Field journal of Dr. E. Rempel, Department of Minority Neurological Studies, University of New Carthage (A work of fiction. "Allism" is a real term used by some autistic people to describe the neurological profile of the non-autistic majority.)
March 3, 2089
I have now spent three months embedded with an allistic community in the outer provinces. Allism, for those unfamiliar, is a rare neurological variant affecting approximately 1% of our population. My colleagues at the University have long debated its origins and persistence. After direct observation, I am no more certain of the answers, but I have accumulated a remarkable set of field notes.
The allistic subjects I have observed appear, on the surface, entirely functional. They hold jobs, maintain relationships, raise children. And yet their neurological profile diverges from the norm in ways that are at once fascinating and bewildering.
March 11, 2089
The most immediately striking feature of the allistic profile is their relationship with information. Where a typical individual experiences the sharing of useful knowledge as a basic social reflex, the allistic subject appears to require an elaborate ritual before any information exchange can occur.
Approach an allistic subject directly with a piece of useful data and observe what happens. Rather than receiving it, they freeze. A threat-assessment process appears to engage, entirely pre-consciously, before the content of the communication can be evaluated at all. One subject described it to me as feeling "strange" when a stranger approached with unsolicited information, though she could not articulate why.
I have learned to preface all information exchanges with what my translator calls "the preamble ritual" — a sequence of social signals that appears to deactivate the threat response and allow communication to proceed. The exact form varies, but typically involves eye contact, a softening of posture, and verbal acknowledgment that one is about to speak. Only then can the information be received.
The evolutionary origins of this ritual remain unclear to me. My working hypothesis is that it functions as a trust-establishment protocol, though why the allistic nervous system requires trust to precede factual information rather than follow its evaluation is a question I have not yet been able to answer satisfactorily.
March 16, 2089
A minor observation, but one I keep returning to. The clothing worn by my allistic subjects would be, for most members of my own population, a source of considerable distress. Rough seams left unfinished. Labels intact at the collar. Fabrics that I would describe as abrasive worn directly against the skin, apparently without a second thought.
I raised this carefully with one subject, asking whether she found certain textures uncomfortable. She looked at me with what I have come to recognize as polite confusion. "Not really," she said. "Should I?"
I did not pursue the matter further. But I noted that the specialized garment industry my own population has developed over generations — seamless constructions, carefully selected weaves, the near-universal preference for soft natural fibers — would likely strike her as an inexplicable luxury.
I am not certain she is wrong.
March 19, 2089
The allistic empathy system is, I will admit, remarkable in its own way. Where the typical mind responds to another's distress by immediately searching for relevant information or resources, the allistic subject responds with something altogether different: they synchronize.
I observed this phenomenon repeatedly. One subject was visibly distressed about a professional difficulty. A colleague sat close, placed a hand on her arm, and said: "That sounds really hard." No information was exchanged. No solution was offered. And yet the distressed subject visibly relaxed.
I spent some time puzzling over this before my translator explained that the allistic subject was not attempting to solve the problem. They were signaling membership in a shared emotional space. The distress itself was the point of contact.
I have since come to understand that allistic empathy is cohesion-based rather than information-based. They experience something of another's distress, synchronize with it, and express care by making that synchronization visible. It operates on entirely different principles than the system I grew up with, but I have stopped assuming it is therefore less sophisticated.
March 24, 2089
I attended a social gathering this evening in a venue I would describe as aggressively stimulating. Overhead lighting of the flickering variety my population abandoned some decades ago. Music at a volume that made conversation technically possible but practically taxing. Several simultaneous sound sources competing without apparent hierarchy.
My allistic companions were energized. One of them leaned toward me at one point — shouting, by any reasonable measure — and asked if I was enjoying myself.
I said that I was finding it interesting.
I have since learned that this is an acceptable answer.
What I could not explain to her is that I spent most of the evening mapping the exits and trying to identify which sound source to filter out first. She, I am fairly certain, was simply having a good time. The difference in our baseline calibration is something I am still trying to understand. I note, however, that not all of my allistic subjects respond to such environments identically — one excused himself early, citing a headache — which suggests the variation within the allistic profile is wider than our diagnostic literature implies.
March 31, 2089
A note on small talk, which I have been attempting to master with limited success.
The allistic subjects I have observed engage in it fluently and apparently with pleasure. Exchanges about the weather, weekend plans, minor shared observations about the immediate environment — these seem to function as a kind of social maintenance, a low-stakes signal that the relationship is still intact and the parties are still on good terms. My translator describes it as "keeping the connection warm."
I understand the function intellectually. The practice itself I find effortful in a way I struggle to convey. The content of most small talk exchanges carries very little information, which means I am spending social energy on a transaction that does not obviously repay it. My allistic subjects, conversely, seem genuinely refreshed by it. One described a brief exchange with a neighbor about her garden as "nice." I believe her.
April 2, 2089
The allistic tendency toward group cohesion produces some extraordinary social structures. They maintain large, complex networks of relationships with apparent ease, reading emotional states across a room, navigating implicit hierarchies without explicit rules. At a dinner party I attended as an observer, subjects managed at least four simultaneous conversations, tracking each other's engagement levels and adjusting fluidly. I found it overwhelming. They found it enjoyable.
I have also observed, however, a recurring pattern in group decision-making contexts. Once a course of action has been agreed upon by the group, information that might complicate or reverse that decision becomes remarkably difficult to introduce. The social fabric of the agreement seems to take on a weight of its own. Subjects who possess relevant corrective information will often hesitate, gauge the room, and on more than one occasion I observed them remain silent altogether.
I noted this carefully in my records but said nothing. It was not my place.
April 8, 2089
Something I should have noted earlier: the allistic subjects I have observed do not appear to experience the ambient anxiety that most members of my population would describe as a background feature of daily life. The low-level monitoring of potential information gaps, the discomfort of unresolved uncertainty, the particular unease of an incomplete picture — these do not seem to register for them in the same way.
One subject, when I described this to her, said: "I think I just assume things will probably work out."
I wrote this down verbatim. I am not sure I have ever assumed things will probably work out.
I want to be careful not to overstate this. Several of my subjects do describe anxiety — about social situations, about relationships, about the future in general. The allistic nervous system is not without its own forms of worry. But the specific texture of uncertainty-as-threat, the experience of an information gap as something requiring urgent resolution, does not appear to be a central feature of their profile. They seem, on the whole, more comfortable not knowing.
April 14, 2089
I raised the decision-making observation with my translator over dinner. He was quiet for a moment, then said: "We don't like to make people feel wrong in front of others."
I asked whether they would prefer to proceed with an incorrect plan rather than endure that discomfort.
He thought about it. "Sometimes," he said. "If the stakes are low enough."
I found myself wondering how the group determines in advance whether the stakes are low enough.
April 29, 2089
Before I left for the field, a colleague asked me why I had chosen to study allism rather than one of the more prevalent conditions. I told him it was precisely the rarity that interested me. A profile affecting 1% of a population tells you something about the other 99% — about what we consider default, expected, unremarkable.
I have been sitting with a more unsettling question during these months, though. Our diagnostic manual defines allism as a neurological condition on the basis of its statistical rarity and its divergence from typical functioning. Typical functioning, the manual notes, reflects the profile of the majority.
I keep returning to that definition. Not to dispute it, exactly. But I find I cannot read it now without wondering what it would say if the numbers were different — with inverted proportions, for example.
Our society would probably be quite different then, and I wonder what they would think of us, autistics.
