An Autistic Requiem for Riverkeeper Robert F. Kennedy Jr.

by Erris Maguire, Contributor

I have autism and I am unvaccinated*. Walking contradiction, anomaly even, to my RFK Jr.-supportive parents. Embellished on our family 2005 Toyota minivan is his 2020 campaign bumper sticker. His stupid face in the center, accompanied many of my tears and fighting to get that damn face off the fucking family car.

My whole life I was drawn to other neurodivergent children, subconsciously, before my autism diagnosis (which should've already been a sign). But I was told that children with autism were “sad” and that it was “a shame” that they had to live their lives in this seemingly perpetual hell. I was taught to believe they were accidents, a tragic mistake, a lack of oversight—essentially lab rats in a science experiment like something out of Dexter. 

While teenage angst and access to the internet lent me a helping hand to refute and drown out other various anti-vax activists like Del Bigtree and Andrew Wakefield (the guy who started this whole vaccine and autism bullshit who also had his study retracted and disproven!) it still came as a surprise to me when I received my diagnosis, and I painfully thought to myself: “But I wasn’t vaccinated…how can this be?” Someone with a psych degree could probably pick apart my brain and explain the ingrained fear I had towards what any sensible human would agree is a necessary and highly beneficial injection.

As my peers around me gawk at the ridiculousness of RFK Jr.’s most recent claim about Tylenol causing autism—I am unphased.

In many ways, I am unimpressed with RFK Jr.’s takes. They stand lukewarm in comparison to what I heard on my family's old busted radio. Aluminum deodorant, fluoride toothpaste, nail polish, the MMR vaccine, to name a few. I avoided said products with a burning fear that I would instantaneously begin spasming and shaking, become non-verbal, and lose the “light in our children's eyes” according to innumerous anti-vax mom Facebook groups.

Well, it turned out I already was autistic. Whoops. 

As my parents tirelessly provided me with organic everything, essential oil medicines, and so on—I had unfortunately ~caught the autism~.
In the same way I believe Trump should have stuck to reality TV, where he acted as a loudmouth New Yorker quasi-entrepreneur that had NO connections to the leader of a pedophile ring, RFK Jr. should stick to what he is good at: environmentalism. 

In the early 2000s RFK Jr. was in his prime. With pushing for solar energy, or working with Riverkeeper to clean the Hudson river, he was largely respected for his environmental work. For this reason, I wish for a return to the old times. While this is completely unrealistic considering America's fast-track trajectory into a fascist dictatorship, let an autistic girl dream. 

Bobby Kennedy is an interesting case of a political figurehead expanding his base through sowing fear, legitimate or not. Whether it’s fear of autism, seed oils, or government conspiracies, fear is a powerful way to control one's constituents and deepen pre-existing polarization. RFK took a shortcut to grow his campaign, leaning into populism and aligning himself with Trump. While I share concerns about the ethics of insurance and medical corporations—his approach is unproductive. He puts the spotlight on disabled folks to stoke panic and distrust—and quite frankly it is fucking insulting. 

My parents don’t accept the label as autistic, but know I am neurodivergent, and they have always known I have been different. My parents still like RFK, but certainly less, now that I have my autism diagnosis. Maybe it's the fact that I’m proof vaccines, in fact, do not cause autism, or their acceptance that I have always been this way, and that I know, whether or not I inject aluminum into my body, use fluoride toothpaste, or take some Tylenol—they will love their autistic daughter. No matter what RFK says.

So finally, I’d like a word with the man. After all, I like to think he and I are pretty close now. 

Robert–

Bobby my boy, I know this isn’t you,
I know I remember the work you would do.
Where have you been? Where did you go?
Diving in rivers, not on some stupid talk show

Put down the your conspiratorial crusade
Step from the mic, let the echo fade.
Hush now with your words of seed oil plots,
No more whispering of 5g brain rot

 Return to your home, your true, muddy stage,
Wading in rivers, not stoking up rage.

Suited in Patagonia, boots donned in the stream,
You once fought for the waters, you held a dream

 I know you feel lonely, but these aren’t your folk,
They’re morons with megaphones, selling you smoke.

I’ll even allow one sticker to gleam,
On my Subaru’s bumper — just one, not a team.
But only, dear Bobby, if you take my advice:
Shut the fuck up about acetaminophen twice.

Come home, Bobby boy, to the rivers and loam,
The fish and the forests are calling you home.

Yours truly,
An autistic kid.

*NOTE: I am catching up on the various vaccines I’ve missed!