Dear Mr. RFK Jr.,
(The “dear” is tradition. Don’t mistake it for affection.)

You said autistic children are a burden. That they ruin families. That they’ll never pay taxes or write poems. That they are, in essence, collateral damage.

I’d like to introduce you to my daughter.

She is five. She does not speak in sentences yet, but she knows how to answer a joke with a smirk. She organizes her markers by color, then chaos, then color again. She plays baseball without rules, which is probably the right way to play it. She hums when she’s thinking. She hums a lot.

When another child’s upset—before the adults notice, before the child even cries—she takes their hand. She leans her forehead against theirs, gently, like she’s checking for a fever only she can feel.

She doesn’t write poems.

She is one.

Sometimes she says a single word like it holds the whole sky.

And no, she won’t be your campaign talking point. She won’t make your podium more sympathetic or your policies more tragic. She’s not yours to pity. She’s mine to marvel at.

She is herself, entirely. That is not a flaw. It’s a form of resistance.

You say children like her will never contribute. Here’s what I know:

The world you move through was built by people who thought sideways. Who flapped their hands or didn’t look you in the eye. Who were told they were too much, or not enough, or broken in ways the world hadn’t bothered to understand.

Neurodivergent minds imagined the future. And then invented it.

If you’ve ever read Alice in Wonderland, or flown in a plane, or used a computer, or wore noise-canceling headphones on your way to one of your anti-vax fundraising dinners, you owe something to someone who thinks like her.

These weren’t distractions or deficits. They were different ways of sensing, perceiving, creating meaning.

Not all autistic people will redesign physics. They don’t need to. Their worth isn’t tied to invention, it’s intrinsic.

Autism doesn’t erase potential. It reshapes it. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s nonlinear. Always, it’s human.

The question isn’t whether people like my daughter have something to offer. It’s whether society is finally ready to stop measuring value with the wrong scale.

Autism doesn’t destroy families.

Ignorance does.

Isolation does.

Shame does.

Especially when it comes packaged in a suit with a microphone and a claim to public good.

Your version of the future has no room for her. Thankfully, she doesn’t need your permission to belong. She’s already here.

Unapologetically,
Anaïs (a mother, writer, and permanent campaigner for one exceptional, nonverbal, baseball-defiant poet)

P.S. Noise-canceling headphones? Dr. Amar Bose.
The computer or phone you’re reading this on? Alan Turing.
The theory that reimagined time? Albert Einstein.
The literary rabbit hole that still defines wonder? Lewis Carroll.
The Sistine Chapel? Michelangelo.
The spare, aching poetry still studied in every classroom? Emily Dickinson.
The humane redesign of industrial farming systems? Temple Grandin.
All neurodivergent.
All part of the world you live in.
Still here. Still building it.