Queerness, Autism, and Ritual: How Anthropology Might Explain Two Related Diagnoses
I was on the phone with a wonderful trans-autistic friend of mine when I started to realize just how many of my queer friends are, well, on the spectrum.
And yes, anecdotal evidence and cherry picking data aside (autistic queer people tend to meet and connect with others like them), I think there’s something here that’s worth exploring. A study conducted at Boston Children’s Hospital reported that roughly 23 percent of young people with gender dysphoria also had Asperger’s syndrome. And researchers from the National Institute of Mental Health found that children who were autistic were 7.59 times more likely to be gender diverse than their non-autistic counterparts.
We could guess that going in for mental health screenings makes one more likely to get multiple diagnoses. And perhaps people on the autism spectrum are more likely to shirk social mores, and thus are more likely to embrace gender differences.
But I have this super fun theory rooted in social anthropology that I’d like to push because, hey it’s a Monday night and that’s what we do here.
I’ll start with a question — given that evolution tends not to make many mistakes on the level of population, what can we theorize about the connection between autism and queerness? Is it possible that queerness and autism are connected by design?
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In A Separate People Whose Time Has Come, Harry Hay reimagines what indigenous societies have been saying for centuries — that queer people are designed to play a particular role in their communities, one quite different from their heterosexual counterparts.
It is from this spiritual neitherness that we draw our capacities as mediators between the seen and the unseen, as berdache priest and shaman seers; as artist and architects; as scientists, teachers, and as designers of the possible…
Indigenous societies had highly specialized roles for queer people. The temple priestesses of Mesopotamia were transgender, as were the Lakota Winkte (medicine people). Indeed, many societies envisioned queerness as a de facto qualifier for initiation into spiritual and medicine work.
What if, and please forgive the slightly abrasive dichotomy, heterosexuals can be seen as guardians of the physical realms, and queer people can be seen as guardians of the spiritual (or artistic) realms?
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This kind of specialization is not unknown to nature, although it is hinged on the existence of community. For there to be specialized roles for medicine people, a society needs planters, warriors, and hunters, and all those roles which are needed to sustain this oh-so-material human life.
In other words, it is more efficient for the majority of people to tend the material garden of life, and for some people to be good at communing with nature, music, and subtle forest gnome energies. Without this specialization, no one could put in the time needed to become a master herbalist, physician, shaman, or ritual leader.
After all, it is this religious specialization— and its unifying art and myths — that gave rise to civilization itself.
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We don’t know everything about Autism Spectrum Disorder, but we do know this: individuals on the spectrum tend to enjoy quiet time, being alone in nature, and highly specialized activities.
Where would these traits come in handy?
Probably in a ritual specialist. Bingo, bango.
If queer people are, generally speaking, non-reproductive, it makes sense for evolution to throw in another form of neurodivergence that would specialize us even more. In other words, evolution might be saying “hey, you all are different, let’s make some of you really different and really good at highly specific work.”
Who else would spend decades mastering intricate rituals such as the Japanese Tea Ceremony, or the Navaho Nightway ceremony? Who else would be called to memorize all 15,693 lines of the Iliad?
Someone who is not called to raise a family, or participate in the regular comings and goings of socialized, normative life. Someone who is called to be alone, to work out every detail.
A queer autist.
Perhaps we can theorize queerness and autism as part of a related neurodivergent pattern, one that is very important to the functioning of a society. After all, it is the rituals, songs, and dances that unify and co-regulate a society, and thereby keep it healthy and alive. Without queer autists, we would likely lose the glue that holds our competetive world together.
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Because modern society is so atomized, queer and autistic people are out on their own, often overwhelmed by the demands of material life as well as their own energetic and spiritual demands. Without cycles of initiation and community, I fear that many queer autistic people will give in to feelings of “being wrong” or “broken” or some other imposed narrative.
But if there is a connection, and if indigenous societies really did have it right, then queer autistic people are far from broken. They are the original specialists. They are the artists, furnishers of beauty, and ritual designers. Every community is made more beautiful by their presence, and we need them as much as they need us.
Be kind to a queer autistic person today.
Love, Delia
