Have you ever felt something so strongly that it seems to be woven into your very being? A conviction that burns so brightly it feels less like an opinion and more like a physical part of you? For most of my life, I just thought I was… well, ‘a bit much’, maybe. A bit too rigid, a bit too passionate. It wasn’t until my late autism diagnosis that the pieces clicked into place, and I had a name for this fire in my bones: my autistic sense of justice.
It’s this deep, internal compass that dictates what feels right and what feels profoundly, fundamentally wrong. It doesn’t really negotiate. And looking back, I can see its fingerprints all over my life.
The Gut Punch of Injustice
I remember being very young and having this unshakable, gut-level understanding that racism was fundamentally wrong. It wasn’t something I learned from a book; it was a deep-in-my-bones knowledge that being white didn’t make me inherently better than people who were Black or from any other culture. It just was.
So, when I’d hear casual racism from people—especially family members, which is always a fun time—it would elicit a visceral reaction from me. A reaction that others saw as completely over-the-top, as irrational. To them, it was just a throwaway comment; to me, it was a crack in the foundations of fairness, a logical and moral failure that I couldn’t ignore.
I think that early, hardwired intolerance for racism has served me so well, especially now as a father to two wonderful children of dual heritage. It’s given me the conviction to have the hard conversations, not just with them, but with the well-intentioned people who champion being “colourblind.” They don’t seem to understand that being colourblind means ignoring the beautiful, unique parts of my children’s culture and identity—the very things that make them who they are.
When Conviction Crystalises
This sense of justice hasn’t just been about people, either. As I grew up, my unease with eating meat started to grow into a more solid belief. At first, I became vegetarian for the animals. But the more I learned, the more that view on the subject crystalised. It wasn’t just a preference anymore; it was a black-and-white issue of ethics and compassion. So, I became vegan.
It’s an emotive subject, I know, and one I don’t force on others. But for me, it’s an immovable pillar of my belief system. My internal logic went from A to B to C, and the conclusion was so clear that there’s no going back. That steadfastness, that certainty that comes when a belief aligns perfectly with my ethics… that feels deeply autistic to me.
Shifting Sands, Unshakeable Compass
Nowhere has this been more tested than in the political arena. For my entire voting life, I was a Labour man. I was a party member. Not because I blindly followed them, but because their socially conscious policies aligned with my own core values: support the vulnerable, fund public services, create a fairer society.
But in recent years, the party has changed. It’s shifted so far to the right that I don’t recognise it anymore. As they began courting votes from a base that I feel is xenophobic and transphobic, the alarm bells in my head didn’t just ring—they screamed. This wasn’t my party anymore because it wasn’t aligned with my values.
The final straw has been the horrifying, targeted vitriol aimed at trans people in the UK. Their rights are being used as a political football, and their very existence is being debated by people who have no right. As a gay man, I feel this deep in my community. It’s a direct echo of the battles we fought (and are still fighting). It makes me furious. So when the party I had always supported showed, at best, a weak and wavering commitment to protecting trans rights, my vote had to move. My internal compass, guided by that core principle of protecting minorities, pointed me towards the Green Party. My loyalty isn’t to a colour or a name; it’s to my principles.
Not a Flaw, But a Foundation
For years, I think I secretly worried that this intensity was a flaw. That being so unshakeable made me difficult. But now I see it for what it is: a strength. This autistic sense of justice gives me conviction. It gives me a solid foundation in a world that often feels chaotic and morally grey.
Feeling so strongly makes life hard sometimes, there’s no doubt about that. It can be exhausting to feel every injustice so keenly. But it also means I know what I stand for. I wouldn’t change it for the world. It’s the engine that drives me to be a better father, a better ally, and a better human. It’s not a bug; it’s the best feature I have.
Does this resonate with you? I’d love to hear in the comments how your autistic sense of justice shows up in your life.
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