning Framework, the notion of ‘independence’ constitutes a negative power structure inflicting epistemic threat against neurodiversity. Normalised societal assumptions that autistic and otherwise interdependent people lead diminished, flawed existence threatens identity and ontological security.
However, independence as defined by settler-colonialist society bears no inherent universal status or meaning. Alternative cultural paradigms exist validating interdependence and plural configurations of family. Situating issues like disabled loneliness within these oppressive power dynamics clarifies the need for systemic change, not individual correction.
What about friendships?
Here’s another quote from the article that really raised my ire.
“The high turnover in the lower-paid and high-stress disability support profession results in fleeting connections, leading to a lack of continuity needed to form lasting relationships for people with autism. Even the most wonderful of support staff will last a few years at best, before they completely disappear from life.”
The passage above on support staff turnover deeply troubled me upon reflection, as it implied autistic people inherently struggle with relationships without such workers. This myth of disconnection stems from a long history of denying disabled agency and humanity.
In portraying autistics as lacking some fundamental capacity for bonding without transactions with non-disabled facilitators, the article reinscribed pernicious stereotypes. It failed to acknowledge countless examples of autistic community, culture, friendship, and solidarity counter to this caricature of isolation.
The juxtaposition of the author knowing 100 briefly-present support staff whilst omitting any discussion of bonds beyond service provision also subtly centred deficiency narratives. Yet the neurodivergent community continually teaches me connection transcends transactional roles. Through art, social media, gatherings, and more, autistic people build thriving cultures of care - interdependence based on identity and struggle, not on protocol.
Final thoughts - my rebuttal to the article, the author, and the premise
Mainstream exclusion cannot be separated from disabled experiences of alienation. Non-acceptance of our support needs reflects much wider social devaluation of interdependency. But framing barriers as inherent deficits within us only upholds violence.
We build community daily against immense marginalisation - we know we aren’t “lonely types.” Yes, high turnover of underpaid staff trying their best is emotionally grinding. But aren’t workers everywhere exhausted by capitalist extractivism? This system commodifying both care and cure-pursuits must be confronted.
Equally, independence cannot be uncoupled from histories of settlers glorifying hyper-individualism, productivity, and land conquest. All people’s lives fluctuate between dependence, independence, and interdependence (maiden / mother / crone?). We require space to articulate our own meanings before having theories imposed.
Radically, there exist no “normal” affiliations or lifecycles; only continual reinforcement of narrowness. All beings share needs for reciprocity, dignity, mutuality beyond service provision. We honour those striving alongside us as colleagues, not transient saviours.
Through art, multiplication of access, and mutual care, our communities model connectedness on our own terms, beyond settler logics. We centre alternative governance paradigms fostering collective access over more holes to fall through. In shared disability identity, on our own frequency, we are no longer “lonely.” And, I’m glad you’re here.