By Chris Bass
For the last few years, I have been exploring texts written from a neurodiverse perspective. Neurodiversity is a term developed by autistic activists who fight for their right to be heard and better understood. The term aims to broaden our appreciation for the possibilities of the human brain—The autistic perspective diversifies our cultural narrative and is just one of many different, sometimes divergent, human perspectives in our society.
The author, David Mitchell, expresses the importance of the neurodiverse perspective in his introduction to Naoki Higashida’s New York Times bestseller, The Reason I Jump. These opening 11 pages convey his frustration with texts that ignore the possibilities of children with autism. Mitchell’s use of metaphor, simile, Greek allusions, and beautiful sensory details contribute to an engaging highly accessible introduction in which he shares the difficulties that both parents and their children with autism face in a world that often doesn’t consider the positive possibilities of the neuro-spectrum. His first reaction to Higashida’s text was similar to mine: Higashida’s “explanations about why children with autism do what they do were, literally, the answers that we had been waiting for” (XIV).
I highly recommend this text to those who want to better understand the diverse perspective of people with autism. That said, this text is not a standard narrative; there is no linear plot line. Rather, the text itself consists of a series of questions. Higashida provides answers to questions that either he believes most people want to know or that contradict assumptions people typically make about people with autism.
The answers are powerful because of what they lack—scientific jargon, coded language, deficit narratives. Sadly these are all too common traits of texts about adolescents with autism. Higashida provides honest, simple answers that avoid any political correctness. Amongst the questions and answer format are bits of prose, poetry, and beautiful black and white illustrations of various organic shapes. As a result, the text feels approachable and the question answer format does not overwhelm the reader.
Perhaps more impressive, Naoki Higashida wrote this text when he was 13 years old. Though the text has been translated and edited from its original Japanese, you can sense the youthful energy and dynamic intellect of a young writer with autism.
As a high school teacher, I was captivated by his energetic articulation. I found myself wondering how often I failed to allow the time and space for my students with autism to fully articulate their thoughts. Moreover, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of all inclusion teachers reading this text in replace of the many Professional Development pieces that reinforce the deficit narrative of students with autism. Too often, Professional Development is void of the student voice and focuses on all the things that our students cannot do. True accommodation for our inclusion students could begin with encouraging teachers to read this text. The Reason I Jump helps us appreciate what all of our students can do while also better understanding why they do what they do.
During my reading, I felt the power of neurodiversity. Higashida explains that his goal is to encourage people to “spare a little time to listen to what I have to say. And have a nice trip through our world” (4).
Higoshida reminds us that we are all a part of this world; listening to diverse perspectives strengthens our collective experience in it. In answering the question, “What are your thoughts on autism itself?” Higashida explains, “although people with autism look like other people physically, we are in fact different in many ways […] If, by our being here, we could help the people of the world remember what truly matters for the Earth, that would give us a quiet pleasure” (111). Though a bit idealistic, the 13 year old writer conveys the potential of polyvocality.
I end with a passage that I think is important for teachers. It is taken from David Mitchell’s Introduction: “Naoki Higashida reiterates repeatedly that no, he values the company of other people very much. But because communication is so fraught with problems, a person with autism tends to end up alone in a corner, where people then see him or her and think, aha, classic sign of autism, that […] emotional poverty and an aversion to company are not symptoms of autism but consequences of autism, its harsh lockdown on self-expression and society’s near-pristine ignorance about what’s happening inside autistic heads” (Italics his XV).
I appreciate the differentiation between consequences and symptoms. I feel that my training as an inclusion teacher has never considered the ways in which teachers may make assumptions about our students based on the I.E.P. notes, incoming data reports, or standardized assessment scores.
As we become more reliant on proving student growth, it is exciting to consider the many ways that we may assess growth outside of traditional modes of assessing and scoring student intellect. Through listening to the neurodiversity of our community, we can imagine a more diverse means of learning that may help us discover what truly matters for the Earth.
However brief it takes for you to read, the answers will remain long after the book has closed.
Chris has been teaching High School English in the Chicago suburbs for eight years. He is also a Ph.D. student in English Education at the University of Illinois Chicago where he teaches Freshman Composition.