The Murder of Torrance Cantrell: Towards Revising the Religious/Moral Model of Disability

"[We] didn't do nothing wrong," the pastor, David Hemphill, told the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel newspaper.
"We did what the Book of Matthew said... all we did is ask God to deliver him."

Torrance Cantrell

On August 26, 2003, Torrance Cantrell, an 8-year-old autistic boy, was brutally murdered during one of a series of church exorcisms on him.  Apparently, Torrance's mother had been taking him to Faith Temple Church of the Apostolic Faith three times a week in the weeks prior to the murder in hopes of "curing" his autism. I cried even imagining what terror this child went through.

This murder is a terrible consequence of the moral/religious model of disability, which historically fosters viewing disability as a punishment, an evil curse, possession, or a spiritual malady to be fought against. Parents presented with the medical model of disability when their children are given a diagnosis of autism combine that point of view with a predisposition to the already ingrained religious model to perceive any impairment their child has as something needing amelioration. Parents who have already been exposed to years of subliminal ableism within their faith-based community life then look for any means necessary to "heal" or "normalize" their child. Autism becomes an anthropomorphic being that is made the scapegoat for the child's differences and attacked. The imminent danger is, you cannot separate a person's neurology from their brain and physical body. So this approach to disability, particularly in cases of neurodivergent children and adults, can lead to catastrophic ends.

What I have observed in accepting parents and neurodivergent disability rights activists who are also people of faith, is an active effort to educate their religious congregations on the nature of autism. Some go further, demanding acceptance and inclusion in their places of worship and the religious activities of their communities. I think advocates who worship need to go further still. Let's play what if.

What if, at the moment Torrance Cantrell was diagnosed, his mother had been presented with a resource list of faith-based organizations which understood autism and would not only accommodate her child's needs for support but provide them both a place of acceptance and hope. That single resource list might have made her a stronger advocate for her son, rather than a parent who bought into a demonizing disability model which ended in murder. It might have saved Torrance's life.

 If the parents and autistic activists are in a religious community which has revised the traditional moral model of disability to embracing neurological diversity, it may be a good idea to speak positively of those organizations so families and adults seeking religious support know there are places out there that are safe and empowering.

Inclusive religious organizations have a tremendous opportunity to educate their congregations to accommodate, support and include disabled members in their lives more fully. Community inclusion is not just tolerance, it is acceptance of differences and celebrating the human spirit.

 I applaud autistic disability rights activists and parent allies who speak out and provide templates of what they have done to bring their places of worship to a better understanding of the nature of autism and how to be inclusive of autistic people in worship without harming them in the name of curing them. I think these forward thinking activists' efforts may someday cause a quiet shift in the religious model of disability from a historical tradition of ostracizing, isolating, and breeding catastrophic attempts at exorcism and faith healing to places that breed acceptance and inclusion. I think this is the solution to overcoming this dangerously ableist disability model.

In memory of Torrance Cantrell, gone but not forgotten.

About the Autism Dialogues

Welcome to my blog. It is new. I started it this summer. I am not a writer. My grammar is atrocious.  But I am representative of a demographic of parents who are underrepresented in the autism conversation. I wanted to try and reflect that feeling of being outside of discourse and public policy. I also want to infuse a kind of hope. Hope that, in the long run,  painful as such dialogs may be, they have the potential to change the quality of life for both our children and the only adults who truly understand what it means to be autistic.

Shannon Des Roches Rosa moderated a series of dialogs on The Thinking Person's Guide to Autism. But as I read each day's dialog, I felt outside the conversation. No one appeared to speak from the perspective of my community of parents.

Now I've had a change of heart. I think Kristina Chew and Paula Durbin-Westby wrote eloquently from the perspective of parents in a way other parents in my situation can understand. I am someone who has gone out in search of autistic adults who are nonspeaking like my son, in the hopes that listening to them might give me an insight into how to best help my son. I am also quite painfully familiar with the uglier side of discrimination both as a matter of daily life and as my son’s parent and advocate.

My son will be an adult in the blink of an eye. So I must try to understand self-advocates as much as I can and I hope my son is someday able to advocate for himself. If he can’t do so, I must continue to be his voice. My daughter is a medical interpreter. When you interpret you are the voice of another person. You don’t say what you want or what you think is best for the patient. You translate verbatim as much as linguistically possible. That is what my goal is should he not be able to self-advocate. To be an interpreter for my son.

At some point everyone in this community must grasp that we are part of an effort to gain civil rights for our autistic children. To parents like me, who are not autistic, don't give up. Keep reading. I'm trying too. I'm determined to cross that divide with you.

Two Autism Stories

Several years ago, I attended a meeting of parents and care providers to discuss the lack of county services available for their loved ones on the autism spectrum. At the meeting, an African American medical professional told me something that still gives me pause: "Autism is a disability for the rich," she said. “Only the wealthy can afford the costs of the intensive early interventions we as parents need to help our children succeed." She continued, “As African Americans, we are disproportionately caring for our children on the spectrum as single parents, with limited means, and are dependent on institutions like our public schools to give whatever supports they can."

As I continue my three year fight for appropriate supports for my own child, I ask myself each day, “Was my acquaintance correct? No matter how diligently I try, no matter the effort I make, will I be unable to provide my own child with the help he needs because of financial and racial disparities?”

Two stories show this disparity of care, resources, and options in a way that leaves me with heartbreaking concern. A Journey into the World of Autism is a series of photographs with commentary, about an against all odds, full on battle for the dignity and civil rights of a 14 year old African American boy, Daniel Tuttle Jr. Daniel was given a diagnosis of autism when he was 2 years old. He never received early interventions or any support services. His battle for services is still being fought by a woman who is not his mother. She was his first daycare provider as an infant; when she heard Daniel's mother was out of work and overwhelmed trying to manage his care, she did not hesitate to go through the process of becoming his care provider.

Autism Lives Daily in Our House briefly outlines the story of Jack Drinkwine, a white child diagnosed with autism who is receiving intensive interventions and supports. He has teams of medical and educational professionals working with him to improve his ability to navigate his world. Jack's mother, a university professor, discusses the combination of therapies and supports paid for by a combination of funding that Daniel Tuttle's care provider could never hope to achieve.
Daniels is homeschooled and sent to a speech therapist. Daniel's only other therapy, administered by his care provider, is a GFCF diet and the basic set of the shoebox task system, the foundational exercises in the TEACCH method. Daniel's care provider continues to try to place him in a safe educational environment where he is able to adapt to the classroom and receive at least minimal services and supports. Meanwhile, Professor Drinkwine advises other parents to acquire the intensive interventions for their children that she has, never considering that many parents and care providers do not have the resources available to them that a family with two working parents- a university professor and a high ranking military officer- does.

Is this disparity of service placing African American children on the spectrum at risk for more confrontations with aversive behavioral management techniques, fewer educational and therapeutic supports and a greater risk for either institutional care or catastrophic encounters with the criminal justice system as adults? It is a chilling thought for me as I look at my dark skin and my deeply autistic son.


Please read both articles and let me know what you think:

A Journey Into The World of Autism
Autism Lives Daily in Our House

More on Daniel Tuttle Jr. from DC & NYC Photographer Eli Meir Kaplan:
Against the Odds