Does anyone remember, a few years back, when it was fashionable to say, "I'm color-blind" in regards to a person's skin tone, ethnicity, etc? The idea was to convey that the speaker wasn't racist, because they didn't see the skin color and therefore didn't judge the person based on that factor.
It was also crap. The person never stopped being able to see in color, and everyone's at least a bit racist, myself included (to my great annoyance), regardless of whether you can see. Racism, you see, comes in a lot of different flavors. Most racism today is not the facepalmingly obnoxious old grandfather or grandmother yelling about how those darned black people (insert your own N word here) are terrible or violent or inherently stupider or something equally incorrect. That type of racism has become socially unacceptable, and has declined in the last couple decades.
Unfortunately, aversive racism, or implicit racism, lives on. This refers to the tendency to avoid minority groups and unconsciously prejudge them based on stereotypes. Notably, this type of racism exists whether the person consciously harbors ill-will towards a minority group or not. Basically, otherwise egalitarian people can still be quite racist, based on their unconscious actions, assumptions, and expectations.
What does this all have to do with autism? Well... I've commented on another civil rights movement and its relevance to autism before, but for this post, it's a comparison between racism and ableism. A really easy one, from where I'm sitting. Ask a person in a wheelchair or mobility device whether they've been avoided or otherwise discriminated against by strangers. Bet you'll get a really instructive answer, especially if the person has lived a few decades in that wheelchair/mobility device.
But a person in a wheelchair is just an easy example. It's a very visible disability, and much lip service (and some actual work) has been done to make buildings and other environments more accessible for wheelchairs and other mobility devices. For an invisible disability like autism, it's a bit harder of a sell, because we don't necessarily look disabled.
The disability version of racism is called ableism. It's the prejudice of those without disabilities against those who do have them. It's defining a person first and foremost by their disability. It's the assumption that people with disabilities somehow deserve them. It's stereotyping someone in a mobility device as "less capable" or "less verbal" than someone without one, without knowing that person's particular physical, mental, and emotional capabilities. It's assuming you know what's best for someone with disabilities, without bothering to get their input.
I had the privilege a few days ago, as I sometimes do, of sitting in on a parent support group. It originally began as a support group for parents with older autistic children, so around transition age (16-18) and older. Now, I strongly respect parents, especially those of special needs kids. Raising a regular kid is hard enough. Raising a special needs kid is at least one order of magnitude harder. But I've noticed they tend to fall into some traps. Such as using the word "never" when it comes to their kids. Some examples: "He'll never live alone." "She'll never have a job." "He'll never get off the computer long enough to do anything else."
This makes me more than a bit agitated and frustrated. You don't know what kind of capabilities your child has, in the end. Every person may have different limitations and capabilities and some people may truly never have the capability to live independently, or hold a full time job, but as people grow, those capabilities also grow. I think it's probably very easy, as a parent, to miss that growth when you're constantly stuck dealing with the kid's worst aspects and failings. Particularly since special needs kids can develop at a much slower rate than normal children. At almost 30, I think I might have managed to be about emotionally 20 at this point. And cognitively, I feel about 50, at least. Some days, a lot older and more cynical depending on the current news.
These statements, in addition to assuming these capabilities will never occur, also assume that these situations are ones the people in question want. Many people absolutely do want to live independently, and it's assumed by American culture that this is what everyone will do. But that's not necessarily what every person wants. Some autistic and disabled people are happier living at home with their parents, or with their siblings, or in a group home. For jobs, some people can hold at 40+ hour job, but others are happiest doing part time work. And there are a lot of kinds of jobs, too. You can't assume that because a person doesn't do well in a full time janitorial job that they won't do well in a full time farmhand position, or landscaping job, or some other type of job. You have to work with the disabled person, trying to line up their interests to a potential job.
All too often, autistic people aren't consulted about these things. It's a blind push toward what's assumed is "best for us" based on what the world dictates for people who aren't disabled.
Person-First Language is another example of this. It was decided by someone, at some point, that it is disrespectful to refer to someone by their disability ("autistic") and people should instead be referred to as people, with their disabilities tacked on afterwards ("people with autism"). This was meant to promote the humanity of people with disabilities. It was a good effort... but one that's eventually drawn flack for not really doing what it was supposed to. For starters, the most respectful way to refer to someone is how they choose to be identified, not how you assume they want to be identified.
Longtime or extra observant readers of this blog will recognize that I usually refer to myself as "autistic" rather than "a person with autism." This is twofold. Firstly, because Person First Language is awkward on the tongue. Secondly, because I blend relatively well with neurotypical people but believe strongly in promoting the welfare of all autistic people, I voluntarily put my diagnosis first. This, I hope, humanizes all of us on the autism spectrum, by putting a face to us.
Because unfortunately, we need that visibility. We need that humanization. We need to be listened to when we tell people what we need. Because people are still assuming they know what's best for us, when we can communicate what we want. Because "colorblindness" for disabilities exists, too, with people insisting that "they don't see the disability." And just like how pretending you don't see skin tones doesn't fix racism, ignoring disabilities doesn't fix ableism. It merely makes it worse.
It was also crap. The person never stopped being able to see in color, and everyone's at least a bit racist, myself included (to my great annoyance), regardless of whether you can see. Racism, you see, comes in a lot of different flavors. Most racism today is not the facepalmingly obnoxious old grandfather or grandmother yelling about how those darned black people (insert your own N word here) are terrible or violent or inherently stupider or something equally incorrect. That type of racism has become socially unacceptable, and has declined in the last couple decades.
Unfortunately, aversive racism, or implicit racism, lives on. This refers to the tendency to avoid minority groups and unconsciously prejudge them based on stereotypes. Notably, this type of racism exists whether the person consciously harbors ill-will towards a minority group or not. Basically, otherwise egalitarian people can still be quite racist, based on their unconscious actions, assumptions, and expectations.
What does this all have to do with autism? Well... I've commented on another civil rights movement and its relevance to autism before, but for this post, it's a comparison between racism and ableism. A really easy one, from where I'm sitting. Ask a person in a wheelchair or mobility device whether they've been avoided or otherwise discriminated against by strangers. Bet you'll get a really instructive answer, especially if the person has lived a few decades in that wheelchair/mobility device.
But a person in a wheelchair is just an easy example. It's a very visible disability, and much lip service (and some actual work) has been done to make buildings and other environments more accessible for wheelchairs and other mobility devices. For an invisible disability like autism, it's a bit harder of a sell, because we don't necessarily look disabled.
The disability version of racism is called ableism. It's the prejudice of those without disabilities against those who do have them. It's defining a person first and foremost by their disability. It's the assumption that people with disabilities somehow deserve them. It's stereotyping someone in a mobility device as "less capable" or "less verbal" than someone without one, without knowing that person's particular physical, mental, and emotional capabilities. It's assuming you know what's best for someone with disabilities, without bothering to get their input.
I had the privilege a few days ago, as I sometimes do, of sitting in on a parent support group. It originally began as a support group for parents with older autistic children, so around transition age (16-18) and older. Now, I strongly respect parents, especially those of special needs kids. Raising a regular kid is hard enough. Raising a special needs kid is at least one order of magnitude harder. But I've noticed they tend to fall into some traps. Such as using the word "never" when it comes to their kids. Some examples: "He'll never live alone." "She'll never have a job." "He'll never get off the computer long enough to do anything else."
This makes me more than a bit agitated and frustrated. You don't know what kind of capabilities your child has, in the end. Every person may have different limitations and capabilities and some people may truly never have the capability to live independently, or hold a full time job, but as people grow, those capabilities also grow. I think it's probably very easy, as a parent, to miss that growth when you're constantly stuck dealing with the kid's worst aspects and failings. Particularly since special needs kids can develop at a much slower rate than normal children. At almost 30, I think I might have managed to be about emotionally 20 at this point. And cognitively, I feel about 50, at least. Some days, a lot older and more cynical depending on the current news.
These statements, in addition to assuming these capabilities will never occur, also assume that these situations are ones the people in question want. Many people absolutely do want to live independently, and it's assumed by American culture that this is what everyone will do. But that's not necessarily what every person wants. Some autistic and disabled people are happier living at home with their parents, or with their siblings, or in a group home. For jobs, some people can hold at 40+ hour job, but others are happiest doing part time work. And there are a lot of kinds of jobs, too. You can't assume that because a person doesn't do well in a full time janitorial job that they won't do well in a full time farmhand position, or landscaping job, or some other type of job. You have to work with the disabled person, trying to line up their interests to a potential job.
All too often, autistic people aren't consulted about these things. It's a blind push toward what's assumed is "best for us" based on what the world dictates for people who aren't disabled.
Person-First Language is another example of this. It was decided by someone, at some point, that it is disrespectful to refer to someone by their disability ("autistic") and people should instead be referred to as people, with their disabilities tacked on afterwards ("people with autism"). This was meant to promote the humanity of people with disabilities. It was a good effort... but one that's eventually drawn flack for not really doing what it was supposed to. For starters, the most respectful way to refer to someone is how they choose to be identified, not how you assume they want to be identified.
Longtime or extra observant readers of this blog will recognize that I usually refer to myself as "autistic" rather than "a person with autism." This is twofold. Firstly, because Person First Language is awkward on the tongue. Secondly, because I blend relatively well with neurotypical people but believe strongly in promoting the welfare of all autistic people, I voluntarily put my diagnosis first. This, I hope, humanizes all of us on the autism spectrum, by putting a face to us.
Because unfortunately, we need that visibility. We need that humanization. We need to be listened to when we tell people what we need. Because people are still assuming they know what's best for us, when we can communicate what we want. Because "colorblindness" for disabilities exists, too, with people insisting that "they don't see the disability." And just like how pretending you don't see skin tones doesn't fix racism, ignoring disabilities doesn't fix ableism. It merely makes it worse.
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