There’s nothing like the smell of insults in the morning. I checked my Twitter feed and found this little gem:
I did some investigating about the lyrics which @AutisticPoet had referenced and found that they come from Drake’s song “Jodeci Freestyle”. In the last few days, J. Cole has certainly gotten the wrong kind of attention for these lyrics. There are many, myself included, who are upset at him because he chose to use the word “autistic” as an insult. “Autistic” by itself is merely a descriptive word that describes a person on the autism spectrum, or a person with autistic traits – unfortunately, the way in which J. Cole and others use the word can change its connotation to being negative, demeaning, and potentially dehumanizing.
Some in the autistic community are already taking action about this. Anna Kennedy and the Anti-Bullying Alliance have started a petition asking for an apology from J. Cole and Drake for the offensive lyrics. But I think this particular incident is indicative of a larger issue: the severe need for autism understanding and acceptance in the Black community.
One Negro speaks of rivers: change
the term, but the color’s still the same – and I speak
of computer hard drive brains, over-wired
circuitry, and hearts that fracture
at the slightest jolt. The souls of Black Folk?
What about the souls of autistic Black Folk?
We mud colored, we chocolate colored, we
beige colored. We green colored, we alien.
(from my poem, “1 in 88, Nicole Style”)
(Note: This is a continuation of the series”The Souls of Black Autistic Folk”. I encourage the reader to read the introduction, part 1, and part 2 of this series.)
When Paul Robeson was alive, autism was not very well known or understood. By the time he was a young man at Rutgers, neither Dr. Leo Kanner nor Dr. Hans Asperger had coined their terms for what we now call autism or Asperger Syndrome – those discoveries would not come until the early 1940’s, when Robeson was well into his theatrical and singing career. The public was not really aware of autism until at least the 1960’s, and unfortunately, awareness and media coverage on the subject came in the form of articles that declared autistic people as “mental cripples” such as this infamous 1965 Time Magazine article documenting Dr. Ivar Lovaas and his research at UCLA which led to the ABA (Applied Behavioral Analysis) methods of today. (Warning to abuse survivors: this article contains potentially triggering material, as it discusses what would now be considered physical and verbal abuse.) And Robeson lived – and died – before individuals such as Dr. Temple Grandin began to speak public about autism, themselves as an autistic people, and began to allow the public to gain a glimpse into their worlds and realities.
And here is
Paul, the man made out of crossroads, seven or eight men
in one body. Call him Othello if you like. He is
voice-colored and fist-worn with Jim Crow’s black feathers
plastered to his knuckles. He has a sixteen track mind,
almost drowned by man-made lightning. He was a
serif font road sign: Poitier and Belafonte read him and
found their way to the stage. Here is Paul.
(an excerpt from my poem, “Tribe”)
I began this exploration of being African-American and autistic a few days ago by mentioning Paul Robeson, an individual where Black history and autism intersect. I had encountered the premise that Mr. Robeson had Asperger Syndrome in Norm Ledgin’s book Asperger’s and Self-Esteem: Insight and Hope Through Famous Role Models about two years ago and was immediately fascinated by it. While other African-American historical figures such as George Washington Carver and Benjamin Banneker are proposed to have been autistic, Robeson is the only African-American who to my knowledge has been analyzed for autistic traits using any sort of diagnostic criteria. And since my online journey began in late April 2010, I have noticed a distinct lack of the African-American presence in the online autism community. In an act of echolocation, I seek our presence to find, confirm, and perhaps reaffirm my own existence and reality as an African-American autistic. So Mr. Robeson, I have chosen you as my psychopomp for this journey.