Reflections on Employable Me

Employable Me (BBC 2, 23rd March 2016) has all the ingredients of the type of show that makes me cringe. Inspiring stories of disabled people overcoming their difficulties and finding happiness against the odds, giving the audience that warm, fuzzy ‘oh bless’ feeling. Footage of people struggling with everyday tasks and yet succeeding against the odds, the ‘inspiration porn’[1] we non-disabled seem to enjoy so much. One of my issues with this type of narrative is that it encourages us to focus on the difficulties, to notice the impairment and the problems, rather than finding the strengths and skills individuals might have. This ableist perspective, that views the ‘problem’ with the person, rather than with a society that cannot adapt, adds to the discourse of disability which only allows us to see the difficulty, rather than celebrate difference[2].

Within the first few minutes of the programme, however, my fears were laid to rest. While introducing us to the two protagonists of this episode, the narrator explored the idea that difficulties with finding employment comes from brains that are wired differently trying to cope with work places set up for the norm. As the show progressed, we were shown the real talents of Brett, an autistic 34 year-old desperate to get a job. He showed excellent visual skills when completing a match-stick task, as well as sitting down to play one of his own compositions on the piano. Director of the Autism Research Centre, Simon Baron-Cohen, went on to explain the real strength in understanding systems that autistic people often possess, but it is social difficulties that often mask these capabilities. In underestimating workers with ASC, employers are often losing out on adding a fresh perspective to their teams.

We later saw these social difficulties play out as Brett went for an interview. He found it almost impossible to answer any questions, and was clearly extremely uncomfortable throughout. By writing his ideas down before reading them out, Brett had previously explained how it feels to speak to strangers: “When I’m talking to strangers it’s like I can’t break through … social interaction is like a puzzle that can’t be solved – these people are waiting for a response, something, anything, and everything depends on it.” For some reason, people are often surprised by the thoughts of those who struggle to speak. It’s as if the lack of verbal communication means that cognition must also be affected[3]. Thankfully, the prospective employer was able to see potential when Brett discussed his love of computer modelling and 3D animation. Brett was given a two week trial.

Throughout his trial, we saw these two sides of Brett play out. His extreme social awkwardness with his colleagues at lunch, juxtaposed with his brilliant understanding of computer software. It seems cruel that Brett, and others like him, are judged on the things that they can’t do when applying for jobs, because these are so obvious in a world that values social skills above others. This is even more cruel when the job he wants to do requires few social skills. Perhaps one lesson Employable Me is trying to teach us is that the process for applying for a job should reflect the work that will be done, rather than simply reverting to the expected interview.

Brett was able to explain the way he sees the world in the following way: “I think very differently … my autism makes me question the world based on truth and logic … systems, no matter how complex, gradually become easier to understand the more questions you ask of them, all the secrets are there just waiting to be uncovered.” For a job requiring understanding of computer systems and software, this is exactly the type of worker any employer would want. Brett’s difficulty in understanding the intricacies of social interactions should not impact on his ability to do his work, and his employer was smart enough to see this.

At the end of this programme, what I was left with was a feeling of hope. Not that people with ASC can overcome their problems to find work, but that employers can get over their problems to see the true worth of employing people with diverse ways of thinking. Autistics are often described as inflexible, in fact the word is used as part of the diagnostic criteria (APA, 2013). What this programme made me think about is that it is the non-autistic world that is inflexible. It is employers who demand that people can negotiate the social conventions of an interview who are insisting on sameness. Hopefully Employable Me represents a shift in the way we value people, and Brett’s success can be replicated be others. With episode two due to air next week, I feel very optimistic.

Nicole Whitelaw

[1] This phrase was coined by the inimitable and spectacular Stella Young. See her TED talk here

[2] See my previous blog-post for further discussion of constructing stereotypes of autism

[3] The internet is full of examples of non-verbal autistics communicating by typing. Here is just one example. See also The Reason I Jump


Taking on the identity of ‘special needs’.

Trip (1993) points to ‘critical incidents’ in the career life of a teacher that can be influential and instructive. Experiencing these ‘critical incidents’ can make one stop and think. One such incident occurred for me. A young man of about 15 years of age presented himself at the classroom door of the learning support unit in a large inner city secondary school. After knocking politely he came in. I greeted this student in the usual friendly manner and as I had not previously met him I enquired who he was. The boy replied that he was, ‘special needs’ and had been sent to see me because he had been ‘chucked out’ of his classroom for ‘no reason’. I wasn’t expecting to see him so enquired who he was again and I got the same reply. Eventually he told me his name and I launched into my usual repertoire of building rapport and getting to know him. Later, when I reflected upon this encounter I began to feel disturbed by this exchange. Here was a young man towards the end of his schooling experience and was very firmly defining himself by his ‘label’. His actual name had become secondary to his supposed ‘condition’ and seemed to have completely defined him as a person. His ‘label’ was confirmed daily at school and at home too he became very much aware that he did not function in the same way as those around him. He felt he was not as ‘good’ as his brothers and sisters at home, he had few if any friends at school, and in classroom situations he was very much aware that even with the extra adult support available he was out of his depth. Break times and lunchtimes were completely miserable for him and he was always on the lookout for some quiet ‘bolthole’ where he could pass the time more quietly before once again having to go back into the classroom. Schooling seemed to be a succession of endurance tests and obstacles to be got through. Over the next few weeks I used all my ingenuity and best ploys to interest and engage him in his ‘curriculum work’ but with limited success. A steady stream of his teachers visited me and hoped that perhaps I could somehow get him through his GCSE work as they too felt under pressure to come up with some recognisable ‘results’. I began to feel under the same pressure as the young man to get him to ‘perform’ in the way in which the institution saw as important. He told me he had tried a bit of counselling over the years which was offered by the school but when the counsellor ran out of hot chocolate and he could no longer time appointments to miss maths he dropped it.

Eventually we had a ‘breakthrough’. It came in the form of ‘American Block Paving’ – something that I was completely ignorant of but soon found myself on a steep learning curve. In gradually getting to know him it transpired that his weekends and holidays were spent working with his dad and uncles in laying pathways, pavements and driveways using American Block Paving (ABP). Over the ensuing weeks I learnt everything about ABP from this young man. We scaled down some of the shapes and tessellated them together into patterns, worked out costings and areas, sourced the cheapest ‘quality’ products and matched batches for colour and quantity and quality.  He passed on to me some of the ‘tricks of the trade’ and advised on the best tools and materials to buy and how they could be adapted to make them more useful. We investigated grades of sand, mixes of cement and drainage issues.  Had I needed a driveway, pathway or pavement I would have had complete confidence in awarding this young man the contract without hesitation. Both of us however continued to feel under pressure for him to turn his evident wide abilities into attaining the much valued GCSE currency. His interests did slowly begin to widen and we worked on connecting up his existing knowledge to many different areas. However as for the GCSE currency, he was not having any of it. Months later a member of the senior management team hearing of the situation decided to pay an unexpected visit. Trying to be as friendly as possible towards the boy, whom he had not noticed in the school before, he introduced himself and asked his name. “Pleased to meet you sir”, said the boy, “I’m special needs”!

We need to think seriously about our present schooling system which ‘sifts, sorts and labels’ according to grade position, and  concentrates upon only one element of what it means to be human.

Margaret Mead writing in the 1970’s lamented the rise of a schooling system which divorced children and young adults from the ‘real world’ and forced them into ‘youth ghettos’ where instead of learning with and from adults in real world situations they instead mostly learnt only with and from those of their own age. Adults and young people need to come back in touch with each other once more and have real opportunities to learn with and from each other in meaningful occupations. Maybe it is time for us to look again at our nineteenth century system of schooling and ask ourselves whether it really does benefit everyone in its present form. We seem to have a real problem in recognising that difference is ordinary and one size does not fit all.

By Graham Robertson

Constructing Stereotypes of Autism

I have been privileged enough to work with young people with autism for most of my teaching career. Whenever people ask what I do, I always know what the response will be:

‘Oh, autism, isn’t that where they can’t talk?’

‘It must be hard, working with people who don’t have emotions.’

‘Don’t they get really obsessed with stuff?’

‘You mean like Rainman?’

It seems the main thing people know about autism is that it is not ‘normal’. Autistic people[1] are either seen as deficient and problematic, or endowed with superhuman abilities that have little practical use.

While trying to get people to see beyond the stereotypes can be frustrating for me as a teacher, I cannot imagine what it must be like to be a parent, sibling or autistic person faced with such immediate judgement and pigeon-holing. With a prevalence rate of approximately 1 in 100[2], it is likely that most people will have some direct experience of autism. So how have these stereotypes, which are often so far from the truth, been perpetuated?

One possible answer is that we look to the media to help us understand autism. We see quirky geniuses (Sheldon in Big Bang Theory and Saga in The Bridge) or individuals who cause significant problems for their families (Raymond in Rainman or Charlie in Black Balloon[3]). We are beginning to see more diverse depictions of autism on our screens (The Autistic Gardener, Julia in Sesame Street and the yet to be broadcast The A Word) which will hopefully go some way towards shifting perceptions. However, I believe our ableist view, which sees autism as a problem and something to be fixed, comes from somewhere far deeper.

The history of autism is a dark one that has included eugenics, ‘cure’ by electric shock and the blaming of mothers who do not love their children enough[4]. That these things have happened in our recent history may begin to explain our negative view of autism. It is my view, however, that it is the very language that is used to describe autism that has the greatest impact. Through the language they use, scientists, academics and researchers have constructed autism as a deficit. It is something that is other from ‘normal’, something to be fixed, changed and possibly even feared.

Take the language used in the diagnostic criteria currently used in the UK (ICD-10) The words used include ‘abnormal’, ‘impaired’, ‘failure’, ‘lack’, ‘deviant’, ‘weak’, ‘delayed’ and ‘restricted’. It could be argued that, as these criteria were written nearly 25 years ago that things have moved on, and we no longer think of autism in this way. However, the diagnostic criteria used in America (DSM-V) were written only three years ago, and contain a familiar list of words: ‘abnormal’, ‘deficit’, ‘impairment’, ‘failure’, ‘reduced’, ‘lack’, ‘absence’ and ‘restricted’. These criteria, which tell us what autism is, and what people diagnosed with autism are, focus almost entirely on a comparison with ‘normal’. Instead of describing strengths, outlining different perspectives and focusing on areas that are problematic for autistic people, these criteria outline the things that we ‘neurotypicals’ find problematic.

It is little wonder then, that when I tell people I work with young people with autism, they immediately think of the deficits. It is these deficits that are still used to define, diagnose and describe autism in academic and scientific literature. When a teacher has a child with autism in their class, the diagnostic report will be full of examples of what the pupil cannot do, and the skills the pupil lacks.

The reason this matters so much becomes apparent on reading any newspaper, on almost any date in the last few years. There seem to be constant stories of autistic people being seen only for their ‘deficits’, and being judged as a problem to society. There was the boy locked in a cage at school when he became too difficult, the young man left on a locked ward for 6 months and the boy denied residency of New Zealand because he would be too expensive for the state to support. These are just a few of the dozens of stories of autistic people being denied their rights, and in many cases suffering mental and physical harm. It is the view of autism as a deficit, something less than ‘normal’ that allows this to happen.

So what is the way forward? Some autistic advocates have suggested alternative diagnostic criteria, that look at differences rather than deficits (my favourite example can be found here) Similarly, some academics are starting to look more closely at how autism is assessed. One example looks at how a strength-based assessment can support teachers to see the potential in their autistic pupils, rather than focusing on the problems.

Those of us who work, or live, with autistic people have always known that it is a different (and some would say, better!) way of understanding the world. Until we start to change the language used and the focus on deficits in criteria, however, the rest of the world will go on expecting limiting stereotypes such as Rainman.

[1] Throughout this blog, I will be using ‘people with autism’ and ‘autistic people’, reflecting both the ‘people first’ movement and autistic advocates who believe that autism is part of them, meaning that the description ‘autistic’ is most appropriate. For more information about this debate, see this 2015 study

[2] See here for further facts about autism

[3] See here for a list of depictions of autism in the media

[4] For a comprehensive account of the history of autism, see Neurotribes by Steve Silberman