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En i familien min har asbergers. Og han sliter en del og har det ikke så greit.
Men autismespekterforstyrrelser er så mangt. En venn av meg er høytfungerende og tar nå en doktorgrad innenfor et sært emne.
Men det han avsløres på er manglende sosialt samspill, sosiale koder og forstår ikke ironi.
Men er ganske sosial i sin helhet.
Men autismespekterforstyrrelser er så mangt. En venn av meg er høytfungerende og tar nå en doktorgrad innenfor et sært emne.
Men det han avsløres på er manglende sosialt samspill, sosiale koder og forstår ikke ironi.
Men er ganske sosial i sin helhet.
G
Gjestemedlem
Gjest
Veldig bra. Samme konseptet, men jeg viste ikke om dem. Jeg liker dette mye av flere grunner. Mest fordi jeg ikke liker at individer med ressurser går til spille fordi de ikke passer inn i malen og ikke deltar så mye i det sosiale spillet som preger mange arbeidsplasser.
Ikke at jeg vil avvise utfordringene med de som virkelig har fått utdelt en dårlig hånd her i livet, men jeg liker at det er klassifisert som et spektrum uten at jeg helt forstår hva som skjer om man dreier på spakene.
Jeg prøver ikke å romantisere, men snarere prøve å løfte de som faktisk har mye å gi, uten å forvente det av de som har mer enn nok med egne utfordringer.
G
Gjestemedlem
Gjest
Jeg er litt enig med Pinky om at Rain Man er en klisje og litt stereotyp. Det er mye bedre filmroller der ute.
..
He didn’t realize it at the time, but when Brent Spiner portrayed an android named “Data,” during 177 episodes of Star Trek, he was an inspiration for those suffering from autism and Asperger syndrome.
Often struggling to understand human emotion, “Data” was one of the few characters on TV that people with autism or Asperger syndrome could relate to because he was trying to understand feelings and humanity in the same way they did.
https://www.geekwire.com/2013/brent-spiner-star-trek/
..
He didn’t realize it at the time, but when Brent Spiner portrayed an android named “Data,” during 177 episodes of Star Trek, he was an inspiration for those suffering from autism and Asperger syndrome.
Often struggling to understand human emotion, “Data” was one of the few characters on TV that people with autism or Asperger syndrome could relate to because he was trying to understand feelings and humanity in the same way they did.
https://www.geekwire.com/2013/brent-spiner-star-trek/
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Ikke bare samme konsept, det er det samme. Du har vel vist en utenlands sak om en norsk bedrift.
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Litt dypere inn i autisme er guttungen i "Mercury rising." Ikke den helt store filmen, men den viser litt av de tunge sidene med autisme.
G
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https://autismtreatmentcenter.org/
Søtt, ikke sant?
http://www.researchautism.net/interventions/23/son-rise-program-and-autism?print=1
Sannheten
For ordens skyld, vi var nær ved å gå på limpinnen ang. SonRise.
Søtt, ikke sant?
http://www.researchautism.net/interventions/23/son-rise-program-and-autism?print=1
Sannheten
For ordens skyld, vi var nær ved å gå på limpinnen ang. SonRise.
G
Gjestemedlem
Gjest
.. det der virker på meg som noe som er laget for at foreldrene skal få litt intuitiv forståelse av hvordan barnet tenker.. som i og for seg er en godt tanke. Men jeg tror ikke foreldrerollen bør handle for mye om å "leke med barnet" og late som om man i barnets øyne forstår dem når de ikke har den fjerneste anelse.
Det er noe helt feil med den tilnærmingen. Litt "fri oppdragelse" og hippiementalitet på en måte, med et snev av en religiøs sekt, AA, conversion therapy etc. (ikke bare litt kynisk)
Bullshitradaren min pinger høyt når jeg ser slikt som dette.
(Dette er bare et førsteinntrykk etter et par artikler og litt youtube, jeg kjenner ikke til dem... men det er noe som skurrer).
Jeg tror dere gjorde lurt i å holde dere langt unna.
my 2c
Jeg har vel postet litt før fra Tony Attwood, men jeg mener hans tilnærming er verdt å studere litt. Det er mye gull der og ikke bare humbug...
G
Gjestemedlem
Gjest
Du kan ikke forandre autisme, men du kan prøve å forstå det
De er ikke syke (og noen som trenger forandring, forbedring og frelse), men de lever i en dimensjon du ikke har tilgang til. De gir deg hint og små signaler og håper at du forstår dem, men støynivået må være lavt, eller situasjonen intuitativ, for at du skal kunne plukke opp signalene, finne frekvensen og da først kunne kommunisere som vi er vant med og tar for gitt i vår verden.
Temple Grandin bruker eksternt trykk for å finne frekvensen. Stenge ute støysignalene.
De er ikke syke (og noen som trenger forandring, forbedring og frelse), men de lever i en dimensjon du ikke har tilgang til. De gir deg hint og små signaler og håper at du forstår dem, men støynivået må være lavt, eller situasjonen intuitativ, for at du skal kunne plukke opp signalene, finne frekvensen og da først kunne kommunisere som vi er vant med og tar for gitt i vår verden.
Temple Grandin bruker eksternt trykk for å finne frekvensen. Stenge ute støysignalene.
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Neurodiversity is failing the most vulnerable
Treating autism as an identity has resulted in care being denied to those who need it most.
https://www.spiked-online.com/2020/04/06/neurodiversity-is-failing-the-most-vulnerable/
Autism is among the most controversial subjects of our time. During my 10 years or so as an autistic self-advocate, I have witnessed a litany of pet theories, ideologies and movements jostle for supremacy in a field that seems increasingly fraught with division. In the absence of a scientific consensus on this complex and multifaceted condition, with which over 1,000 candidate genes and 100 de novo mutations are associated, it is highly unlikely that everyone will ever agree on how autism is to be defined, what its root causes are, or how we ought to proceed in improving the lives of those affected.
In an article I wrote for the Guardian last August, I argued that autism as a diagnostic label has become so broad as to be medically meaningless. I highlighted the absurdity of lumping highly intelligent ‘Aspies’ (a slang term for people with Asperger’s syndrome), such as Greta Thunberg (who famously declared her autism a ‘superpower’), in the same category as children and adults who regularly injure and soil themselves and require round-the-clock care. This echoed the warnings of Laurent Mottron, an autism expert at the University of Montreal. He says that autism is now so over-diagnosed that in 10 years time the category of autism will become meaningless. He predicts that there will be no difference between someone diagnosed with the condition and a non-autistic person.
My Guardian piece, though well received by the majority of readers, sparked a backlash from proponents of a small but influential movement known as neurodiversity. Neurodiversity was once a relatively fringe tendency. But in recent years it has become the dominant paradigm in autism discourse owing to its popularity among academics and journalists. Steve Silberman’s book, NeuroTribes, which received many laudatory reviews for putting a positive spin on a deeply stigmatised condition, helped to bring the neurodiversity paradigm into popular consciousness.
With its emphasis on social justice and autistic-led advocacy, the neurodiversity movement appears noble in its intentions. On the surface, at least, it is hard to object to its impulses for inclusion, social justice, better workplace accommodations and service provision. It emphasises the positives of the condition in contrast to a medical model which views autistic people only as checklists of deficits and dysfunctions. However, as I soon discovered, the mask of compassion quickly slips away the moment anyone deviates from the party line.
Perhaps one of the most troubling developments in the autism-advocacy sphere over the past several years (aside from the proliferation of vaccine conspiracies and the peddling of harmful quack remedies like bleach enemas) has been a growing intolerance towards perspectives that challenge the basic assumptions of neurodiversity. Neurodiversity advocates have waged online hate campaigns targeting parents and autistics who question the notion that autism is merely a bright thread in humanity’s rich neurological tapestry.
I received my baptism of fire four years ago when, despite having garnered popularity in the advocacy community, I committed the thoughtcrime of suggesting that struggling parents of profoundly affected autistic individuals are deserving of greater support from self-advocates. In the minds of neurodiversity advocates, I was being traitorous to my ‘neurotribe’ by sympathising with a group of people often considered oppressors and deniers of autistic identity by the more radical elements within the community.
Accusations of being an ‘autistic Uncle Tom’, ‘self-hating’ and even ‘aut-right’ were thrown my way in a social-media firestorm which lasted for several days. Not long after, and with a slightly devil-may-care attitude, I fully renounced any claim to being ‘neurodiverse’, along with the much-vaunted status it confers within the online self-advocacy community. I suggested in a Facebook community called Neurodiverse UK that we ought to consider discussing the possibility of a cure for the most life-limiting variants of autism. The group’s code of conduct stipulates that anyone engaging in ‘pro-cure talk’ would be banned with immediate effect. And the group was true to its word. I was relentlessly castigated, doxxed and, on one occasion, physically threatened for my suggestion.
It was during this difficult time that I came to learn of Jonathan Mitchell, a veteran autistic blogger from Los Angeles. Over the years, Mitchell has been subjected to vast amounts of abuse for wanting a cure for a condition which he describes as a ‘disease’. He has led a one-man crusade against neurodiversity, relentlessly arguing for a cure and rejecting neurodiversity’s key tenet – that it is ‘neurotypical’ society and oppressive parents, as opposed to autism itself, which are largely to blame for autistic suffering. His blog, entitled ‘Autism Gadfly’, has been a consistent thorn in the side of a movement which routinely seeks to silence dissenting voices through intimidation.
In 2015, when Newsweek reached out to Mitchell for a feature article, neurodiversity proponent and blogger Philip Gluyas implored the magazine to withdraw the article, describing Mitchell as a ‘hater’ and ‘a threat to the stability of the autistic community’. Despite a chorus of execration from neurodiversity proponents, Newsweek published the feature. It came out roughly around the same time I had officially ‘apostatised’ as well. I made contact with Mitchell and we spoke at length about our common experiences of abuse and about life on the spectrum. We both agreed that the main fissure in our community lay between those who viewed their autism as a disorder and those who celebrated their autism as an identity.
The sacralisation of autism as an identity has led to many neurodiversity-supporting self-advocates viewing treatments – the sort of which might alleviate substantial suffering for those on the lower spectrum – as tantamount to bigotry, hate and even eugenics. Steve Silberman describes autism as a ‘valuable part of humanity’s genetic legacy’. Meanwhile, Nick Walker, a particularly strident advocate of neurodiversity, runs a blog called ‘Neurocosmopolitanism’. He argues that:
‘Individuals and organisations that speak of autism as a “disease” or “tragedy,” and that talk of “curing” it, should be prosecuted for hate speech and incitement to violence, just as if they were advocating a Final Solution to the Jewish Problem.’
In Walker’s view, autistics such as Mitchell who voice their desire for a cure, as well as parents who have the temerity to express sadness over their child’s disability, ought to be criminalised.
As Walker sees it, no compromises can be made: neurodiversity is a militant struggle for autistic liberation analogous to the civil-rights movement of the 1960s. Curing autism, in his mind, is as unconscionable as trying to cure homosexuality, which, until 1973, was considered by mainstream psychiatry to be a mental disorder. Many would find his comparison between sexual preferences and a cognitive disability invidious. But in neurodiversity circles, this is nothing out of the ordinary. John Marble, an Obama White House appointee and a prominent exponent of neurodiversity, tweeted that: ‘THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SEVERE AUTISM, just as there is no such thing as “severe homosexuality” or “severe blackness”.’
The with-us-or-against-us certainty of the neurodiversity movement not only acts as an angry mob online, but also, more alarmingly, it is having real-life consequences for the most marginalised people on the spectrum, many of whom, due to the nature of their disability, cannot protest.
Bruce Hall, a photographer and father of two severely autistic boys, laments the overreach of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network (ASAN), a neurodiversity organisation which cheers the closure of care facilities in the US which it deems ‘too institutional’. ASAN’s de-institutionalisation push has resulted in cuts to service provision for those who need it the most. Hall’s son was placed in the Fairview Development Centre in Costa Mesa, California. It had open spaces, a play area and a petting zoo. The centre offered respite to the family and tranquillity to their son. But this was taken away from them. The closure of centres like these are viewed as victories in the fight for ‘autistic liberation’ by the advocates of neurodiversity – the bulk of whom tend to be cognitively gifted Aspies and are often as ignorant as the lay public about the stark realities of caring for someone with severe autism.
Challenging neurodiversity’s power grab of the autism space has led to an exacerbation of my already debilitating anxiety – a common comorbidity of autism. Several autistic defectors from the neurodiversity movement have messaged me privately in support but have admitted they are too scared to express their views publicly. This is understandable. Had I been aware of the unforgiving climate I was entering into, I would have likely avoided the topic altogether, deleted my Twitter account and chosen instead to focus on what I love most: trains. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to keep speaking out.
Tom Clements
Treating autism as an identity has resulted in care being denied to those who need it most.
https://www.spiked-online.com/2020/04/06/neurodiversity-is-failing-the-most-vulnerable/
Autism is among the most controversial subjects of our time. During my 10 years or so as an autistic self-advocate, I have witnessed a litany of pet theories, ideologies and movements jostle for supremacy in a field that seems increasingly fraught with division. In the absence of a scientific consensus on this complex and multifaceted condition, with which over 1,000 candidate genes and 100 de novo mutations are associated, it is highly unlikely that everyone will ever agree on how autism is to be defined, what its root causes are, or how we ought to proceed in improving the lives of those affected.
In an article I wrote for the Guardian last August, I argued that autism as a diagnostic label has become so broad as to be medically meaningless. I highlighted the absurdity of lumping highly intelligent ‘Aspies’ (a slang term for people with Asperger’s syndrome), such as Greta Thunberg (who famously declared her autism a ‘superpower’), in the same category as children and adults who regularly injure and soil themselves and require round-the-clock care. This echoed the warnings of Laurent Mottron, an autism expert at the University of Montreal. He says that autism is now so over-diagnosed that in 10 years time the category of autism will become meaningless. He predicts that there will be no difference between someone diagnosed with the condition and a non-autistic person.
My Guardian piece, though well received by the majority of readers, sparked a backlash from proponents of a small but influential movement known as neurodiversity. Neurodiversity was once a relatively fringe tendency. But in recent years it has become the dominant paradigm in autism discourse owing to its popularity among academics and journalists. Steve Silberman’s book, NeuroTribes, which received many laudatory reviews for putting a positive spin on a deeply stigmatised condition, helped to bring the neurodiversity paradigm into popular consciousness.
With its emphasis on social justice and autistic-led advocacy, the neurodiversity movement appears noble in its intentions. On the surface, at least, it is hard to object to its impulses for inclusion, social justice, better workplace accommodations and service provision. It emphasises the positives of the condition in contrast to a medical model which views autistic people only as checklists of deficits and dysfunctions. However, as I soon discovered, the mask of compassion quickly slips away the moment anyone deviates from the party line.
Perhaps one of the most troubling developments in the autism-advocacy sphere over the past several years (aside from the proliferation of vaccine conspiracies and the peddling of harmful quack remedies like bleach enemas) has been a growing intolerance towards perspectives that challenge the basic assumptions of neurodiversity. Neurodiversity advocates have waged online hate campaigns targeting parents and autistics who question the notion that autism is merely a bright thread in humanity’s rich neurological tapestry.
I received my baptism of fire four years ago when, despite having garnered popularity in the advocacy community, I committed the thoughtcrime of suggesting that struggling parents of profoundly affected autistic individuals are deserving of greater support from self-advocates. In the minds of neurodiversity advocates, I was being traitorous to my ‘neurotribe’ by sympathising with a group of people often considered oppressors and deniers of autistic identity by the more radical elements within the community.
Accusations of being an ‘autistic Uncle Tom’, ‘self-hating’ and even ‘aut-right’ were thrown my way in a social-media firestorm which lasted for several days. Not long after, and with a slightly devil-may-care attitude, I fully renounced any claim to being ‘neurodiverse’, along with the much-vaunted status it confers within the online self-advocacy community. I suggested in a Facebook community called Neurodiverse UK that we ought to consider discussing the possibility of a cure for the most life-limiting variants of autism. The group’s code of conduct stipulates that anyone engaging in ‘pro-cure talk’ would be banned with immediate effect. And the group was true to its word. I was relentlessly castigated, doxxed and, on one occasion, physically threatened for my suggestion.
It was during this difficult time that I came to learn of Jonathan Mitchell, a veteran autistic blogger from Los Angeles. Over the years, Mitchell has been subjected to vast amounts of abuse for wanting a cure for a condition which he describes as a ‘disease’. He has led a one-man crusade against neurodiversity, relentlessly arguing for a cure and rejecting neurodiversity’s key tenet – that it is ‘neurotypical’ society and oppressive parents, as opposed to autism itself, which are largely to blame for autistic suffering. His blog, entitled ‘Autism Gadfly’, has been a consistent thorn in the side of a movement which routinely seeks to silence dissenting voices through intimidation.
In 2015, when Newsweek reached out to Mitchell for a feature article, neurodiversity proponent and blogger Philip Gluyas implored the magazine to withdraw the article, describing Mitchell as a ‘hater’ and ‘a threat to the stability of the autistic community’. Despite a chorus of execration from neurodiversity proponents, Newsweek published the feature. It came out roughly around the same time I had officially ‘apostatised’ as well. I made contact with Mitchell and we spoke at length about our common experiences of abuse and about life on the spectrum. We both agreed that the main fissure in our community lay between those who viewed their autism as a disorder and those who celebrated their autism as an identity.
The sacralisation of autism as an identity has led to many neurodiversity-supporting self-advocates viewing treatments – the sort of which might alleviate substantial suffering for those on the lower spectrum – as tantamount to bigotry, hate and even eugenics. Steve Silberman describes autism as a ‘valuable part of humanity’s genetic legacy’. Meanwhile, Nick Walker, a particularly strident advocate of neurodiversity, runs a blog called ‘Neurocosmopolitanism’. He argues that:
‘Individuals and organisations that speak of autism as a “disease” or “tragedy,” and that talk of “curing” it, should be prosecuted for hate speech and incitement to violence, just as if they were advocating a Final Solution to the Jewish Problem.’
In Walker’s view, autistics such as Mitchell who voice their desire for a cure, as well as parents who have the temerity to express sadness over their child’s disability, ought to be criminalised.
As Walker sees it, no compromises can be made: neurodiversity is a militant struggle for autistic liberation analogous to the civil-rights movement of the 1960s. Curing autism, in his mind, is as unconscionable as trying to cure homosexuality, which, until 1973, was considered by mainstream psychiatry to be a mental disorder. Many would find his comparison between sexual preferences and a cognitive disability invidious. But in neurodiversity circles, this is nothing out of the ordinary. John Marble, an Obama White House appointee and a prominent exponent of neurodiversity, tweeted that: ‘THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS SEVERE AUTISM, just as there is no such thing as “severe homosexuality” or “severe blackness”.’
The with-us-or-against-us certainty of the neurodiversity movement not only acts as an angry mob online, but also, more alarmingly, it is having real-life consequences for the most marginalised people on the spectrum, many of whom, due to the nature of their disability, cannot protest.
Bruce Hall, a photographer and father of two severely autistic boys, laments the overreach of the Autistic Self-Advocacy Network (ASAN), a neurodiversity organisation which cheers the closure of care facilities in the US which it deems ‘too institutional’. ASAN’s de-institutionalisation push has resulted in cuts to service provision for those who need it the most. Hall’s son was placed in the Fairview Development Centre in Costa Mesa, California. It had open spaces, a play area and a petting zoo. The centre offered respite to the family and tranquillity to their son. But this was taken away from them. The closure of centres like these are viewed as victories in the fight for ‘autistic liberation’ by the advocates of neurodiversity – the bulk of whom tend to be cognitively gifted Aspies and are often as ignorant as the lay public about the stark realities of caring for someone with severe autism.
Challenging neurodiversity’s power grab of the autism space has led to an exacerbation of my already debilitating anxiety – a common comorbidity of autism. Several autistic defectors from the neurodiversity movement have messaged me privately in support but have admitted they are too scared to express their views publicly. This is understandable. Had I been aware of the unforgiving climate I was entering into, I would have likely avoided the topic altogether, deleted my Twitter account and chosen instead to focus on what I love most: trains. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to keep speaking out.
Tom Clements
Har en nylig opplevelse med en kirurg som opplevdes som svært Aspergers uten at jeg står i min rett til å dømme. Konklusjonen er at hun er et av de mest Imponerende og profesjonelle mennesket jeg har vert borti, totalt blottet for følelsesspekter både som motager/ giver. Min sønn som lever av idrett skadet seg alvorlig lille julaften og ble operert natt til julaften. Vi så panikken i en ødelagt karriere da det var stor pågang på sykehuset og alt måtte gå fort, vi har alle hørt om operasjoner som har endt med dårlig resultat. Vi forklarte hans situasjon og sykepleier fortalte at den beste kirurgen hun visste om var på vakt. Etter noe tid kom hun inn i rommet og tok en prat med oss før operasjon. Hun var så spesifikk i sin tale at ting var umulig å misforstå, samtidig som hun manglet tonefall i språk (som Vidar Theisen). Ut i fra observasjon hadde hun allerede visualisert operasjonen og forklarte den i detalj. Jeg slo en artig (fårete) kommentar vedr julaften og tidspunktet, der hun mottok, prosesserte, vurderte, tok seg tid til å finne riktig reaksjon og kom med et velrettet «hehehe». Dette tok totalt Ca 10 sekunder og når hun var ferdig var det ingen mimikk å spore. Utrolig fascinerende, litt som robotene i Westworld... Når hun var ferdig med sønnen spurte jeg om alt gikk etter planen, der hun svarte tørt «skulle det ikke det?» uten å smile, -jeg tar det som hennes humor men er usikker mulig hun ble fornærmet, en med Aspergers hadde mulig svart mer konkret. Sønnen var uansett i de tryggeste hender viser det seg og jeg hadde ikke vert i tvil om å legge livet mitt eller noens i hennes hender. All ære og respekt.
G
Gjestemedlem
Gjest
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