Albener Pessoa

Conspiracy theory, I said in my last standup show, is how idiots get to feel like intellectuals. I still believe this: conspiracy theory is primarily a way for people, mainly men, to appear in the know, to use their collection of assumptions, generalisations, straw men and false inferences to say, effectively: ah, the wool may have been pulled over your eyes, my friend, but not mine.

But there are other reasons why it’s so popular these days. It provides lonely men with an online community of like-minded lonely men. It’s comforting; it’s reassuring. It provides order in a disordered universe to imagine that shadowy forces organise horrific events, rather than to have to confront the terrible truth that death and destruction happen, all the time, apparently at random. And, as David Cameron pointed out this week in his speech on extremism, it creates a way into something else that’s becoming increasingly popular these days: antisemitism.

The conspiracy theorist is, of course, the good guy, the lone hero, unmasking the secret powers of evil

Why do so many conspiracy theories boil down to: it’s the Jews wot done it?

One simple reason is that Jews are quite hard to spot, compared with most minorities. This allows them to be unmasked, and unmasking – to be able to say, “I and no one else (apart from all my mates on abovetopsecret.com) have spotted something hidden” – is the principal drive of the conspiracy theorist. But more importantly, within racial stereotyping Jews occupy a somewhat unique position, with a two-pronged status – both low and high.

Although they can be described as stinking and dirty and vermin, and all the other unlovely appellations ascribed by racists to every ethnicity outside the mainstream, they are the only minority who are also secretly in control, pulling the strings behind the scenes, forever conspiring to promote their own hidden global agenda.

This doublethink, which has existed more or less since we made the silly mistake of preferring Barabbas, has in our own time been turbocharged by the existence of the state of Israel. Those who have always felt that Jews were powerful, controlling and out to destroy the world can now point in the direction of the Middle East and say: there you are.

But for the conspiracy theorists, even the most appalling political and military machinations of Binyamin Netanyahu and the Israel Defence Forces – of Israel itself – are far less important than the creation of what David Aaronovitch, in Voodoo Histories, describes as a new kind of super-Jew: the Zionist. This is not, for the conspiracy theorist, the straightforward hate figure of the left. Rather, it is a character, or more importantly a group, to which all western governments are secretly in hock: unbelievably rich and powerful, and dedicated unswervingly to its own project, which is nothing less than the complete control of the world. Yes: Zionists are basically Spectre.

Which makes the conspiracy theorist, to some extent, James Bond. So many conspiracy theories end up in some way to do with these particular imagined super-villains – even ones such as the “murder” of Princess Diana, which seem to have very little apparent benefit to the Zionists – that it’s clear some kind of antisemitism, even if unconsciously, is going on here. But that’s obscured by the self-image of the conspiracy theorist, who is, of course, the good guy, the lone hero, unmasking the secret powers of evil – even if unmasking the secret powers of evil in so many cases seems to involve saying: it’s the Jews.

If the conspiracy theorist is the good guy, this cannot be bad; therefore it cannot be racist. So we come to a position whereby for a lot of people, pointing at one small ethnic group and saying they’re responsible for all the worst things in the world is no longer racist. It’s fighting the good fight.

I’m talking mainly about how things are among the slightly absurd men on social media trading reasons for why the moon landings were actually faked (by the Zionists, I assume: Stanley Kubrick was Jewish – he probably filmed it). In the Middle East and much of east Asia, beliefs such as the idea that 4,000 notified-by-Israel Jews didn’t turn up for work in the World Trade Center on 9/11 (a fallacy: 9.25% of people who died in the Twin Towers were Jewish, roughly the Jewish population of New York City) are, for many people, facts.

Our culture moves very fast now. When complicated and troubling events happen, easy answers are quickly sought and provided. There is an American standup I once saw whose first line went: I blame the Jews – it’s quicker that way.

Having said this, I have no idea how, without intense curbs on free speech (which won’t work – conspiracy theorists love the martyrdom of being muzzled), David Cameron will change anything. And frankly, if he tried to convince me that the world wasn’t actually controlled by a rich and powerful network operating on behalf of their own secret political and economic interests, I wouldn’t believe him either.

• David Baddiel’s new work-in-progress show, My Family: Not the Sitcom is at Soho Theatre, London from 5–8 August

The phrase “white privilege” is one that rubs a lot of white people the wrong way. It can trigger something in them that shuts down conversation or at least makes them very defensive. (Especially those who grew up relatively less privileged than other folks around them). And I’ve seen more than once where this happens and the next move in the conversation is for the person who brought up white privilege to say, “The reason you’re getting defensive is because you’re feeling the discomfort of having your privilege exposed.”

I’m sure that’s true sometimes. And I’m sure there are a lot of people, white and otherwise, who can attest to a kind of a-ha moment or paradigm shift where they “got” what privilege means and they did realize they had been getting defensive because they were uncomfortable at having their privilege exposed. But I would guess that more often than not, the frustration and the shutting down is about something else. It comes from the fact that nobody wants to be a racist. And the move “you only think that because you’re looking at this from the perspective of privilege” or the more terse and confrontational “check your privilege!” kind of sound like an accusation that someone is a racist (if they don’t already understand privilege). And the phrase “white privilege” kind of sounds like, “You are a racist and there’s nothing you can do about it because you were born that way.”

And if this were what “white privilege” meant—which it is not—defensiveness and frustration would be the appropriate response. But privilege talk is not intended to make a moral assessment or a moral claim about the privileged at all. It is about systemic imbalance. It is about injustices that have arisen because of the history of racism that birthed the way things are now. It’s not saying, “You’re a bad person because you’re white.” It’s saying, “The system is skewed in ways that you maybe haven’t realized or had to think about precisely because it’s skewed in YOUR favor.”

I am white. So I have not experienced racial privilege from the “under” side firsthand. But my children (and a lot of other people I love) are not white. And so I care about privilege and what it means for racial justice in our country. And one experience I have had firsthand, which has helped me to understand privilege and listen to privilege talk without feeling defensive, is riding my bike.

Now, I know, it sounds a little goofy at first. But stick with me. Because I think that this analogy might help some white people understand privilege talk without feeling like they’re having their character attacked.

About five years ago I decide to start riding my bike as my primary mode of transportation. As in, on the street, in traffic. Which is enjoyable for a number of reasons (exercise, wind in yer face, the cool feeling of going fast, etc.) But the thing is, I don’t live in Portland or Minneapolis. I live in the capital city of the epicenter of the auto industry: Lansing, MI. This is not, by any stretch, a bike-friendly town. And often, it is down-right dangerous to be a bike commuter here.

Now sometimes its dangerous for me because people in cars are just blatantly a**holes to me. If I am in the road—where I legally belong—people will yell at me to get on the sidewalk. If I am on the sidewalk—which is sometimes the safest place to be—people will yell at me to get on the road. People in cars think its funny to roll down their window and yell something right when they get beside me. Or to splash me on purpose. People I have never met are angry at me for just being on a bike in “their” road and they let me know with colorful language and other acts of aggression.

I can imagine that for people of color life in a white-majority context feels a bit like being on a bicycle in midst of traffic. They have the right to be on the road, and laws on the books to make it equitable, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are on a bike in a world made for cars. Experiencing this when I’m on my bike in traffic has helped me to understand what privilege talk is really about.

Now most people in cars are not intentionally aggressive toward me. But even if all the jerks had their licenses revoked tomorrow, the road would still be a dangerous place for me. Because the whole transportation infrastructure privileges the automobile. It is born out of a history rooted in the auto industry that took for granted that everyone should use a car as their mode of transportation. It was not built to be convenient or economical or safe for me.

And so people in cars—nice, non-aggressive people—put me in danger all the time because they see the road from the privileged perspective of a car. E.g., I ride on the right side of the right lane. Some people fail to change lanes to pass me (as they would for another car) or even give me a wide berth. Some people fly by just inches from me not realizing how scary/dangerous that is for me (like if I were to swerve to miss some roadkill just as they pass). These folks aren’t aggressive or hostile toward me, but they don’t realize that a pothole or a build up of gravel or a broken bottle, which they haven’t given me enough room to avoid–because in a car they don’t need to be aware of these things–could send me flying from my bike or cost me a bent rim or a flat tire.

So the semi driver who rushes past throwing gravel in my face in his hot wake isn’t necessarily a bad guy. He could be sitting in his cab listening to Christian radio and thinking about nice things he can do for his wife. But the fact that “the system” allows him to do those things instead of being mindful of me is a privilege he has that I don’t. (I have to be hyper-aware of him).

This is what privilege is about.  Like drivers, nice, non-aggressive white people can move in the world without thinking about the  “potholes” or the “gravel” that people of color have to navigate, or how things that they do—not intending to hurt or endanger anyone—might actually be making life more difficult or more dangerous for a person of color.

Nice, non-aggressive drivers that don’t do anything at all to endanger me are still privileged to pull out of their driveway each morning and know that there are roads that go all the way to their destination. They don’t have to wonder if there are bike lanes and what route they will take to stay safe. In the winter, they can be certain that the snow will be plowed out of their lane into my lane and not the other way around.

And it’s not just the fact that the whole transportation infrastructure is built around the car. It’s the law, which is poorly enforced when cyclists are hit by cars, the fact that gas is subsidized by the government and bike tires aren’t, and just the general mindset of a culture that is in love with cars after a hundred years of propaganda and still thinks that bikes are toys for kids and triathletes.

So when I say the semi driver is privileged, it isn’t a way of calling him a bad person or a man-slaughterer or saying he didn’t really earn his truck, but just way of acknowledging all that–infrastructure, laws, gov’t, culture–and the fact that if he and I get in a collision, I will probably die and he will just have to clean the blood off of his bumper. In the same way, talking about racial privilege isn’t a way of telling white people they are bad people or racists or that they didn’t really earn what they have.

It’s a way of trying to make visible the fact that system is not neutral, it is not a level-playing field, it’s not the same experience for everyone. There are biases and imbalances and injustices built into the warp and woof of our culture. (The recent events in Ferguson, MO should be evidence enough of this–more thoughts on that here). Not because you personally are a racist, but because the system has a history and was built around this category “race” and that’s not going to go away overnight (or even in 100 years). To go back to my analogy: Bike lanes are relatively new, and still just kind of an appendage on a system that is inherently car-centric.

So–white readers–the next time someone drops the p-word, try to remember they aren’t calling you a racist or saying you didn’t really earn your college degree, they just want you to try empathize with how scary it is to be on a bike sometimes (metaphorically speaking).

One last thing: Now, I know what it is like to be a white person engaged in racial reconciliation or justice work and to feel like privilege language is being used to silence you or to feel frustrated that you are genuinely trying to be a part of the solution not the problem but every time you open your mouth someone says, “Check you privilege.” (I.e., even though privilege language doesn’t mean “You are one of the bad guys,” some people do use it that way). So if you’ll permit me to get a few more miles out of this bike analogy (ya see what I did there?), I think it can help encourage white folks  who have felt that frustration to stay engaged and stay humble.

I have a lot of “conversations” with drivers. Now, rationally, I know that most drivers are not jerks. But I have a long and consistent history of bad experiences with drivers and so, when I’ve already been honked at or yelled at that day, or when I’ve read a blog post about a fellow cyclist who’s been mowed down by a careless driver, it’s hard for me to stay civil.

But when I’m not so civil with a “privileged” driver, it’s not because I hate him/her, or think s/he is evil. It’s because it’s the third time that day I got some gravel in the face. So try to remember that even if you don’t feel like a “semi driver,” a person of color might be experiencing you the way a person on a bike experiences being passed by a semi. Even if you’re listening to Christian radio.

Part 2 of this post here.

Autism may represent the last great prejudice we, as a society, must overcome. History is riddled with examples of intolerance directed at the atypical. We can sometime fear that which diverges from the “norm”, and sometimes that fear leads us to frame those who are different as being in some way lesser beings than ourselves.

Intolerances take generations to overcome. Racism is an obvious, ugly example. Other horrifying examples are easy to find: take, for instance the intolerance faced by the gay community. Countless gay people were diagnosed with “sociopathic personality disturbance” based upon their natural sexuality. Many were criminalised and forced into institutions, the “treatments” to which they were subject akin to torture. How many believed they were sociopathic and hated themselves, wishing to be free from the label they had been given? How many wished to be “cured” so that they could live their lives in peace? The greatest crime was the damage perpetuated by the image projected upon them by those claiming to be professionals.

Related: Autism: how unorthodox treatments can exploit the vulnerable

Autism is framed as a disability, with mainstream theories presenting autism via deficit models. Popular theory is often passed off as fact with no mention of the morphic nature of research and scientific process. Most mainstream theory is silent regarding autistic strengths and atypical ability; indeed, what is in print often presents a damning image of autism as an “epidemic”. Hurtful words such as risk, disease, disorder, impairment, deficit, pedantic, obsession are frequently utilised.

A recent genetic study involving identical and non-identical twins identified that 56-95% of the observed characteristics are genetic in origin: autism owes its existence to genetic differences known as polymorphisms. There is no patent for optimal human genetics: genetic differences between individuals, families and groups naturally vary. Species diversify via genetic change all the time; when those changes are positive they are passed to the next generation. Autism is an example of natural variation. Current estimates are that 1 in 100 people are on the autistic spectrum: that translates to around 641,000 people in Britain. If autism were truly a disease, something of detriment, why do autistic variants of genes perpetuate? Why not ask the UK security services, currently employing 10% of its staff from our “neurodivergent” population, including people on the autistic spectrum.

Much current autism research, establishing medical treatment options into drugs, cures and pre-natal screening is funded by the pharmaceutical industry. Such programmes raise many questions, not least because often autistic people seek the right to be valued as equal, yet divergent, members of society, rejecting the notion of disability. Consequently there is an unease at the thought of the pharmaceutical industry, which has a vested interest in perpetuating a “disease model” of autism for eventual profit, being involved with such research. Treatments could be sold to 1% of the population, their human characteristics reduced to mere symptoms. The pitch seems easy: convince the world this group are a problem, then convince the target group.

Related: Autistic people are not tragedies. My life has value and joy | Sarah Kurchak

A common misconception around autism is that it is inextricably linked to intellectual disability. However, many of the world’s great thinkers and innovators displayed autistic characteristics. “Autism and intellectual disability often occur together in clinical settings, and this has made many researchers think that the conditions must share the same genetic causes. Our research challenges this assumption,” says Dr Rosa Hoekstra, lecturer in psychology at the Open University, who led a recent study which found that the genes for autism are distinct from those for learning disabilities. Autistic people exhibit a range of intellectual ability, including exceptional intellect. An obvious cause of this discrepancy is that very intellectually able people are less likely to be diagnosed. Furthermore, some diagnosticians actively withhold diagnoses in those deemed to be coping.

Diagnosed or not, an autistic person knows they are different and has the right to know they belong to a distinct minority group. The classic image of autism is incorrect. 75% of autistic people are verbal and learning disability is distinct from autism. Most people will know an autistic person but may not know that they are autistic.

Autistic people are human beings; genetically and neurologically distinct, but thinking and feeling people with strengths and challenges outside of average and divergent intuitive learning and communication styles. Society can be narrow minded and overtly conformist.

One struggles to find an autistic person with fond memories of school: most suffer abuse at the hands of their classmates. In adulthood, many live isolated lives, shunned by their communities as “weird,” “odd” and unworthy. Many who are highly educated and successful find “coming out” a terrifying prospect, having learned to communicate and behave in a way everyone else wishes them to, but which is alien to them. This is exhausting and depressing, to know the world does not value them as they are. This parallels the plight faced by the homosexual community, one of “staying in the closet.” Current advice is that autistic people can be more prone to mental health issues than the general population. One could hazard a guess that a childhood plagued by abuse, being an outsider in one’s community and hiding in the closet may hint at the reason: autistic people are human after all.

Autism is an evolutionary branch on the great genetic tree. Autistics are a vulnerable minority, protected by the European convention on human rights. Apathy is the enemy of progress and whilst we sleep, big business may pre-natally diagnose, abort, treat and “cure” an important human group out of existence, Human rights seem to not matter when the human in question has a disability label pinned to them. We must stand together to oppose this injustice and define autistic people as a minority group. Work to include and value autistics for the very real and important contribution they make to society. What is the use of history if we do not learn its lessons?

Nikki Stevenson currently serves as the chairman of Autistic Nottingham and East Midlands and is on the committee of Nottingham City Council’s Autism co-production group. She previously worked as a secondary science teacher specialising in chemistry and physics, with an interest in special educational needs and underprivileged children. Nikki can be contacted at nottmaspselfhelp@gmail.com.