My absolute least favorite type of “neurodivergence” (used colloquially to only ever mean “Autism and ADHD”) misinformation is the type that posits that being neurodivergent makes you a better person.
“Justice sensitivity” does not mean “neurologically I am a good person who stands up for what’s right.” It means you have a strong reaction to perceived injustice. But it does not mean your moral compass is calibrated well. The white dudes who are most obsessed with taking away Affirmative Action likely also have “justice sensitivity” – their sense of injustice is just triggered by something different from what triggers mine, because we have different values. Some people’s sense of injustice is triggered by pretty much any situation ever not working out in their favor. Those people can still be “justice sensitive” even if you wouldn’t think of them as good people.
Also, there is no neurodivergent condition that makes you automatically capital-H Honest. Some Autistic people aren’t good at intentionally lying or find it very uncomfortable to intentionally lie, but others lie just fine and I’ve met some who did it all the time. “Intentionally lie” is also doing a lot of work here, as you can be very dishonest without intentionally lying if you are prone to lying to yourself, which neurodivergent people are no less likely to do.
There is no neurotype that confers superior moral reasoning or instincts.
Neurodivergence does not make you omniscient and unbiased.
Theres no form of “actually WE are the inherently superior group and THEY are ontologically inferior” that isnt fashy
I have an oc who exists only as a bit. His name is Active Listener At The Orgy.
ALATO is a bright-eyed and enthusiastic new hire at The Business Company, and though he’s yet to complete all his training, he comes to every meeting with a notebook and a can-do attitude and several questions that make you go “ooh, that’s a good question.” He signs his emails with respectful signatures beyond your wildest dreams
and so one day, ALATO goes to a hotel conference room where he believes his Big Conference Meeting where he really has to impress the Big Boss is going to be held. Instead, he stumbles upon an orgy.
This is where we discover that his very polite and attentive nature hides an immense amount of self doubt—surely they couldn’t have sent him an address with a typo. He must have just missed something in the one training module he didn’t complete! Someone must have told him, and surely he forgot. Something about the company culture must have just flown over his head. He doesn’t see anyone he recognizes, but then again, he’s never met anyone from corporate
So the orgiers take pity on our dear friend Active Listener At The Orgy and they put him in a nicest cuck chair they have and lend him their extra pens and let him take notes while periodically frowning with focus and ALATO will sometimes raise his hand and say “Mistress—can I call you mistress? Is the man on the floor always your little dirt pig, or does he complete other duties as assigned?”
sorry for exposing your tags but this is hilarious
OP, I hope you don’t mind me making an addition:
When I turned 17, we ordered a cake at the grocery store for my party, as we’d done many times before. If you wanted something written on the cake you’d write it into a section of the order form. We requested, very simply, “Happy Birthday Courtney”. When we went to pick it up the day of the party, this is what we got.
The bakery employees had absolutely no explanation for this. The order form, attached to the box, very clearly did not contain any of those extra names. Whomever had done the writing was no longer in, so there was no one to ask how this had happened. The fact that the name ‘Juan’ is misspelled bewilders me to this day. (I’ve never seen ‘Miley’ without the E, either, but it’s believable that someone might spell it that way.) Did this cake slip in from an alternate universe where I’m one quarter of a set of Hispanic quadruplets? Dyslexic Hispanic quadruplets, maybe?
This cake became the focal point of my party. At least two of my friends regularly called me ‘Courtney Mily Jaun Pablo’ for years to come. My siblings and I still reference it sometimes, eleven years later. It is probably the funniest thing ever to occur at any birthday celebration of my life, and may well remain so for the rest of my days.
Okay, that’s IT. As a bisexual ranch dressing supporter I just can’t continue to follow you in good conscience. Why do you industrial carpet shippers all think it’s okay to use bland women as a scapegoat for premium disco culture? Maybe if you actually bothered to read the ukranian degeneracy thesis you’d understand batman’s suntan technique, but I guess you’re just too busy making free insurance consultation posts, so whatever. Blocked, flambéed and unfollowed.
