The term 'Superpowers'

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With the return of Netflix’s Atypical for its third season, and the increasingly huge public profiles of neurodiverse figures such as Greta Thunberg, it seems that autism has never been talked about more in the mainstream media. And yet depictions of autism frequently fail those they claim to represent, with dire consequences for autistic people.

There are two mainstream narratives surrounding autism: that it is either a blessing or a curse. Either you are gifted with savant-like traits (think Rain Man) and excel in areas such as mathematics, or your autism is the reason you are isolated, alone and miserable. When Greta Thunberg called out ableist bullying and challenged assumptions, even she resorted to the “superpower” stereotype. And in the case of media coverage, these two extremes in expectations are sometimes quite literally presented as a dichotomy, with Forbes running headlines such as “Is Greta Thunberg ‘disabled’ or a superhero?” What if it is neither? Or both?

Autistic people are being constrained by the expectations and judgments of neurotypical people because we are so rarely the ones given space to talk about autism. I suspect that is partly due to a belief that autistic people (and disabled people more broadly) cannot speak for themselves. Seldom are autistic people part of the creative teams developing storylines involving autism. Indeed, this was a large problem with Atypical in its first season – none of the writers, directors or producers was autistic, and this resulted in the perpetuation of many stereotypes the community has spoken out against.

What we are seeing in mainstream media is not a true reflection of autism. We are, instead, seeing what neurotypical people think autism is. Savan Gandecha, a YouTube creator and host of #AutismWithSav, told me he agrees that we need to “move away from the stereotypes – that will improve representation in the long run”. Autism is multifaceted, varied and exists on a spectrum, but we never see the diversity of autistic people and their symptoms.

Disability has a 2% representation rate in the popular media, and of that tiny figure, only 5% of disabled characters are played by disabled actors. The idea that this is adequate to represent one of the world’s largest marginalised groups is absurd.

The consequences stretch far beyond simply finding television cringeworthy or uncomfortable to watch. Given that public perceptions of autism are largely predicated on these mainstream portrayals in cinema, television, theatre or books, the consistently poor depictions and subsequent misunderstandings about the condition can be incredibly harmful. Autistic people on screen very rarely engage in behaviours that are seen as more taboo – for example, stimming behaviours such as rocking or flapping – or are seen to have meltdowns, and if they do, it is seen as something to be mocked.

The National Autistic Society reports that 28% of autistic people have been asked to leave a public space because of behaviours associated with being autistic, and I suspect that many of these people are adults. The charity’s study also shows that autistic adults think they are judged to be strange (84%), shy (70%) or antisocial (69%) and that people stare, tut or actively avoid them. The lack of representation of autistic adults adds to the myth that autism is something that is grown out of, which is just not how developmental disabilities work.

Even in journalism, neurotypical (or allistic, or non-autistic) professionals are commissioned to write and speak about autism, seemingly with little understanding that they are talking about a key part of someone’s identity. Most recently, when Greta Thunberg wrote about her autism as a driving force in her activism, the vast majority of articles about it demonstrated a fundamental lack of awareness surrounding the language autistic people prefer.

Depictions of autistic people as a monolith contribute to a culture in which we only recognise the condition in a small percentage of the people who are autistic. Despite what mainstream media would have you believe, not all autistic people are white, cisgender, young or male; for every four men or boys diagnosed with autism, only one woman or girl is – but that is probably because representations aren’t diverse enough. Savan concurs that “more representation is needed from other autistic people who are women and girls and … from BAME backgrounds”. Consequently, autism goes unrecognised and autistic people unsupported. We need representation that is made responsibly and with our input. We simply cannot afford for this misinformation to continue, even in the form of lighthearted teenage television shows.

There has been some progress. Hollyoaks cast autistic teenager Talia Grant to play an autistic character and Channel 4’s Are You Autistic? was hosted by, and with the input of, autistic experts, but this is only a tiny shift and one that is hugely outweighed by poor representation.

Autistic people ought to be the ones leading the conversation surrounding autism. But more importantly, allistic people need to listen and create a space in which we can do this. However, that would require an acknowledgment that no amount of well-intentioned speaking on behalf of autistic people will be anything other than ableist.

On Monday, an effigy of climate activist Greta Thunberg was hanged from a bridge in Rome. Around the effigy’s neck: A sign that read “Greta is your God.” Italian authorities have vowed to investigate, but the display seems to be the latest symptom of the fiercely polarized reaction that has greeted Thunberg—in this case the revulsion she’s inspired on the right.

The incident sparked the stunned headlines and tweets you’d expect. But I’ve also noticed a troubling flipside to Thunberg’s reception that’s drawn less attention. If not quite consecration, Thunberg has drawn intense adoration from the left, largely from well-meaning people who see a revolutionary figure in her. And that praise, too, has too often crossed the line into the dehumanizing.

All the reaction to Thunberg rests on a simple fact: her diagnosis 0f Asperger’s syndrome, a form of autism. On the right, it has been used to deride and delegitimize her accomplishments. There are numerous claims that she is being exploited by her parents, environmentalists, or otherwise unseen forces. The Federalist gave a particularly evocative account, claiming “sexualized dances, psychedelic hallucinogens, worshiping nature, confessing sins in pagan animism, worshiping purified teen saints, and throwing them up on an altar, bereft of their childhood.” (Seriously.) Who precisely is doing any of this is unclear, but it sounds like quite a party.

Then there are the commentators who love Thunberg—and portray her as something beyond human. At Vox, David Roberts claimed that autism confers the power to be “indifferent, often blind, to social cues and incentives,” “a kind of superpower.” Liza Featherstone at Jacobin reckons that autism makes Thunberg “uniquely suited” to leading a worldwide movement. The frontman of ABBA has also said that Greta Thunberg has a “superpower,” perhaps a garbled reference to a tweet in which Thunberg, or someone closer to her, wrote that “given the right circumstances- being different is a superpower.” On Twitter, she is “superhuman.”

I am also autistic. At first, this kind of praise was heartwarming. My autism presents in similar ways to Thunberg’s. Many of the things people laud about her—her tenacity, that she marches to the beat of her own drum, her seriousness—are things I and many of my autistic peers have been mocked for.

But the praise is not without harm. The idea that these qualities point to something deeper, something mystic, is far from new: It often takes on the form of the “disability superpower,” a classic cliché of “blind seers” and the like that goes back to Greek mythology and beyond. The most spectacularly silly recent example that comes to mind is in The Predator, the 2018 take on the dreadlocked aliens in which an autistic kid is being hunted by the predators because Asperger’s is “the next step in human evolution.” You don’t have to look far for more instances—they’re everywhere.

To do this to Thunberg, though, feels especially misguided. Pathologizing her skills is soft scorn. Attributing her talent to autism is a remarkably illiberal way of looking at leadership—that some people are simply better than others because of inborn traits. Part of what makes Thunberg so remarkable is her ability to inspire other young people to become activists. But if her clarity and leadership are essential biological facts, why would they even bother? To flatten her gifts to a result of her diagnosis undercuts exactly what’s made her such a powerful advocate in the first place.

More than that, it’s important to remember that superhuman and subhuman are both something other than human. They are two sides of the same degrading coin. It seems that no one is interested in simply allowing Thunberg to be what she is: a remarkable, talented young person who’s breaking through to millions.

Thunberg herself has been careful to avoid claiming to be anything other than human. She has repeatedly, in her speeches, invoked the fact that she would rather be in class or at home.

“You have stolen my childhood,” Thunberg told the United Nations during her speech there last month. This apparently hasn’t broken through. It is easier to think of her as a mascot or a mutant than as a human being. But doing so does not do justice to Thunberg’s work or message.