Guest Gist: Empires of Certainty

On the Comfort of being wrong about other people

For a few weeks it was hard to turn on the radio, listen to a podcast or open a paper without seeing Suzanne O’Sullivan’s book ‘The Age of Diagnosis’. The commentariat, it seems had found their white knight, someone with deep compassion for patients speaking “common sense” and raising the alarm about the epidemic of overdiagnosis in society. Like Nobel prize winning chemist Linus Pauling who strayed into quackery when writing on vitamin C, O’Sullivan, while an expert, has no expertise in anything she writes about in her book.  She is more condescending than compassionate and little of what she writes makes sense, common or otherwise once you scratch beneath the surface.

Clever people being sincerely, badly and damagingly wrong is a tale as old as time. The great physicians of classical Greece,—Hippocrates, Plato, Galen—conjured up one of medicine’s more bizarre blunders: the idea of “wandering womb” while debating the mysteries of the female body. They believed that the uterus, dissatisfied or underused, might decide to go traveling inside the female body, pressing against the lungs, climbing toward the throat, causing breathlessness, fainting, and what would centuries later be codified as “hysteria”.

This was dogma, not a metaphor, a belief that stood mostly unchallenged for over a thousand years. The treatment? Fragrant compresses to entice the womb back to its proper home. Or, preferably, marriage. It’s funny really what happens when you can’t really see what’s happening inside another person and you don’t check in or believe their actual experiences. Much like our intrepid Greeks, O’Sullivan cries hysteria when there are deeper and more challenging issues at work.

The tl;dr of the book starts with a chapter on Huntington’s Disease and uses the idea of diagnosis without useful treatment as the rough material on which to build its house of straw. She then walks us through a number of chapters including on Lyme’s Disease and Long Covid, Austim, The Cancer Gene, and ADHD, Depression and Neurodiversity. Wittigenstein, in the original notion of “you don’t have to comment on everything”, once said  “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent”. A former manager of mine put it more prosaically saying “opinions are like arseholes, everyone has one”.  To try and avoid this arsehole trap I’ll stay focus on two of the topics here rather than speaking about things I’ve no experience of in ways that are meaningless and misleading.

It's Binaries again

It’s important to say that O’Sullivan goes wrong from the start  The idea of the wandering womb seems absurd. And what is amusing now was once settled orthodoxy. The lesson is sobering: confident pronouncements by experts—especially about human behaviour—often age badly. It’s not that long ago that psychiatrists were confident that “refrigerator mothers” caused Autism. What begins as cautious insight hardens into rigid dogma, sustained more by culture and ideology than evidence. And when medical certainty insists on defining people without listening to them, it moves from error to harm.

And this is my primary concern about this book.

Not that it is wrong.

It is very badly wrong, of course, but it is also very actively harmful.

O’Sullivan, argues for the existence of an “over-diagnosis” of both ADHD and Autism, particularly among adults. In doing so, she adopts a tone that pulses back and forth between concern and condescension, underpinned by a worldview that too often undermines people’s agency. The effect isn’t rhetorical—it echoes more broadly through how society treats diagnosis, support, and the validity of lived experience more generally.

O’Sullivan’s ADHD chapter rests on an all-too-familiar binary: the assumption that the world is divided into the truly disordered and the merely distracted. She dismisses the surge in adult diagnoses as the product of lowered diagnostic thresholds and cultural trends, rather than the outcome of growing awareness and better access to care. In doing so, she ignores an extensive body of research: neuroimaging studies identifying structural and functional differences in the ADHD brain (Hoogman et al., 2017), and genetic analyses confirming its heritability (Faraone & Larsson, 2019). O’Sullivan’s argument comes across less as a critique of diagnostic inflation and more as a refusal to accept that complex traits may manifest differently across lifespans and different social settings.

O’Sullivan frequently undermines her own arguments. She at least recognises that ADHD is real—“a person with a first-degree relative with ADHD has a five- to ten-fold higher chance of having ADHD than other people.” She notes that ADHD rates can correlate with childhood adversity and then suggests that “stimulant drugs would never be recommended to counteract childhood adversity but they can be given if ADHD is viewed as a neurotransmitter imbalance in the brain.” The fact that “a person with a first-degree relative with ADHD has a five- to ten-fold higher chance of having ADHD” indicates a genetic risk factor.

At the same time, childhood adversity could exacerbate or unmask these underlying vulnerabilities, making ADHD symptoms more pronounced or harder to manage. Recognising adversity as a contributing factor does not negate the reality of ADHD any more than acknowledging that stress can exacerbate high blood pressure negates the physiological basis of hypertension. No one would suggest that an adult with hypertension shouldn’t take blood pressure medication because stress might have contributed to it in the first place.

She also notes in relation to drugs that “where drugs may work is to help people focus on repetitive, mundane tasks. But that does not necessarily translate to an improvement in creativity or in the sort of complex mental abilities that matter more to relationships, work, or success.” At this point, one wonders if O’Sullivan has actually met and spoken to people with ADHD. People with ADHD are some of the most wildly creative individuals imaginable, with extremely complex mental acuity. It’s the mundane tasks that frequently derail them. The lived experience of people whose lives have improved with support and treatment, both pharmacological and psychological, is quite important.

Counting things does not increase their number

There is a certain irony to her claim that people are rushing toward an ADHD diagnosis as if it were a new wellness trend. Anyone who has ever faced the skepticism of a GP, the maze of assessment processes, or the social stigma that still clings to psychiatric labels, knows this isn’t an impulsive Amazon purchase. It’s a hard-fought and hard-won recognition of the truth and reality.

Her autism chapter follows a similar arc, paternalism in polite prose. Here, O’Sullivan again argues that diagnostic expansion has led to overreach. She suggests that the inclusion of less visibly impaired individuals—especially those diagnosed in adulthood—somehow dilutes the meaning of autism.

Her argument relies on conflating diagnostic expansion with diagnostic laxity.

O'Sullivan suggests autism is increasingly diagnosed without robust clinical justification. However, empirical data reveals autism has historically been under-recognised, particularly in females, ethnic minorities, and adults, whose traits were masked or misunderstood for decades. Recent increases in diagnosis correlate more closely with improved awareness, refined diagnostic criteria, and enhanced accessibility to healthcare rather than diagnostic laxity (Lai et al., 2015; Brugha et al., 2011).

The greater than three-fold increase in autism diagnoses among students in special education programs in the United States between 2000 and 2010 may be due in large part to the reclassification of individuals who previously would have been diagnosed with other intellectual disability disorders, according to new research. https://www.psu.edu/news/research/story/increasing-prevalence-autism-due-part-changing-diagnoses

Her tone is one of genteel skepticism—a well-mannered doubt that cloaks a deeply troubling assumption: that those who claim an autistic identity later in life are, perhaps, mistaken. The implication is that people can’t be trusted to narrate their own experience. In doing so, she revives a medical paternalism reminiscent of the Victorian physician prescribing fresh air and cold baths for hysteria. She conflates genuine diagnostic expansion—correcting historic under-diagnosis—with over-diagnosis. Current research clearly distinguishes between recognising previously overlooked autistic presentations and inappropriate diagnosis, with evidence predominantly supporting the former (Happé & Frith, 2020).

People should be the authors of their own lives

I’m going to take both autism and ADHD together under the broad umbrella of ‘neurodiversty’ but it’s a term I’m not particularly fond of because it suggests there is an neurotypical and normal objective standard. O’Sullivan decries diagnostic expansion as irresponsible. Her argument relies heavily on the assumption that there exists a clear, definable line between “normal” and “abnormal” human experience, a line that she suggests contemporary medicine has irresponsibly blurred. Yet decades of neurobiological research complicate this neat binary. ADHD and Autism are  profoundly complex neurodevelopmental conditions, validated by substantial scientific evidence demonstrating consistent structural and functional brain differences. Studies robustly indicate alterations in dopamine regulation and executive functioning pathways in those with ADHD. Genetic research underscores the hereditary nature of both Autism and ADHD studies indicating heritability rates upwards of 70-80%.

This is reflected in a common experience among parents of those with ADHD and Autism. One of the most common tropes these days is parents of those with Autism and ADHD being diagnosed on the back of their children being diagnosed.  Children struggling are brought to specialists by concerned parents whose own struggles were never recognised and whose lives were circumscribed by a society that neither understood them or enabled them to flourish. This leading to diagnosis by adults much later in their lives.

Moreover, the lived experience of individuals with ADHD presents a narrative fundamentally different from O’Sullivan’s portrayal. Adult diagnoses often bring profound relief, validation, and empowerment. Individuals report transformative moments upon diagnosis, expressing sentiments like finally having the “missing piece” that clarifies lifelong struggles. Women in particular, whose symptoms frequently express as anxiety or depression, find immense validation in recognising their experiences through an ADHD lens. Popular narratives showcase how diagnosis often catalyses profound positive changes in self-understanding, interpersonal relationships, and overall life trajectory.

In response, O’Sullivan argues that these positive outcomes mask deeper harms—chief among them, a dependency on medication and accommodations that could undermine resilience. She dismisses stimulant medications, casting doubt on their long-term efficacy and suggesting that perceived benefits might be placebo-driven. Yet her critique starkly contrasts empirical findings published in authoritative journals like Pediatrics and corroborated by systematic reviews, which unequivocally demonstrate that stimulant medication significantly improves not only core ADHD symptoms but also academic, social, and occupational functioning. O’Sullivan’s argument is an ideological one. Much like those who decry the moral failure of those whose obesity is fixed by Ozempic rather than willpower.

Suffering as virtue went out with anesthetics

O’Sullivan’s skepticism mirrors a broader societal suspicion toward neurodiversity and chronic illness—an insistence that true suffering must always visibly differentiate itself from everyday difficulty. There is similar paternalism in how society approaches autism, chronic fatigue syndrome, and even Long Covid. Individuals suffering from chronic fatigue or Long Covid frequently encounter disbelief and minimisation, their subjective experiences brushed aside by a medical establishment more invested in neat explanations than in the messy reality of lived experience.

Transgender individuals face comparable paternalistic narratives. Their self-understanding and expressed identities are frequently subject to gatekeeping from medical and psychological authorities who presume to define what is and isn't valid about their inner realities. This insistence that external observers know best—the paternalistic folk belief that medical and psychological professionals understand a person’s internal landscape better than the individuals themselves—mirrors precisely the stance O’Sullivan implicitly adopts in her discussion of ADHD.

O’Sullivan’s broad assertion that the label of ADHD or Autism can lead to bullying or a lack of striving for normality in a person's life ignores what actually happens to children with Autism and ADHD. These children are frequently bullied and isolated in school and society. The complex adverse life events that O’Sullivan suggests are part of a polygenic nature of ADHD are so co-mingled with the presence of ADHD that they are likely impossible to disentangle. The profound relief that people get from a diagnosis of ADHD and autism in later life, a lifting, sometimes, of shame and understanding of their self, is often tied to the grief of what was lost by not knowing earlier—opportunities forgone, relationships lost, time and energy wasted. O’Sullivan’s arguments against diagnosis are Victorian in nature, suggesting people won’t struggle enough with a diagnosis.

There is a very dangerous and toxic notion at work here. People with ADHD and Autism are not merrily going about their lives striving.

They are already labelled: flighty, fidgety, restless, forgetful, thoughtless, rude, weird, clumsy, shy, trouble.

These labels become part of people's identity as they internalise societal expectations, seeing themselves as lazy, damaged, and leading to the types of anxiety and depression that are so often found with autism and ADHD

The notion that struggling is inherently virtuous stems from a cultural narrative that equates effort with moral worth. But this framing fails to consider that not all struggles are chosen, nor are they all equal nor are the all valuable. Struggling, in and of itself, is not a virtue. The circumstances of a person’s struggle—social, economic, neurological—matter greatly. A person born into privilege might “struggle” to meet deadlines; a person with ADHD may experience cognitive paralysis doing the same. The glorification of ‘grit’  can encourage burnout, masking deeper dysfunctions. People are celebrated for “pushing through” rather than being supported in sustainable, compassionate ways.

This distorts both individual well-being and collective understanding of health. The effort expended can be incomparable. When we valorise struggle, we risk making suffering a performance of character. People who are constantly pushing through adversity may be applauded, while those who seek help, accommodations, or alternative paths may be unfairly judged as weak or lazy. This creates a toxic cycle where pain is seen as noble, and easing it is seen as failure. The notion is that what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger embedded deeply in our toxic culture. Frequently what doesn’t kill you leaves you anxious or depressed, broken or humiliated and limits your potential flourishing as a human. 

Bad science has worse results

The potential impacts of O’Sullivan’s assertions are substantial and troubling. By portraying ADHD diagnosis as predominantly unjustified, her arguments risk discouraging individuals from seeking necessary medical care and support, potentially exacerbating their difficulties and isolation. Families might become hesitant to pursue or accept diagnosis and intervention, depriving their children of critical early support. Healthcare providers may become reluctant to diagnose ADHD, undermining their ability to offer evidence-based treatments and supportive accommodations. Policymakers influenced by such scepticism might restrict funding, resources, and accommodations necessary for ADHD individuals to thrive educationally, occupationally, and socially.

Support for neurodiversity is chronically underfunded, particularly in Ireland. And this is where the mask slips with O’Sullivan. She claims a number of times that this isn’t a question of money but effectively vilifies people better able to mask autism or ADHD from those who are really worthy of care including profoundly autistic individuals who can’t live unaided.  This cuts through much of her discussions. Robert Chapman, in Empire of Normality, shows how capitalism, and the demands of neatly packaged predictable people profoundly impacts neurodiverse people.

O’Sullivans’ repeated paternalistic stances serves to entrench stigma. It serves to reinforce a narrative that individuals seeking diagnosis and support are incapable of accurately understanding their own experiences and needs. Such narratives further marginalise neurodiverse individuals, disempowering them and diminishing their autonomy in critical decisions about their healthcare and life trajectories. To move beyond these deeply problematic framings, a more scientifically accurate, philosophically sound, and ethically respectful approach to neurodiverse conversation is required.

Such an approach must begin by unequivocally recognising neurodiversity as a legitimate developmental difference, validated by extensive empirical research, rather than dismissing it as mere medicalisation. It should embrace intersectionality, explicitly recognising that neurodiversity intersects with other dimensions of identity, necessitating tailored, inclusive support frameworks sensitive to diverse lived experiences.

In both chapters, O’Sullivan’s scepticism is couched in the language of caution and scientific integrity, but it rests on a flawed philosophical foundation. She consistently positions neurotypicality as the gold standard, against which all deviation must be measured—and usually found wanting. There’s little room in her framework for neurodiversity as a natural variation in human cognition. This is a misstep not only scientifically, but ethically.

Difference is not disordered

Philosopher Robert Chapman, in Empire of Normality, critiques precisely this tendency: to view neurological difference as disorder rather than diversity. Chapman argues that our understanding of conditions like autism and ADHD has been shaped more by capitalism’s demand for conformity than by genuine science. After all, what makes ADHD problematic? A brain wired for stimulation and spontaneity—or a school and work culture designed for quiet compliance? Who defines dysfunction: the individual, or the system they’re trying to survive in?

The distortion of science to serve cultural narratives is not new. Naomi Oreskes, in her work on climate denialism and the misuse of scientific authority, has shown how doubt can be manufactured by selectively quoting data, dismissing consensus, or privileging anecdote over evidence. O’Sullivan’s chapters fall into a similar trap. She cherry-picks studies, ignores volumes of contradictory evidence, and appeals to an outdated ideal of scientific gatekeeping—where knowledge flows from expert to layperson, not collaboratively or democratically.

In this framing, ADHD and autism are not real unless an expert deems them so. This not only misrepresents the scientific literature but fundamentally denies the epistemic authority (who you trust as a reliable source of knowledge and expertise) of neurodivergent individuals to speak for themselves.

Two of the best books on the mind I’ve ever read are Robert Chapman’s critique of the “Empire of Normality” and Richard Bentall’s “Doctoring the Mind”. Both are person-centered approaches to mental health, that begin by challenging the very notion of normality that so often governs society’s understanding of neurodiversity. Chapman contends that the “empire” is upheld by institutions and cultural narratives that pathologise cognitive differences and marginalise those who diverge from a narrowly defined norm. Bentall, meanwhile, critiques the rigidity of traditional psychiatric diagnoses, advocating a more holistic view that takes into account individual experiences, social factors, and psychological well-being alongside biological elements.

Joining these perspectives acknowledges the complexity of ADHD and autism by highlighting the interplay between biology, personal narratives, and societal structures. Rather than casting these conditions solely in terms of deficits measured against normative standards, both Chapman and Bentall encourage us to consider the unique ways in which neurodivergent individuals process, perceive, and engage with the world. By reframing such differences as variations along a continuum—rather than strictly disordered functioning—this approach validates a range of strengths, abilities, and sensitivities that deserve recognition and accommodation.

Crucially, Chapman’s emphasis on dismantling “normality” dovetails with Bentall’s argument that environmental and social factors must be addressed if we are to truly support neurodivergent people. Schools, workplaces, and public spaces often fail to meet their needs, intensifying challenges that could otherwise be mitigated through structural changes and inclusive policies. Equally important is the recognition of individual agency: both theorists champion the voices of those with ADHD or autism in defining what support looks like, rather than imposing top-down clinical or educational interventions that may ignore people’s subjective realities.

Improving society helps everyone

Finally, this synthesis invites a deeper cultural shift. Instead of focusing on “fixing” individuals to fit a narrow mould, we can and we should look to transform the broader social environment. Policy reforms, flexible educational approaches, and community-based resources can collectively create space for neurodiverse ways of thinking and learning. When such inclusive frameworks become the norm, ADHD and Autism cease to be viewed primarily as medical pathologies and are instead understood as natural cognitive variations within the human family—ones that can bring distinctive strengths and perspectives when valued and supported.

So what would a more inclusive, scientifically true, philosophically robust and morally just alternative look like?

First, it would start by centering lived experience alongside empirical evidence. This is about science and truth.  As Richard Bentall and others in the critical psychiatry tradition remind us, no diagnosis is meaningful unless it helps someone make sense of their life. The purpose of psychiatry is not to impose labels but to foster understanding and growth.

Second, it would adopt a strengths-based, intersectional approach—recognising that ADHD and Autism do not manifest in a vacuum, but interact with gender, race, class, and culture in complex ways.

Third, it would embrace participatory research, where neurodivergent people are not just subjects but co-creators of knowledge. The different between what is said here and what is known to be true is an abyss. O’Sullivan is decrying objective reality in the guise of concern.

Finally, it would tell better stories. Stories that do not dismiss paternalistically but locate it ethically. Stories that use science not as a gate but as a bridge. Stories that illuminate difference without pathologising it. Stephen J Gould once wrote, “The most erroneous stories are those we think we know best—and therefore never scrutinise.” It’s time we scrutinised the stories we tell about neurodivergence. And it’s time we wrote new ones—truer, kinder, and more complete ones.

Fighting monsters before they grow

Central to reforming discussions around ADHD and Autism is adopting a humanistic, strengths-based model. This model should emphasise dignity, agency, autonomy, and respect for individuals. Rather than viewing people as passive recipients of medical interventions, we must see them as active participants capable of defining and directing their own care and support strategies. Historical and ongoing challenges faced by individuals within healthcare and social systems should inform a compassionate and inclusive approach to policy and practice.

Practical strategies must involve promoting participatory research methodologies, ensuring that individuals play central roles in shaping research agendas, designing interventions, and interpreting outcomes. Such participatory frameworks enrich our understanding and increase the likelihood of creating genuinely supportive and effective strategies that respect the autonomy and lived realities of people.

The was a speech in Andor Episode 9 where Mon Mothma say’s “The distance between what is said and what is known to be true has become an abyss. Of all the things at risk, the loss of an objective reality is perhaps the most dangerous. The death of truth is the ultimate victory of evil. When truth leaves us, when we let it slip away, when it is ripped from our hands, we become vulnerable to the appetite of whatever monster screams the loudest”.  It’s a speech squarely aimed a certain political actors.  And it reflects what we’re seeing more broadly in society. Particularly in the US and the UK and laundered not infrequently into Irish media. On Autism, ADHD on Long Covid, and with Transgender people.  I don’t think O’Sullivan is a monster, though she monstering people.  She has rejected the objective reality and the science and opened the door to monsters.

Policy and practice should reflect a commitment to restructuring societal systems—educational, occupational, and social—that are inherently intolerant of cognitive diversity. We need to get to reality, not what’s comfortable for O’Sullivan and her fans.  Flexible educational approaches, inclusive workplace accommodations, and societal recognition of diverse cognitive styles can mitigate the inherent biases perpetuated by rigid capitalist expectations.

Ultimately, the critique of O’Sullivan’s position underscores that the core issue is not an epidemic of diagnosis but an epidemic of societal intolerance towards cognitive diversity. Her paternalistic framing, inadvertently or deliberately, strengthens the oppressive norms she ostensibly challenges. True progress demands moving beyond paternalism towards genuine inclusivity, empowering individuals with respect for their diverse experiences and autonomy. Only then can our conversations align with scientific accuracy, philosophical integrity, and the fundamental dignity of lived experience that a turn towards the truth brings.

Let me end, with a story. In the early 2000s, a young woman named Lydia Brown began blogging about their experience as an autistic person—challenging stereotypes, pushing back against deficit narratives, and coining phrases that would go on to reshape the discourse around autism. A nonbinary autistic disability rights advocate, writer, and scholar whose work foregrounds intersectionality and self-advocacy, Brown didn’t wait for institutional permission to be heard. They wrote, organised, and helped build a thriving self-advocacy movement that continues to influence policy, language, and practice to this day. They weren’t the subject of a clinical study—they authored their own.

Brown’s blog Autistic Hoya and their co-edited anthology All the Weight of Our Dreams: On Living with Racialised Autism, highlights the voices of autistic people of color and redefines what inclusion can look like.

And in an Irish context read “Wired our Own Way” for stories of the voices of Autistic people in their own words.

In this, they exemplify what happens when agency is returned to those too often spoken about and too rarely listened to. The consequences aren’t disruptive—they were transformative. Not only for them, but for an entire generation of people who, in hearing someone else speak truthfully, were empowered to speak their own.

Dermot Casey is CEO of IRDG (Industry Research and Development Group). He was COO of Storyful and has been an adjunct lecturer at the UCD Smurfit Graduate Business School and is a Board Member of the NSAI (National Standards Authority of Ireland).

Things mentioned

·       Bentall, Richard. Madness Explained: Psychosis and Human Nature. Penguin Books, 2004.

·       Benthall, Richard. Doctoring the Mind: Why Psychiatric Treatments Fail Penguin Books, 2010

·       Brown, Lydia X. Z., et al., editors. All the Weight of Our Dreams: On Living with Racialized Autism. DragonBee Press, 2017.  The publication was suspended in 2021 because We currently plan to take a break before announcing a formal plan to continue with publication of a second, revised edition of the anthology that will both address the harm caused in the original edition and provide an important, necessary resource for autistic people of color.  https://autismandrace.com/all-the-weight-of-our-dreams-anthology/

·       Brugha, T. S., et al. “Epidemiology of Autism Spectrum Disorders in Adults in the Community in England.” Archives of General Psychiatry, vol. 68, no. 5, 2011, pp. 459–465.  DOI: 10.1001/archgenpsychiatry.2011.38

·       Chapman, Robert. Empire of Normality: Neurodiversity and Capitalism. Penguin, 2023. https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451379/empire-of-normality

·       Faraone, Stephen V., and Henrik Larsson. “Genetics of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.” Molecular Psychiatry, vol. 24, no. 4, 2019, pp. 562–575. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/29892054/

·       Gould, Stephen Jay. The Flamingo’s Smile: Reflections in Natural History. W. W. Norton & Company, 1985. Stephen Jay Gould: “The most erroneous stories are those we think we know best—and therefore never scrutinize.”

·       Happé, Francesca, and Uta Frith. “Looking Back to Look Forward: Changes in the Concept of Autism and Implications for Future Research.” Journal of Child Psychology and Psychiatry, vol. 61, no. 3, 2020, pp. 218–222.

·       Hoogman, Martine, et al. “Subcortical Brain Volume Differences in Participants with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder in Children and Adults: A Cross-Sectional Mega-Analysis.” The Lancet Psychiatry, vol. 4, no. 4, 2017, pp. 310–319.

·       Lai, Meng-Chuan, et al. “Sex/Gender Differences and Autism: Setting the Scene for Future Research.” Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, vol. 54, no. 1, 2015, pp. 11–24.

·       Oreskes, Naomi, and Erik M. Conway. Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming. Bloomsbury Press, 2010.

Hello all, Simon here. My thanks to Dermot for his guest essay on a topic that agitated me when I saw it appear as a flavour of the month yap-talker topic. He's addressed it fifty times better than I would have.

I thought it was particularly suitable as a Gist as it touches on many of the themes of our last few months. The dangers of allowing imperial binaries which insist on people being one thing or another, instead of accepting that humanity exists on a spectrum. The fact that seeking an ADHD diagnosis involves a person becoming the primary author of their own lives is also the key insight in data proteciton law. It is also one of the stongest assurances of having people treated with dignity.

And, of course the fact it ends in a bunch of further reading.