Can autism be a cause of criminal acts and bad behaviour?

by John Nelson
Chair | National Police Autism Association

In June 2020, autism featured in a widely-reported criminal case. Jonty Bravery, an autistic teenager, was sentenced to life imprisonment at the Old Bailey following an incident the previous year in which he had dropped a six year old boy from the viewing platform at the Tate Modern gallery. The victim survived but suffered life-changing injuries.

The court was told that Bravery’s autism – a central part of his medical profile – did not explain his actions, and that the attack was premeditated. Bravery, who was aged 17 at the time of the offence but tried as an adult, had admitted attempted murder at an earlier hearing and was sentenced to a minimum term of 15 years. The judge warned that he may never be deemed fit for release.

Five years later, autism was in the news again for the wrong reasons. TV presenter and celebrity Gregg Wallace was sacked by the BBC following an inquiry into his alleged misconduct whilst hosting the long-running reality cookery show MasterChef. In response, Wallace publicly shared his recent autism diagnosis, and claimed that his employer had failed to investigate his disability or to ‘protect’ him from what he described as a ‘dangerous environment’.

Any autistic person reading these and similar stories would probably feel a sense of despair at autism being linked to – if not blamed for – someone’s wrongdoing. But is there any truth in the conclusion that a casual reader might arrive at – that autism causes people to behave badly?

The short answer (spoiler alert) is No. But, as with anyone, autistic people can fall foul of the law and what would commonly be regarded as ‘acceptable behaviour’ – and autism can sometimes play a part in this.

The first point to make is that autistic people are no more likely to commit criminal acts than the general population. There is, on the other hand, evidence that autistic people are more likely to fall victim to crime and bullying, including so-called mate crime. Autism makes you more likely to be a victim rather than an offender. It doesn’t help that the media tends to give more prominence to stories involving an autistic offender than an autistic victim, or that many crimes against autistic and disabled people go unreported.

In cases where an autistic person has committed a crime, there is a very high bar to be met in a court of law for a person to be found not responsible for their actions due to their autism. All police officers will be familiar with the concept of mens rea (literal translation ‘guilty mind’) – the defendant’s knowledge that they were committing a crime, intending to commit a crime or being reckless as to whether a crime would arise from their actions. For an autistic person to genuinely not understand the difference between right and wrong, they would typically have a co-morbid (co-occurring) profound learning disability or a severe mental illness. In the vast majority of criminal cases involving autistic defendants, it was held that the defendant understood the concept of a criminal act, and could therefore be held to account for their actions. This was the judge’s finding in the Bravery case.

Aside from rare examples of serious crime, autistic poeple can easily find themselves being judged adversely by other individuals and the general public in day-to-day life. (The social model of disability proposes that it is societal attitudes towards conditions such as autism that are disabling, rather than the condition itself.) Outside of the law, ‘bad’ behaviour can be a highly subjective concept and forms a large grey area dependent on how a person’s autism affects them (differently in every case, hence the saying ‘if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person’), the nature and context of what took place, and the views of others involved or affected.

It’s well-known that autistic people tend to struggle with social communication – or rather communicating in a way that the majority of the population sees as normal and acceptable. (Difficulties with social interaction form part of the dyad of impairments required for an autism diagnosis.) Every autistic person will be able to give examples of social faux pas that they’d rather forget: giving honest opinions that were not appreciated, providing answers to questions that were too short (or too long), or making a French exit from a social gathering that was becoming overwhelming. Over time, these ‘social errors’ – trivial as they are – can lead to a person being labelled as rude, stand-offish, ‘not a team player’ (if noted in a work context), and sometimes socially excluded as a result.

But is it fair to criticise someone merely for failing to communicate in a way that the majority of the population expects – especially if there is clearly no malice involved? This has been neatly described as the double empathy problem: a theory proposing that communication between autistic and non-autistic people is a two-way street, rather than the autistic person being judged on their ability to communicate effectively, and that both sides need to be aware of the expectations of the other party.

Sometimes, through no fault of their own, an autistic person can behave in a way that is upsetting or offensive to others. First responders dealing with autistic people in emergency situations need to be aware of autistic meltdown, where an autistic person may become so overwhelmed by a situation and external stimuli that they involuntarily lash out, verbally or physically. This can lead to criminal allegations, for example if someone is assaulted or property is damaged. Some autistic people engage in stimming – self-stimulating or self-regulating behaviour such as vocalising or hand flapping – which may lead to complaints in some settings. In the event of police becoming involved, it is vital that officers are aware that the person is autistic and how their autism affects them, and understand options for de-escalation and exercise of discretion when dealing with allegations arising from their behaviour. For this reason the NPAA champions measures such as alert card schemes and wristbands, and training for police colleagues coming into contact with autistic people. (We are pleased to include on our website the first responder meltdown guide developed by autism advocate Viv Dawes.)

In 1943, the American psychologist Abraham Maslow proposed the now well-known hierarchy of needs as a means of understanding human motivation. Maslow suggested that second only to basic physical needs (food, shelter and safety) is the need for belonging and acceptance. Most of us with friends, family and social networks take this for granted, but those who speak a different social language are often keenly aware when it is not fulfilled. Sometimes an autistic person’s efforts to fit in and be accepted can cross the line into unacceptable behaviour – for example, joining in with inappropriate ‘banter’ in the workplace. (This can be exacerbated by the tendency of some autistic people – especially females – to subconsciously mask their autism by mirroring the social cues of those around them.) The vast majority of law-abiding autistic people would agree that although we struggle and sometimes make mistakes, autism is not a ‘get out of jail free’ card, and that we should all do our best to avoid upsetting others and to stay within the law. This is why Gregg Wallace raising his autism diagnosis as a defence against alleged misconduct – which took place over a long period of time, and in the context of him occupying a position of privilege and power – drew the ire of disability charities.

Ultimately, our journey through life throws up regular challenges and pitfalls for those of us with brains that work differently to the majority of the population, regardless of our social standing or professional vocation. We are all better or worse at navigating a world that is sometimes confusing, unforgiving and hostile. Social media, and the willingness of senior colleagues and public figures to talk openly about their neurodivergence in a positive way, has done much in recent years to break down stigma and increase understanding of autism and neurodiversity; my hope is that the social minefield gives way to a culture of ‘universal empathy’ where everyone, regardless of difference, can be accepted and understood. ∎

In this piece written for the NPAA as part of World Autism Acceptance Month, Detective Chief Inspector Becky Davies of Devon & Cornwall Police reflects on her promotion journey as an autistic and ADHD female officer

It’s been a few years since my last blog post, but when the National Police Autism Association approached me to write about my most recent experience of promotion, I decided it was time for the next episode.

It is a privilege to be asked to write this blog post for the NPAA. It is also a privilege to have made it in to senior leadership in policing and be leading a team of Detective Constables, Sergeants, Inspectors and police staff dealing with some of the most serious and complex crime in policing. The journey was, as usual, a little bumpy.

I have previously blogged and recorded podcasts about my other experiences of promotion to Sergeant, Detective Sergeant and Detective Inspector, as well as the journey I have been on as a late discovered autistic and ADHD individual. You can find these here if interested in a read or listen: Becky’s Story: Neurodivergence and Police Promotion (hosted by Rank Success) and Episode 6 – Out of the Dark, a podcast hosted by The Late Discovered Club, a resource for autistic women diagnosed in later life.

Following promotion to Detective Inspector in 2022, I spent two and a half happy years leading a team investigating child and vulnerable adult abuse. In about November 2023, I started to think about the next steps and considered both lateral and promotional development. I still loved my job and my team, but I had achieved what I had intended, and the two years I promised I would stay for was approaching in April 2024.

At the time I was told that I was performing really well, and with a few extra boxes ticked I’d be ready. I was given a list of ‘things to do’ to further prepare. Five months later, PDR time came around. I was graded outstanding but put into a development category that essentially said I wasn’t ready. For those other neurodivergents out there you can probably guess what the summary of the request was in order to be ‘ready’…

I’ve come to coin the term ‘do more, be different’. I have lost count of the times that in various ways I’ve been told that I needed to do more and be different. Even when I was doing more than many of my neurotypical peers, and I was masking to the detriment of my own wellbeing to ‘be different’: being more social, trying harder to read the room, trying harder to dial down the passion, the directness, the impatience. Taking on work far beyond my own sphere of influence, not just to tick a box or two for self-serving promotion purposes, but to make genuine sustainable change.

This time I wasn’t willing to ‘do more’ or ‘be different’, because I was already doing more than enough and I now knew I’m autistic and ADHD. Whilst I would seek to gain understanding from others and reflect on the impact of my neurodivergence, the onus was no longer just on me. I was also 41 years of age and tired of it.

The evidence for my ‘do more, be different’ was non-existent. Yet the evidence of me working really hard to raise awareness and understanding of ND as well as selling the benefits in many roles including senior leadership was in abundance. As was the evidence of leading change in the projects I had taken on to improve performance within the department and beyond.

Luckily the process had changed to enable people like me to access it. There were measures to prevent the people already in the privileged position of senior leadership from always supporting the same people – that is, people like them – and to stop unconscious bias creeping in even before submission of an application. The new process was designed to ensure the full range of the available talent pool was assessed.

So in went the ‘expression of interest’ form. Written from the heart. A true authentic reflection of my past few years in policing condensed into 800 words, sent straight to the assessment centre for anonymous marking. There were some challenging conversations as to why I was going against the status quo once again; but the bottom line was: ‘because I can and therefore I must – not only for me as an individual but for other diverse individuals seeking lateral and promotional development’.

This time I wasn’t willing to ‘do more’ or ‘be different’, because I was already doing more than enough and I now knew I’m autistic and ADHD. I was also 41 years of age and tired of it.

I passed the written part of the process convincingly. Then it was time to go and sit in front of HR and senior leaders in the board process – a process that once upon a time would have seen me go to pieces and fail. Fortunately, over the years I have crafted my skills and abilities in this respect to perform and mentored many others. I talk about this in my blog/podcast for Rank Success.

My board consisted of a HR representative, a Detective Superintendent and a Detective Chief Superintendent – people who had known me a long time, and from pre-diagnosis. They had experienced the very direct communication, the non-existent small talk, the alarming (for some) levels of passion and drive, the ‘dog with a bone’ perspective, the intense eye contact, the face that amplifies whatever mild feeling I may have in my head on it.

I couldn’t help but wonder before, and in the aftermath, what their worldview of me as a person was. Whether it was different since they became aware some time before the board that I am not neurotypical. In the board, I did what I always do and assigned positivity to that worldview, as negative self -talk is unhelpful.

Afterwards I was happy with my performance and I felt I had given it my best whether that was a pass or fail. I spoke very candidly about my neurodivergence. The strengths and challenges that it brings in a policing organisation (or indeed any organisation).

When I got the phone call from the Chair to say I had passed, I was a little surprised with the quality of many of the other candidates and the fact it was my first process. A decent pass, not a scrape through. It was also bitter-sweet. I was sad to leave the department and team I had wanted to work in for over 10 years previously.

Deep down, the difficulties entering the process had also damaged my confidence and imposter syndrome had crept in a little more than usual. It is, however, something I’m used to, and whilst once upon a time it may have been my undoing, these days the ‘no you need to be different and do more’ narrative only makes me more determined to prove the disbelievers wrong.

Ultimately I have two neurodivergent children currently navigating an education system that is not fit for them, along with many other diagnosed and undiagnosed children (particularly girls). In the not too distant future they will enter the world of work and I am determined that they won’t experience the same unnecessary barriers or challenges that I and so many other neurodivergent people (particularly women) have.

As I touched upon at the start of this blog, I was lucky enough to land in another detective role at Chief Inspector looking after a large cohort of police officers and staff investigating some of the most serious and complex investigations. They are experts and specialists in their field. Their collective and individual skills, experience and knowledge is outstanding.

Within a short period of time I have already come to feel proud of the work they do every day, and I feel lucky and privileged to be responsible for looking after them and making life better and easier for them through sustained incremental change. Change that is often driven or instigated by them, because I don’t have all the ideas and I actively encourage them to share their frustrations and their ideas, especially the Rebel Ideas.

I also feel lucky and proud that policing organisations like ours are actively thinking about how to improve our diversity and creating promotion processes to achieve this in a short space of time. If it weren’t for this, I and others wouldn’t be in these positions now bringing their ND talents and enabling others to bring theirs. The future is a little brighter and hopefully a little smoother. ∎

by Kinga Halliday
Police Constable | British Transport Police

As a female police officer diagnosed with ADHD and autism in a typically high-pressure profession, I face a unique combination of challenges and strengths. This experience is both empowering and overwhelming.

My recent diagnosis gave me a sense of relief, as it allowed me to understand myself better. My journey through life and professional experiences have provided me with invaluable insights that I cherish deeply. This understanding empowers me to reframe my struggles, allowing me to tackle challenges confidently and with self-compassion, and to clearly understand why specific tasks or situations require more effort or adjustment.

Police sirens, the sound of a radio, shouting, screaming, crying —suddenly, this is both empowering and overwhelming. You do not fit in the team, station, or division; you are different. You are either best or worst, but never in between. This is both empowering and overwhelming. You struggle with social interactions and yet show more genuine compassion. You show your strengths to those in need and defend the vulnerable. Does it sound familiar?

I feel this way every day, but I am not alone. I have experienced support, care, and compassion from my colleagues and family. Determination and perseverance helped me achieve my academic goals and complete my training. Over seven years on, I am still standing arm in arm with my colleagues, guarding the peace and ensuring safety on your travels. ∎