Why we must stop the infighting and start fighting for each other

Victor Perez Is Dead - and the Autistic Community Is Tearing Itself Apart

Content Warning: This post discusses the death of Victor Perez, systemic ableism, police violence, racism, and community trauma. Please read with care and take the space you need.

Disclaimer:

Before anything else, I want to acknowledge that I do not know Victor Perez’s full story. None of us do- not truly, not entirely. And I will never be able to fully capture the scale of the grief or the horror of what happened. There are no words that can do justice to the heartbreak of a young life stolen so needlessly.

I am not speaking for Victor. I cannot. That distinction matters - not just here, but in all advocacy. Speaking about an issue is not the same as speaking for someone, and it’s vital we hold that line with care and integrity. This post does not attempt to speak for Victor, his family, or his community. At the centre of all this is a child - a 17-year-old boy - who should still be here. A family who should never have to mourn him. A community thrust into global attention while carrying the unbearable weight of private pain. They deserve space, privacy, and compassion as they navigate a nightmare no one should ever have to live through - and I urge everyone reading this to remember that.

This piece focuses on the aftermath - on how the autistic community has responded, fractured, and hurt itself in the wake of this tragedy. But that focus must never eclipse the heart of it: a life lost.

I am also deeply aware that my voice is just one - and one that, in many ways, has more access to platforms and space than others. That imbalance needs to change. We need to radically rethink how we uplift the voices of autistic people from marginalized backgrounds, particularly those who don’t communicate in ways the mainstream finds “acceptable” or “understandable.” Spoken language and traditional advocacy aren't the only valid forms of expression. We must be creative, bold, and radical in how we make space for all autistic voices — not in our way, not the neurotypical way, but in their way.

This is a call for respect, for listening, for change. For letting the voiceless be heard - even if they don't speak in words.

· Victor Perez - 17 years old, autistic, brown, disabled (from my research this is how Victor identified so this is the terminology I am using however if I am incorrect please do let me know)- was shot and killed. His death is heartbreaking. But the aftermath has revealed something equally painful: a community fracturing under the weight of its own trauma.

· In the days following Victor’s death, autistic advocacy spaces exploded. Some blamed Autism Acceptance Month. Others claimed it was proof that high-support-needs autistics are forgotten. Many invalidated others’ grief and experiences. And beneath it all: fear. Rage. Pain.

· This blog dives into the ways our own community’s internal arguments are not only unhelpful - but dangerous. And how our fight for inclusion must include each other - or it’s not a fight worth having.

When Advocacy Fractures

Victor Perez should still be alive.

A 17-year-old American, brown, autistic boy with cerebral palsy. Shot and killed. Another name we should never have to learn in this way. Another tragedy that reveals the same systemic fears - fear of disability, of race, of communication difference, of human complexity.

This is where the story often ends in the media - at the bullet, at the death. But what happens after the violence is also part of the story. What happens next is just as telling.

Because after Victor’s death, the world didn’t go quiet. The internet got loud. And the loudest voices were not always the most helpful.

In our autistic community, my community, something cracked again. Something that has been splintering for a while.

Autism Acceptance Month and the Civil War Online

Every April, we’re told it’s our month - Autism Awareness Month, then Autism Acceptance Month, and for some, Autism Appreciation Month. But for those of us who are autistic, April often feels like anything but celebration.

It’s a month of fighting.

Fighting over language. Over function labels. Over identity-first vs person-first. Over advocacy strategy. Over who gets to speak. Over who speaks too much.

I see this so clearly now - especially in moments like this. A tragedy happens and we rush in with passion, grief, fury. But we don’t hold each other in that. We dissect. We blame. We call each other out.

We say:

· “This is what happens when we focus on awareness instead of acceptance.”

· “This is why high support needs autistics need more visibility.”

· “This is why self-diagnosed people shouldn’t speak on this.”

· “This is performative activism.”

· “This is why we need to listen to real autistics — not parents.”

And in the process, the message - the collective power we could wield - becomes fragmented.

I’m not saying we shouldn’t have these conversations. But how we have them matters.

Because right now, the argument is louder than the advocacy. And the world watches us tear each other down - not realising that in this, we are playing directly into the hands of the system we’re trying to dismantle.

Black-and-White Thinking and the Trap of Purity Politics

Autism often comes with cognitive rigidity. Black-and-white thinking. A deep desire for moral clarity and fairness. I get it. I feel it. I live it.

But we are not immune to the same traps that catch everyone else - hierarchy of pain, gatekeeping of experience, who gets to be “most oppressed.”

As an autistic activist, I know that fire. I carry it. I have lived through enough injustice to make me scream. I have also learned that passion without nuance becomes just another kind of violence.

We can’t keep weaponizing our trauma against each other.

We can’t keep making blanket statements like “acceptance doesn’t matter” or “awareness is useless.”

It depends who is holding the awareness. What kind of acceptance we’re talking about. Language matters. So does intent. So does context.

But nuance doesn’t trend. Compassion doesn’t go viral.

Who Gets to Be Autistic Enough?

I know my privileges. I can speak - fluently, passionately. I can mask - too well, sometimes. I live independently (most of the time).

And I also know what it feels like to be on suicide watch. To be laughed at while hurting myself in hospital. To be disbelieved because I was “too articulate.”

I know what it means to have ADHD medication denied and to feel myself unraveling.

I know what it means to be excluded, again and again, for being “too autistic” or “not autistic enough.”

Autism is not a binary. It’s not a spectrum you can neatly place someone on. It's a constellation of traits and identities and traumas and wiring that looks different in every single one of us.

Some autistics are artists. Some are non-verbal. Some are politicians. Some are housebound. Some are carers. Some are cared for. Some will never live alone. Some will win Nobel prizes. Some will never be believed.

All are valid. All are human.

And none of us deserve to die for being autistic.

The Bigger Fight - And Why We’re Losing Ground

Victor’s death is not just about autism. It’s about the fear of difference. About systemic racism. About ableism. It’s about fear in the face of communication that doesn’t fit expectations. About institutional fear turned fatal.

And when we argue about the “right way” to be autistic, we miss the point.

We feed the narrative that we’re disorganised, ungrateful, oversensitive, dangerous, fake, impossible to please.

We become easy to dismiss.

Meanwhile, the real enemy - the system that fails us, the laws that harm us, the police who don’t understand us, the services that gatekeep our care - stays intact.

We aren’t just victims of discrimination. We’re victims of a system that has trained us to look sideways instead of up. That has taught us that there isn’t enough space for all of us - so we must fight each other for scraps.

What We Actually Need to Do

We need to stop cancelling each other and start building coalitions.

We need to make space for all kinds of autistic voices- speaking and non-speaking, Black, Brown, white, disabled, trans, low and high support, trauma survivors, spoonie warriors, masked and unmasked.

We need to push for real systemic change, not just new hashtags.

We need to organise, not just post.

We need to listen, even when it's uncomfortable. Especially then.

And Victor? He Should Still Be Here.

He should have lived. Full stop.

Victor Perez was a 17-year-old brown autistic teenager with cerebral palsy.

He was loved. He was more than a diagnosis.

And he was murdered because the world saw his difference and chose violence over understanding.

So if you’re still arguing about whether “acceptance” or “awareness” is better - ask yourself if any of that stopped that bullet.

It didn’t.

What might? Unity. Strategy. Honesty. Compassion. Complexity.

That’s where change begins.