Why Johnny Doesn’t Flap: a problematic parody

I came across this book in the children’s section of the library last week. It’s called “Why Johnny Doesn’t Flap: NT is OK!” The authors, Clay and Gail Morton, have a son with autism and are self-described members of the neurodiversity movement.

My first reaction to this book was delight. It’s a pretty clever parody of books that attempt to get neurotypical/abled children to be accepting of those who are different (a worthwhile goal but usually condescending in its execution). It’s refreshing and funny. It takes the point of view of the autistic child, a welcome perspective shift that needs to happen a lot more. Here are a couple snippets so you get the idea:

“Johnny has problems with communication. He will say that a math test was ‘a piece of cake’ when he really means that it was easy.”

“Johnny watches the same television shows that I do, but he never recites the opening credits word for word. In fact, I’m not even sure he has them memorized. He sure picks funny things to focus on, but that’s OK.”

There is also an entertaining “Note for Parents” at the end, which informs the reader that “According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, as many as 67 in 68 children may be neurotypical.”

Despite my giggling, something niggled at me. I wondered if it would be possible to write a parody that similarly shifted perspective, but took the point of view of an individual who (for example) uses an AAC device to communicate and needs assistance to use the bathroom. I got particularly stuck on this line, when the narrator laments his friend’s lack of interest in hydraulic forklifts:

“He might never be a real expert on anything, but he’s a good person, so that’s OK.”

I thought a lot about why this line bothered me and finally determined that it’s because it attempts to subvert the ableist paradigm while still accepting it. There’s an implication that the autistic character’s value is shown by his expertise in a technical subject. Intelligence justifies his divergent neurology. Where does that leave autistic individuals who are intellectually disabled?

There are definitely connections between various forms of neurodivergence and certain strains of intelligence and creativity. This is part of the beauty of neurodiversity – of the wonderfully intricate, fragile human brain in all its variation. At the same time, these connections do not appear in every individual. Not every person with schizophrenia is a math genius. Not every person with autism is a programmer. Not every person with bipolar disorder is an artist.

The individuals who have divergent neurology without associated gifts are part of the pattern in the human race that produces those gifts, produces science, poetry, etc. But that is not the substance of their worth as human beings. For that matter, it’s not the substance of worth even for people who do have those gifts. It took me a while to learn this, because for a long time I thought that my literary abilities justified my mental illness, that my value as a person depended on how smart or gifted I was to balance out my impairment. Once I realized that that wasn’t true – that I have as much value as the Nobel Prize winning novelist, and also as much value as the homeless man who recites his poems in coffee shops, and as much value as the nonverbal intellectually disabled woman who’s never written anything at all, because each of them has the same damn value – I was able to enjoy writing for the first time in years.

But back to the book. I was curious what exactly the authors’ take on neurodiversity was, so I googled and found this interview , in which they are quoted as saying: “Why do people with high-functioning autism have a disorder while non-autistic people are ‘normal?'”

Note the deliberate exclusion of “low-functioning” autistic individuals from arguable “normalcy”.

In my opinion, this is the major issue that the neurodiversity movement needs to tackle right now. There are advocates who say “The neurodiversity paradigm is for everyone, no matter how affected and impaired; it’s for those on disability benefits, it’s for those with aides, it’s for those who communicate by nonverbal means”; and there are others like Clay and Gail Morton who say, “Neurodiversity means that mildly affected individuals should be fully accepted because they don’t really have a disorder.” Those are very, very, VERY different stances.

I have major problems with the second approach. It’s actually deeply ableist (I explained why in this post). It’s exclusionary. It’s also, I think, a teensy bit delusional. (If you really can’t figure out what you have in common with those “low functioning” autistic people, then maybe stop describing yourself as autistic?)

A neurodiversity movement that excludes those who are most impaired by their neurology is just another form of elitist garbage, and I don’t have time for that.

The neurodiversity movement that I embrace, that I want to be reshaped by, that I want to tell others about, is expressed by autistic activists like Amy Sequenzia (who is nonspeaking) and Lydia Brown. Instead of seeking inclusion as neurodivergent people within the dominant, able-bodied, neurotypical paradigm, they simply reject it. They refuse to be defined by it. Anything less than that, no matter how clever or well intentioned it may be, falls short.

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