Autism is a spectrum; no two minds are alike. Yet within the autistic community, there is a creeping hypocrisy: the policing of each other’s language, identities and experiences. What was meant to be a movement of inclusion often becomes a battleground for who is autistic enough.
When one autistic person criticizes another for having certain privileges, such as verbal communication skills or the ability to hold a job, without recognizing that these strengths can coexist with significant struggles, it dismisses the complexity we advocate for from society. For example, someone may appear highly articulate while privately battling intense sensory overload or severe anxiety. Privilege and suffering are not opposites; they can, and often do, coexist. To truly honor neurodiversity, we must embrace the invisible as fiercely as the visible.
Language has also become a source of conflict. Some prefer to say “I have autism,” while others identify as “I’m autistic.” These choices reflect personal experiences and relationships with their diagnoses, not moral failings. When we criticize someone for using language that doesn’t align with our own preferences, we impose our reality onto theirs. If we so often say, “If you’ve met one person with autism, you’ve met one person with autism,” why do we forget this within our own ranks?
I once wrote, “I may have a disability, but I refuse to let my disability have me.” I was attacked for being ableist. Against myself. How can self-determination be ableist? Rejecting someone’s personal philosophy because it doesn’t align with yours is not advocacy; it’s arrogance. Disability is not a monolith, it is deeply subjective. Some will find pride in their diagnosis; others will resent it; many will oscillate. All are valid.
Perhaps this infighting stems from the fragile nature of identity. When autism becomes a cornerstone of selfhood, any challenge to that framing feels like a threat. But identity is not universal; it is relational. What liberates one may confine another. The truest expression of neurodiversity lies in tolerating that paradox.
The most dangerous outcome of self-policing is the alienation of allies. If I, an autistic self-advocate, hesitate to share my truth for fear of backlash, what message does that send to outsiders? Civil rights movements are built on solidarity; not purity tests.
Infighting impedes improvement. Belittlement is not the language of liberation. If we truly believe in diversity of mind, we must lift each other up, not tear each other down.
To bridge these communication gaps, we must embrace various perspectives; not as threats to our own, but as essential threads in the fabric of understanding. This requires vulnerable conversation in spaces that are both safe and affirming, where disagreement is met with curiosity rather than condemnation.
Growth is not born from echo chambers; it is forged in the willingness to sit with discomfort, to listen with the intent to understand, and to engage with the full complexity of the human experience. True inclusion is not just about representation; it is about dialogue, respect, and the courage to hold space for perspectives beyond our own.