Not Your Tragedy: Autism, RFK Jr., and the Politics of Blame
It’s time to stop pretending this is a debate.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr. is not an autism advocate. He’s a conspiracy theorist who exploits autistic people — and parental fear — to fuel his insidious and increasingly extreme agenda.
For years, he’s promoted the thoroughly debunked claim that vaccines cause autism. He’s compared vaccine mandates to the Holocaust. He’s accused scientists of corruption, public health workers of genocide, and autistic people of being “damaged by Big Pharma.” He says this is about freedom. But let’s be clear: it’s about power. And autistic people are collateral.
When RFK Jr. talks about autism, he talks about it as loss — as catastrophe. He wants you to believe we are the proof of a system gone wrong. Not because he knows us. Not because he’s listened. But because we’re rhetorically useful — a symbol of fear and brokenness that justifies his war on science.
His entire story only works if you start from the premise that autism is a tragedy.
I reject that premise. And so should you.
RFK Jr. doesn’t just spread medical misinformation. He spreads something more insidious: a worldview that turns autistic people into weapons in someone else’s fight. In his narrative, we are the evidence. The cautionary tale. The thing to prevent. Never the people to include.
That’s not advocacy. That’s erasure in the language of justice.
And here’s the part no one wants to say out loud: the mainstream autism research world helped create the conditions for RFK Jr.’s story to take root.
For decades, autism was framed almost exclusively in terms of deficits, risks, and burdens. It was medicalized. It was pitied. Autistic voices were excluded. Families were told again and again to be afraid — and to chase cures. When you tell a story like that long enough, it’s no surprise that someone comes along offering a villain. A scapegoat. A lie that feels like clarity.
So if you’re a researcher, a clinician, or an ally who’s disgusted by RFK Jr., good. You should be. But disgust isn’t enough. If you’ve ever used the language of “burden,” of “preventing autism,” of “minimizing risk” — then RFK Jr. isn’t an aberration. He’s a predictable endpoint.
The antidote isn’t just better science. It’s better stories. It’s narrative repair. It’s inclusion.
Autism isn’t a warning. It’s not a consequence. It’s not a failure of public health waiting to be "cured."
It’s a way of being. And we are not your tragedy.