The Other Side Of Empathy

A heartwarming photo has made the rounds on social media today, depicting a police officer sitting near the end of a parking lot next to a student with autism. A Facebook post by the Charlotte-Mecklenburg Police Department explains that Officer Tim Purdy was dispatched to a situation involving the student, believed to be suicidal, when he fled from his high school’s campus. What came next dispels much of the angst about law enforcement and the excessive use of force. “In order to build a connection with the young man,” the post reads, “Officer Purdy sat next to him on the ground, talked things through and even got him laughing.” Eventually, Office Purdy was able to get student the help he needed.

This is a story of success. But not all encounters of people on the autism spectrum with law enforcement end as peacefully.

My younger brother Madison is on the autism spectrum. His diagnosis is manifested through his limited ability to communicate with others, his anxiety when making eye contact with another person, and his sensory hypersensitivity that often leads him to meltdowns that terrify those around him.

These are the behaviors that many people see in Madison. But the man I see is more than a combination of behaviors akin to Autism Spectrum Disorder.

We are separated in age by just 20 months. I can recall moments when we were growing up where the fact that he couldn’t talk to me or play with me the way that our older brother could didn’t faze me. It wasn’t until we were around my friends and they asked, “What’s wrong with him?” that I even noticed that he was different.

I don’t discredit people for seeing Madison the way that they do. When you aren’t familiar with autism, it can appear to be something off-putting, even scary. I remember going shopping with our mom when we were much younger, and Madison would have a random meltdown in the grocery store. Not only would people stare and judge us, but they would also back away with fear of what would happen next.

Given recent tragedies that have occurred at the hands of people on the autism spectrum, I empathize with the deep fear that has been instilled in the public consciousness when it comes to mental health. But there is an inherent danger to this fear of those with autism.

Last summer, Madison was caught in a situation that could have easily been misread and could have ended in a disaster. He was with one of his life skills tutors one afternoon in June, and she took him to the public library, as was routine in his schedule. Without warning or prodrome, Madison quickly turned from contented to enraged, pounding the wall of the library so hard with his fists that he knocked several large holes in the drywall. Thinking quickly, his tutor ran out of the library knowing that he would follow her lead. He did.

But the librarian on duty read his rage as a potential personal attack. She called the police.

Outside the library, Madison proceeded to melt down, hitting his head with his fists, screaming, and charging after his tutor. Within minutes, the police showed up.

They quickly assessed the situation… and ran after him.

His tutor saw what was taking place in her peripheral vision. She recalls yelling, “Don’t shoot! He’s autistic!”

At the sight of the police arriving on the scene, Madison quieted down. He knew what their presence meant.

Catastrophe averted.

My dad arrived just a few minutes after the tutor was able to call him to explain what had happened. Upon his arrival, Madison began to sob. As he sat in the back seat of our dad’s car, he cried steadily for the better part of an hour. My dad gathered details of what happened from witnesses and worked with the police to assess the damage done to the library and to the tutor, who had sustained a few bruises from Madison grabbing her arm. After doctor’s visits, adjusted medications and changed schedules, Madison’s world slowly returned to what it had been — not “normal,” for autism is a constantly moving target, but at least out of crisis mode.

When Madison melts down, it is scary. In an age where we are programmed for paranoia — especially in public places — it is no wonder that the police were called on him that day. I empathize with the bystanders and the fear that they must have felt in not knowing whether Madison would pose any danger to them or to their children.

But likewise, I empathize with Madison, whose only way to communicate with the world often manifests into these terrifying meltdowns. And I worry constantly for his welfare, for he is at far, far greater danger at the hands of an ill-informed public than they are at his.

The American Psychological Association says that only 3-to-5 percent of all violent crimes committed annually in this country are committed by people with mental illnesses. Their research further indicates that people with mental illnesses are far more likely to be victims of violent crime rather than its perpetrators. That fact notwithstanding, some of the most disturbing of recent mass murders — Sandy Hook, Aurora, and more recently the shooting at Umpqua Community College — were committed by someone with a mental illness, and the spotlight of public attention and fear shone brightly on them.

Again, I do not undervalue the reasons that people are fearful of people with mental illnesses — including autism. But my rant has two purposes.

First, I thank whatever higher being there is that the police who showed up that day had enough special training that they knew what autism was and how to manage an autistic adult who was out of control. Once they heard “autism,” they reacted appropriately and quickly to defuse what could have been a catastrophic encounter — just consider that the manifestations of an autistic meltdown are virtually identical to the behavior of a person who is high on PCP. And had Madison’s tutor not been there to say the A-word, I don’t know what Madison’s fate would have been. The news is full of horror stories of police who misread an emergency situation and overreact, often with lethal consequences. I am most grateful that the Montgomery County, Maryland police, who are some of the best equipped and trained in the country, had received the training that allowed them to react appropriately. In other jurisdictions, where first responders often lack adequate training in how to recognize autism and other mental illnesses and respond appropriately in emergency situations, a different and potentially tragic outcome may have unfolded. As the incidence of autism continues to increase, with 50,000 new autistic adults aging out of the school systems each year, there will be an increasingly urgent need for better training.

Second, there is another, more difficult side to empathy. Empathy that accompanies pity is generated easily, sometimes automatically. But empathy in the face of apparent or real danger is generated “hardly,” if at all. I am not asking for people to empathize with Adam Lanza or James Holmes. But when you see that someone is melting down, try to look beyond the immediate fright-or-flight reflex. Think of Office Purdy’s example.

As autism continues to increase worldwide, so does the likelihood that the immediate danger is not to you or others of the public; but instead, to the individual and his/her caretaker or family member. Perhaps you can help turn a potential disaster into one more memorable-but-survivable day in the perplexing, frustrating and constantly tumultuous world of autism.