complementary adaptation: toward a kinder view of neurodiversity and disability

Two people in a boat. One can row, but cannot navigate. The other can navigate, but cannot row. If we view each as a whole, each has both an asset and a liability—each is both abled and disabled. If we view the relationship as a whole, we can describe things differently.

If participation and cooperation are both given, and both needs and abilities are transparent, we can say, for the sake of argument, that we have a balanced system. Ability and disability are actually complementary parts of a balanced system.

For the system to remain balanced, the requirement is that we do not judge one by the standards of the other. Both are necessary for the system to be balanced. It is only in separating the ability and disability within the system—through creation of a standard that applies to each equally—that disability as a permanent status arises (or ability, as a permanent status, for that matter).

Humans are a social animal, and no human can be said to exist in isolation. The work of survival as a cohesive community is complex. If we view human evolution as a community project, rather than a process of creating ideal and identical individuals, perhaps it’s fairer to say that humans are more like the two people in the boat that opened this narrative than like individuals striving toward undifferentiated perfection.

I believe that as our understanding of neurodiversity deepens, we will begin to see the complementary nature of different sensory, cognitive, behavioral, emotional, somatic, and relational expressions within a community of people engaged in the work of surviving within an ecosystem, and start to recognize the unique socio-ecological niche that each is adapted to.

That being said, humans have created systems that separate us from the ecology we evolved over millions of years to function within—capitalism being the most recent and totalizing form this separation has taken. Any framework, whatever its organizing logic, that substitutes an abstracted, portable standard for embedded relationship will distort our ability to view each type of expression fairly, in context. In the deepest sense, it is these imposed frameworks—not one’s specific neuropsychobiology—that create the permanent state of ability or disability.

Is this an argument that disability does not exist, or should not be accommodated? Absolutely not. Does the human organism itself demand that we recognize the various socio-ecological niches for which each individual may be uniquely adapted? Also no—evolution continues, and each part of any ecosystem is changed by interaction with the others—just as we were once single-celled life forms adapted to an underwater ecosystem that no longer exists, we will adapt to whatever conditions our survivors find themselves within (if there are survivors—evolution is a slow process, and the changes we have made to our ecosystem have arguably outpaced it).

What, then, is the good of understanding or accepting a principle like complementary adaptation, if we are eventually going to change anyway? From a human sociological perspective, it allows us to be both kinder and more accommodating of difference. In recognizing the many ways that variations in human adaptive expression contribute to the well-being of a complex social organism within an ecosystem, we can move people toward societal roles for which they may already be well adapted, rather than forcing them to adapt to environments where their permanent disability status is the only option. It changes the framework for our application of care—to use our earlier analogy, to match rowers with navigators, those who thrive as nurturers with those who thrive with care, across a broad spectrum of socio-ecological niches.

What this requires of us, as those who study human variation, is to recognize the many ways that current conditions game the system for the comfort of some, at the expense of basic human dignity for others, and to recognize the gatekeepers who enforce the conditions we find ourselves in, be they actual humans, economic systems, or simply cognitive frameworks. It would be naive to think that we can simply abandon every framework we’ve inherited outright, but making the shift to recognizing human variation as a relationship affords us a direction for a new field of study—and nudges us toward a kinder, more integrated relationship with our world and with one another.

culture

be honest:

is culture the ability
to sing the same songs together
in joyful abandon
with your neighbors?

is culture
a shared recipe,
or a coordinated
childcare plan?

is culture the fact that you’ve shopped
at the same Target,
or are recovering from the same expectation
to sit still and keep quiet?

is culture the purchase
of the right brand,
that signals casual,
but not struggling
?

be honest:

what is culture,
to you,
and who
is left out?

are you
feeling proud
of your culture,
right now?

what opportunities to participate
in the culture you identify with
have you passed up because
you were too busy?

what happens
when no one
shows up
to cultural events?

be honest:

do the ones
who pay
your paycheck
have your back?

does your work
fulfill the standard
you set for yourself
at 20?

does access
to the levers of power
make your
family happier?

does the time you spend
at work compensate you
for the time you’ve lost
with your family?

be honest:

what the fuck
are we, as people
who love, doing here,
right now?

A Different Semiquincentennial

250 Years of What?

On June 29, 1776, five days before Philadelphia’s Declaration was signed, a different founding took place three thousand miles west, on the shore of a California lagoon. Spanish soldiers and Franciscan friars said the first Mass beside a creek they named Arroyo de los Dolores, the Creek of Sorrows. Within months they had raised a fort near the Golden Gate and a mission a few miles inland—the Presidio of San Francisco and Mission San Francisco de Asís, later known by the name of that creek: Mission Dolores. And the labor for these projects was largely coerced from people whose ancestors had inhabited the land for countless generations.

The people known today as the Ohlone were actually some forty or so autonomous tribelets, each with its own territory, leadership, and law. Ohlone people had built more than four hundred shellmounds along the bay, some rising sixty feet, structures that were at once home, cemetery, and land claim. They moved by season through a landscape they actively cultivated—burning grassland to keep it productive, harvesting acorns, shellfish, salmon, and waterfowl in cycles refined over centuries—sustaining one of the densest Indigenous populations found anywhere north of Mexico. Their relationship to this land had never required ratification—there was no separation between land and people. The Mission and the Presidio projects forced people who knew no other home to build temples to institutions determined to erase them.

In exchange for their life, an Ohlone person was baptized, becoming a neophyte, and was bound to the mission, forbidden to leave without permission, punished for infractions as small as missing Mass. Their forced labor built the mission itself: making and stacking tens of thousands of adobe bricks, tending thousands of sheep and cattle, working looms that turned wool into cloth, and breaking the land into parcels for an imposed agriculture from a different place. Disease did even more damage than coercion: measles moved through the mission’s population in repeated waves; birth rates fell far below death rates; the cemetery behind Mission Dolores today holds roughly five thousand unmarked Indigenous graves—a population lost within the span of a single lifetime.

The conviction of the Catholic Church that their goals and methods were universal and ageless, (justifying all means of human cruelty), were not strong enough to sustain the mission system when the Spanish Empire withdrew their sponsorship. In 1834, just 58 years after the founding of Mission Dolores, (the span of one lifetime), the mission as an institution ended, while returning nothing to the people who had built it.

California’s statehood in 1850 made things worse: a second wave of violence during the Gold Rush, the Californian genocide, arrived alongside eighteen treaties negotiated with California tribes and then never ratified by the U.S. Senate. The Muwekma Ohlone, whose homeland spans the East Bay, remain without federal recognition to this day, despite a documented, unbroken lineage—acknowledged by history and by their own persistent community, but absent from the one federal category that would formally recognize either.

Cause For Celebration

Despite the cruel realities of forced separation of a people from the systems that sustained them for millennia, the spirit of the people of this place did not break. In 2011, Ohlone organizers occupied a construction site in Vallejo for a hundred and nine days to stop development on Sogorea Te’, an ancestral village and burial ground. The occupation was successful in a real sense: the land was transferred to a federally recognized tribe, (albeit one with no connection to the site—because no local Ohlone group has received the Federal recognition that would grant them entitlement—another chapter in the long history of erasure that began in1776).

Rather than wait on a system built to keep failing them, the organizers founded the Sogorea Te’ Land Trust the following year around a mechanism that doesn’t depend on federal recognition at all: the Shuumi Land Tax, a voluntary annual gift from non-Indigenous residents of Lisjan Ohlone territory, moving resources by relationship instead of by law. The trust now stewards more than a dozen sites across the Bay, including ground reclaimed from an eighty-year parking lot in West Berkeley that sits on the same shellmound lineage this history began with. It has raised the first ceremonial arbor built in the region in over two hundred fifty years, and it is developing a cemetery to properly reinter ancestral remains still displaced since the mission era—a direct answer to the unmarked graves still lying behind Mission Dolores.

Two nations mark two hundred fifty years on this stretch of coast this year. One does it with fanfare, with a holiday, and a dream of equality that was never written to include everyone. The other has spent the same two hundred fifty years proving that survival doesn’t require a declaration at all—only language kept alive in secret when it couldn’t be kept alive in the open, land bought back one parcel at a time when it couldn’t be returned outright, and innovative ways around the systems imposed on them from outside.

Join me in celebrating 250 years of Ohlone pride.

https://sogoreate-landtrust.org/shuumi-land-tax/