A Note
I'm going to try something different on most Tuesdays for at least the next six weeks or so. I'll be taking some of the books, podcasts, and videos I consume and sharing intriguing or useful ideas from them—three ideas, to be exact. And so, unless a better name presents itself, the series will be titled "Three Ideas."
There are a few reasons for giving this a try. First, I want to practice re-engaging with works and building my recall of their ideas. Second, I take in a lot of interesting stuff, and I want to tell you about it! Third, I've taken on some big client and personal projects lately—so while I wouldn't call this series a 'shortcut,' it does give me something pretty concrete to build an editorial calendar around while my attention is more divided.
Finally, "Three Ideas" will balance freely available and premium content. Initially, I plan to offer a quick overview of the book, podcast, or video and one idea for all subscribers. The other two ideas will be for premium subscribers. This allows me to offer something valuable to everyone while also providing a bit more to those financially supporting my work.
That said, this first edition is available in full to everyone!
Three Ideas for Rethinking Neurodiversity
To kick off this series, I want to dig into a brand-new book called Autism Is Not a Disease: The Politics of Neurodiversity by Jodie Hare.
Neurodiversity generally and autism specifically have experienced a bit of a boom in publishing over the last five to ten years. Many of these books demystify the individual experience of autism and share how the authors process their diagnoses, including my favorite, The Electricity of Every Living Thing, by
. Others look at the psychology of neurodivergence, debunk misconceptions about neurodivergence, or offer tips for navigating the world as neurodivergent people.Autism Is Not a Disease doesn't fit into any of those categories. It's not about the individual experience of autism or neurodivergence. It's a manifesto that offers a distinctly political perspective.
Hare synthesizes arguments from both advocates and academia to present a coherent case for the 'neurodiversity campaign.' She urges readers to question the very idea that there is a 'normal' way for a brain to function or a 'standard' way for human beings to socialize and communicate. In the process, Hare questions a wide range of assumptions that impact everyone regardless of diagnosis (or lack thereof).
Before I get to 3 core ideas from this book, I want to clarify a bit of language:
'Neurodiversity’ refers to the many different ways we process and communicate, along with the movement to create a more inclusive society for all people regardless of how they process or communicate. Neurodiversity functions the same way racial diversity or gender diversity does. A group can be neurodiverse—an individual isn't.
‘Neurodivergent’ is an adjective that can describe an individual and refers to a loose set of cognitive, development, and social conditions. It can help build solidarity between people who don't share a particular diagnosis but share similar social and political concerns. Individuals may or may not identify with or prefer the label neurodivergent.
My preference is always to use specific, identity-first language. I’m an autistic woman—not a woman with autism and definitely not a woman ‘on the spectrum.’1 If I’m referring to myself along with others who may or may not share my specific condition, then I’m happy to say that I’m a neurodivergent person.
Because Hare’s book concerns a whole group of people with various conditions and intersecting identities, you’ll hear me say neurodivergent when referring to people and neurodiversity when referring to the movement.
1. Neurodiversity is a political movement
"Instead of framing us as outsiders who do not fit into society, the neurodiversity campaign understands that the way we have structured society does not successfully account for all its members."
The neurodiversity movement aims to recognize the wide variety of ways that brains work and cognitive processing occurs. Instead of seeing neurodivergence as a departure from 'normal,' neurodiversity as a political movement rejects the very idea of 'normal.'
'Normal' isn't synonymous with 'typical' or 'common.' Unlike those words, 'normal' always carries a value judgment. Labeling something (or someone) as 'normal' or 'abnormal' signals a relationship to power structures.
Consider these two statements:
It’s common for women to become mothers.
It’s normal for women to become mothers.
The first statement is factually accurate. The only thing it implies about women who don’t become mothers is that it’s the less common choice.
The second statement is different. Saying that it’s normal for women to become mothers implies that it’s abnormal for women not to become mothers. When motherhood is used normatively like this, it pressures the subject to conform.
Rejecting the idea of ‘normal’ is rejecting that pressure to conform.
"The campaign asks us to unpack our society's desire to define a 'normal' brain against on that functions differently."
'Neuronormativity' describes the pressures and mechanisms by which 'normal' social interaction, communication, and self-presentation are enforced, both subtly and overtly, in the same way 'heteronormativity' does for sexuality and family. Neuronormative pressure can be challenging to spot, especially if you don't bump up against its limits regularly.
Neurodiversity, as a political movement, asks us to consider how we can create social, economic, and welfare systems that don't rely on constructed norms. It's a heightened awareness of how these systems privilege some ways of being and communicating and exclude others.
Neurodiversity asks us to sit with the discomfort that often arises when someone presents or behaves unexpectedly. Instead of labeling it as 'abnormal' or disruptive, how might we all learn to expect the unexpected when it comes to ways of being, expressing needs, and reaching for connection?
2. Productivity shouldn’t be the bar for inclusion
"I don't believe that neurodivergence is a barrier to a 'good life'; I understand how so many of our socially and culturally constructed ideas of a good life are currently informed by capitalist ideas of productivity that can enable the alienation and marginalisation of neurodivergent people."
When we see the world through capitalism-colored glasses, we often perceive the value of ourselves and others based on our productivity. Are we contributing more than we're using? Are we doing our 'fair share?' Are we 'makers' or 'takers?'
I know, I know... not you. You've learned to resist placing people and activities in a hierarchy of economic utility. I believe you—and also, nobody is perfect. This stuff runs deep. It's baked into what we study, how we vacation, what toothpaste we buy, and who we socialize with.
Further, many popular approaches to neurodiversity adopt the logic of neoliberalism. These approaches look for ways to maximize the economic utility of some neurodivergent tendencies and encourage individuals to view stigmatized traits as 'superpowers' in the workplace. While those approaches can help us survive our current systems, they don't bring us any closer to a more inclusive society.
"Until we stop viewing human life through the prism of work, inequality will remain or continue to worsen."
Productivity—or any measure of economic utility—cannot be the bar we set to judge who is includable and who is excludable. Our idea of a 'good life' cannot be predicated on the ability to navigate the market.
3. Question the commodification of neurodiversity
"This process of making neurodivergence 'marketable' can lead to a form of hyper-individualism that rejects the true tenets of neurodiversity and fails to advocate for those who have the least proximity to power, or whose politics reject the imperatives of capital."
"Markets are conversations," assert the authors of The Cluetrain Manifesto—and the conversation about neurodiversity is a lively one. The more people talk about their diagnoses, experiences, and frustrations, the more attractive the market becomes to those with something to sell. From fidget toys to nutritional supplements, management trainings to productivity coaches, business seems to be booming.
While many of these products and services are, at best, placebos, others do make a positive difference. We should have access to products designed with our unique experiences in mind. However, trying to solve social and political exclusion with consumer goods only reinforces the perception that neurodivergent brains are faulty and abnormal. Commodification makes neurodivergence into a problem for an individual consumer to solve.
Moreover, access to consumer goods aimed at neurodivergent people is not equal. It is predicated on access to financial resources, creating a system where those already better off can afford the products and services to help them get further ahead while others struggle for inclusion.
When so many products and services aimed at neurodivergent people are also incredibly useful to people who do not identify as such, we have to wonder about the deficiencies of our built environment and social expectations. Think noise-canceling headphones, adaptive seating, stimming aids, or even cultural technologies like Dungeons & Dragons.
Maybe a world with less noise or visual stimulation, more movement, fewer mind-numbing requirements, and more straightforward ways to meet and interact with people would be better for everyone.
And that’s the political aim of the neurodiversity movement.
This is not every autistic person’s preference—although there seems to be some emerging consensus on the topic. Every person has a right to use the language that best represents their identity.
Share this post