AutisticWhileBlack #SaveDarius II The MTA, In Black And White

 

Darius McCollum image of an older African American Male
with a short full beard. A blurred rail car behind him.
He is wearing a black ski cap, black coat with a dark blue
zipped up inner-lining. Image credit Adam Irving

“But all our phrasing—race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy—serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth. You must never look away from this. You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics, the graphs, the charts, the regressions all land, with great violence, upon the body.”― Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me

Darius McCollum memorized the MTA map by age eight, spent his entire adult life volunteering for the MTA, and was criminalized and jailed for it. He was given a diagnosis of Asperger's by a prison doctor at age 40. He has all the characteristics of a prodigious savant. But we will never know, because, at age 53, he has been given the final blow to the crime of being autistic while black, damned to an institution where he, who is not violent, does not belong.

I would like to live in the dream that had Darius McCollum been born in say, 1992, he might have been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome while still in grade school. Perhaps, if he hadn't lived years before people acknowledged or accepted that Black children could be autistic too he would have made the evening news for volunteering at the MTA while still a young autistic child. Perhaps he would have been rewarded for his intense interest in the transit system and earned a training internship with accommodation for his disability. Perhaps he might have transitioned into a job as a disabled adult. Perhaps when the MTA rejected his repeated applications for work, he might have found legal representation and sued for discrimination based on disability. Maybe, in a parallel universe, Darius McCollum is living a happy life doing the only thing he has ever wanted to do, work as an MTA employee.

Perhaps he would not have felt the urge to drive a bus six stops on its route, flawlessly picking up and dropping off passengers as any driver would do, at age 15.

But I know that Ta-Nehisi Coates is right. I always wake up from these reveries feeling gut-punched in the truth that everything lands with great violence upon the black body.

Darius has the world's thirst for entertainment and the media's lust for ratings against him. News stories about Darius are less like human-interest reporting and more like circus creations at a world's fair where he's the oddity du jour and his suffering saga is a marriage of stereotypes, Jim Crow minstrel shows of a disabled black body. How can we expect justice when the structural racism of government overreaction to any nonconforming Black male body stands like a mountain in every Neili, Arnaldo, and Darius' path?

At age 53,  the doom of this verdict is the final hammer blow to this singular mind. It is too much like the way the widow of Blind Tom Wiggins' slaveholder tricked his mother into signing over custody of him with the promise of freeing him then used the courts to declare him mentally incompetent simply to enrich herself. Tom Wiggins is known as the last slave in America because of this abuse.

I haven't studied all the publicly available charges piled up against him. But from what I have read, they are marked by McCollum following proper procedure as he did while volunteering. He gets "caught" because this is not behavior he has the impulse control to eradicate on his own. He has been labeled a thief and given a devastating punishment for compulsive behavior. Meanwhile, he has become the subject of a movie, and others will profit from his suffering.

What do I mean when I claim that Darius is caught in the sinkhole of racist ableism?

Sometimes it is easier to see the reality of this when black lives are compared with white ones..

So let's look at someone else from New York, with the same love of the New York transit system, and how his life turned out.  Jonathan Mahler's The New York Times Magazine essay, The Case for the Subway, includes a brief history of a man named Max Diamond. He lived in Park Slope, not Jamaica, Queens. Max displayed the same hyper interest in trains and the subway system. Like Darius, Max had a prodigious knowledge of detailed information related to trains, subways, track layouts, signals, and switches. While Darius was trained by employees to such a degree that he could cover their shifts, Max had the resources to start his own YouTube channel under the handle Dj Hammers at age 14. 

Max became a celebrity and gathered a following of fellow subway lovers.  Per Jonathan Mahler: "In 2016, Diamond was hired by the M.T.A. as a paid intern, and at 21, he now crunches numbers in its performance-analysis unit while he works toward an economics degree at the City College of New York. " Darius McCollum repeatedly applied for employment with the M.T.A. but was repeatedly rejected. The M.T.A. staff who trained him and were complicit in his impersonating staff by teaching him to do their jobs and cover their shifts have not been held accountable for leading him into his present predicament. Darius' family had set up a job for him driving a bus route in the Carolinas, but because Darius had a parole hearing in NYC, he fell back into seeking out his 'friends' in the M.T.A. and back to the pattern of indulging in his singular focus, the city's transit system.  

Max Diamond filming and sharing details about the NY transit system was never considered a security risk. Darius McCollum, trained by M.T.A. employees and knowledgeable enough to correct issues when they occurred in the same transit system was considered dangerous. Max Diamond is now a conductor for the New York City Transit system. Darius McCollum has been rewarded for the same interest and hyperfocus on the same transit system by a lifetime in prison. 

Within the autism conversation, the violence visited upon the Black autistic body is never felt as we who are African American, feel it. Yet  we have been denied the platforms and resources needed  to counter the harm done to our people. The number of late-diagnosed Black autistics in the carceral system is a statement of the difference between being disabled and Black, or white. The question is, is our community going to act to solve the inherent injustice of structural ableist racism and how it impacts autistics like Darius? 

This is the second time I've asked that our community act to build a bridge to a better life for Darius and others who should never have been behind bars in the first place. 

Either our entire community acts to aide Darius or accepts their complicity in the harm done to him.

Want to help?

Start here: https://www.change.org/p/new-york-state-attorney-general-darius-mccollum-is-not-dangerously-mentally-ill

AutisticWhileBlack: I've Got This

Note, this happened last year. Our school system is closed and virtual this year due to the pandemic. kc                     It happens every few homeschool reviews, but each time it happens, especially when I’ve been up all night with an under the weather disabled teenager, my heart sinks. When I reached my table and greeted the reviewing officer, I say “my son has complex support needs and is a nonspeaking autistic teen.” “My daughter’s a BCBA!” she answered. “We have an Asperger’s program at our school.” “I’ve got this.”
                                                  I grit my teeth and wait. I know what’s coming and I’m so sleepless! I just can’t today. Not today. And away she goes.                                                                

What follows is a long lecture about how incompetent I am to educate my own son. She barely flips through the binder in front of her. I wait for her to pause. “This is his curriculum,” I say instead of responding to something that is actually not legal for her to say to me. I begin flipping through the binder, showing her recent photographs of Mu doing activities, the comprehensive grade report from his online school complete with time spent on each subject lesson, dated, and accompanying worksheets. I start showing his microscope, science lab equipment, apps, books, music and art curriculum, language reports. She finally starts looking at the books and comparing the worksheets to the lesson reports. “Um, well.” “His name should be on the grade report.” “I can’t print anyone else’s grade report out but his, that is the way the online reporting system works.” “Would you like to see the grade report from the online site directly?” (I begin searching for the website on my cell phone. I have only slept two hours. I am trying to hang on to my patience.)

“How old will he be again this coming year?” she asks. “He’ll be 18,” I answer, knowing she knows when he will turn 18 from his portfolio in front of her. I know what’s coming. She answers “18 is a big year.” “We can do a lot more for him you know. He can attend school until he is 21.”

I wanted to shout “Let’s go over what public special education has done for him until the moment it nearly killed him!” Instead I patiently, painfully, again, repeat the story of how I, a staunch believer in public schools, a product of the public school and DoDDs school systems, decided to give up my job, stay home, and home-educate my disabled Black son.

Her smug expression paled, then blanched, then she gasped. Tears came unintended to my face, but I went on, discussing all the harm that led up to the day they “lost” him at school, in the most restricted education environment. How he was “found” by a stranger, an anonymous “member of the local community” who caught him wandering in traffic, a seven-year-old boy who used a wheelchair because of his unsteady gait, who supposedly did not have the OT skills to open a child safety gate, who at the time he went “missing” was in a classroom with a special education teacher, two paraprofessionals, one paraprofessional directly responsible for only him, two classroom aides, and a speech pathologist. A non-speaking autistic little boy who was impossible to miss because he was then in the 98th percentile in height and weight compared to his peers. The school’s story that changed from the telling to retelling, of how long he was missing before they notified us, of why the police weren’t called to search for him, of who found him, of where he had been found [he was found at a nearby pond/ no wandering in traffic] of why he had been washed and redressed and fed grape juice before calling us, of why he was wandering outside on a rainy and windy February day with no shoes or coat, of why he had no shoes or socks on in his classroom in the first place.

I had to repeat to this thoughtless, horrible, ableist woman who decided she knew the story of my son’s life, what it feels like when you are a mother with a heart condition who gets a call that your only son is missing and has been missing for an undetermined length of time and your daughter hears a sound come from your mouth that cannot possibly be human, and you don’t remember but suddenly you have called your husband and told him they have lost your baby and your husband grabs his coat and begins running, he runs out the door of his office at Johns Hopkins, runs to Camden Yards station, runs for the train and calls the head of PGCPS and roars that if a hair on his disabled son’s head is out of place, if they don’t find our boy, he would ensure that he won’t be qualified to be so much as a janitor of PGCPS, he will haunt the man the rest of his miserable life and they had better find our boy now and tell us why we weren’t told when this happened.

And I tell this arrogant woman how my daughter picked me up from the floor and we grabbed our coats and ran, ran for a taxi and told the man driving hurry, hurry our boy they had lost our boy, and how the police shuffled us from one phone to another and hung up on us and then I asked her if she knew what it felt like to call your son’s pediatrician crying and have the man tell you that it was best if he did an exam for signs of rape, and when he says your son is okay you hug your daughter and son and cry and cry and now the nurses and staff who stayed late to wait for the outcome are crying and saying “no copay today” and now the woman has blanched chalk white and remains quiet.

She finally begins really reviewing his portfolio. “You've done an amazing job here, “ she says, her voice breaking. “How..” “My daughter,” I reply. “After the final school incident, she changed her major.” “Went back to school and got a master's in special education specializing in complex support needs and low incidence disability.” “She helps with curriculum and supports my instruction.” “My husband provides the technology and finds things like the microscope that displays on his computer screen. “ He is also the support for my son’s adaptive P.E. work. “
She writes approval for the portfolio silently. She says, “we aren’t that county.” “This would never have happened in our school system.“ “I have been told this,” I answer. “But he is my only son. The last child I will ever have. I risked my life to give birth to him. I can’t take the risk he’ll be harmed again. “

Another brutal portfolio review is over. I leave, fighting back tears, thinking, “don’t worry son, we’ve got this. “

AutisticWhileBlack #SaveDarius Criminal Justice in Black and White

Darius McCollum image of an older African American Male
with a short full beard. A blurred rail car behind him.
He is wearing a black ski cap, black coat with a dark blue
zipped up inner lining. Image credit Adam Irving

“But all our phrasing—race relations, racial chasm, racial justice, racial profiling, white privilege, even white supremacy—serves to obscure that racism is a visceral experience, that it dislodges brains, blocks airways, rips muscle, extracts organs, cracks bones, breaks teeth. You must never look away from this. You must always remember that the sociology, the history, the economics, the graphs, the charts, the regressions all land, with great violence, upon the body.”― Ta-Nehisi Coates, Between the World and Me

Darius McCollum memorized the MTA map by age eight, spent his entire adult life volunteering for the MTA, and was criminalized and jailed for it. He was given a diagnosis of Asperger's by a prison doctor at age 40. He has all the characteristics of a prodigious savant. But we will never know, because, at age 53, he has been given the final blow to the crime of being autistic while black, damned to an institution where he, who is not violent, does not belong.

I would like to live in the dream that had Darius McCollum been born in say, 1992, he might have been diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome while still in grade school. Perhaps, if he hadn't lived years before people acknowledged or accepted that Black children could be autistic too he would have made the evening news for volunteering at the MTA while still a young autistic child. Perhaps he would have been rewarded for his intense interest in the transit system and earned a training internship with accommodation for his disability. Perhaps he might have transitioned into a job as a disabled adult. Perhaps when the MTA rejected his repeated applications for work, he might have found legal representation and sued for discrimination based on disability. Maybe, in a parallel universe, Darius McCollum is living a happy life doing the only thing he has ever wanted to do, work as an MTA employee.

Perhaps he would not have felt the urge to drive a bus six stops on its route, flawlessly picking up and dropping off passengers as any driver would do, at age 15.

But I know that Ta-Nehisi Coates is right. I always wake up from these reveries feeling gut- punched in the truth that everything lands with great violence upon the black body.

Darius has the world's thirst for entertainment and the media's lust for ratings against him. News stories about Darius are less like human interest reporting and more like circus creations at a world's fair where he's the oddity du jour and his suffering saga is a marriage of stereotypes, Jim Crow minstrel shows of a disabled black body. How can we expect justice when the structural racism of government overreaction to any nonconforming Black male body stands like a mountain in every Neili, Arnaldo, and Darius' path?

At age 53,  the doom of this verdict is the final hammer blow to this singular mind. It is too much like the way the widow of Blind Tom Wiggins' slaveholder tricked his mother into signing over custody of him with the promise of freeing him then used of the courts to declare him mentally incompetent simply to enrich herself. Tom Wiggins is known as the last slave in America because of this abuse.

I haven't studied all the publicly available charges piled up against him. But from what I have read, they are marked by McCollum following proper procedure as he did while volunteering. He gets "caught" because this is not behavior he has the impulse control to eradicate on his own. When he was in another state, I wondered why it was not okay to give him a small bus, a supervised rural bus route, and allow him to spend the remainder of his days driving it. He has been labeled a thief and given a devastating punishment for compulsive behavior. Meanwhile, he has become the subject of a movie, and others will profit from his suffering.

What do I mean when I claim that Darius is caught in the sinkhole of racist ableism?

Sometimes it is easier to see the reality of this when side by side comparisons happen. So let's look at turning points in the lives of two teenagers with the same diagnosis of Aspergers.

 Blogger Brobrubel summarizes criminal justice and government overreach by reminding us of what justice looked like for Jack Robison, and Neili Latson both were teens with a diagnosis of Asperger's  Despite the use of an ableist definition of autism, Brobrubel shows the disparity in our criminal justice clearly.
Here is his 2011 essay, Autism in black and white.

Please read it and try and understand the reality of being Autistic While Black in America.Then share this, and remember that we who are African American are the first to feel this weight of violence but we are not the last. Injustice expands like a balloon if those who believe they are protected from it ignore it.
Peace.

"The Web site Liquor & Spice caught this in the New York Times this weekend involving a 19-year-old kid named Jack Robison in Massachusetts with Asperger’s syndrome, a form of autism:

" A chemistry whiz, he had spent much of his adolescence teaching himself to make explosives and setting them off in the woods in experiments that he hoped would earn him a patent but that instead led the state police and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives to charge him with several counts of malicious explosion."

" By the following spring, he would be cleared of all the charges and recruited by the director of the undergraduate chemistry program at the University of Massachusetts, who was impressed by a newspaper account of Jack’s home-built laboratory."

" And then caught this information involving a case in Virginia".

"Reginald “Neli” Latson, is a 19 year-old autistic young man, who on the morning of May 24, 2010, sat in the grass outside the local library in Stafford, Va., and waited for it to open. Police allege that it was reported that there was a suspicious black male who had a gun. Deputy Calverley then approached Latson and searched him for a gun. No gun was found. Calverly asked Latson for his name, and Latson refused and tried to walk away as he had committed no crime. Calverly then grabbed Latson and attempted to arrest him without reading him his Miranda Rights or calling for backup.

After a 3-day trial, Latson was found guilty of assaulting a law enforcement officer, among other charges, and 10 1/2 years in prison was recommended. Latson’s defense centered around the fact that he has Asperger’s syndrome, part of the autism spectrum, ...  "

" Massachusetts didn’t see a crime in making explosives at home. Virginia saw a crime in waiting to go to the library. Robison was blowing things up. Latson was waiting for the library to open. Robison is rewarded. Latson is going to jail."

" "Robison is white. Latson is black." 

"We don’t want to admit it, but race does matter."