Interviews and Autism: some thoughts

During my academic career, I have chaired or sat on hundreds of interview panels. I went through the necessary HR training more than once and have read many guidance documents and briefing notes. Since being professionally identified (or “diagnosed”) as autistic in 2018, various issues that have always bothered me have come to the fore. I believe I have had some small impact on changing the interview process itself. However, and despite that, interviews remain a game designed by neurotypicals for neurotypicals. Given that they are a heightened and unnatural situation, those who understand how to role play and dissemble, how to engage in all those small social cues that provide mutual reassurance amongst groups of like-minded people, are the ones who normally succeed. The same would be true of an interview situation comprising mainly autistic people, but those are relatively rare. The structure and HR approach to interviews is most certainly designed by neurotypicals, although there have been attempts recently to be more inclusive. As always, those attempts are a bolt-on to standard practice: “if you are interviewing an autistic person then you should…”. It is often impossible to know that the person you are interviewing is autistic!

When I compare my experience as an interviewer with my experience as an interviewee, a marked difference emerges. I have had four major jobs in my career, and I have not been interviewed for any of them. In every single case, somebody has decided that I am the right person for that role and has invited me in. In other words, I have always been headhunted. I have only ever done two actual interviews. The first was for an academic lecturing post at a different university. The interview went as badly as might be expected, with all the usual autistic anxieties about the venue, the situation, and sensory issues, combining to lead me to overshare massively in answer to their first question. (I did meet the chair of the panel at a conference several years later and he was kind enough to express regret that they did not appoint me, which was very generous of him). 

The other interview was internal, when I was encouraged by the Vice-Chancellor to apply for a senior management position. The interview was conducted in a vast glass and metal building in central London by a slick team of HR consultants. I had no opportunity to familiarise myself with the building beforehand, no idea where I was going or who I was to meet, and no efforts were made to create a suitable sensory environment for me. My brain cannot be active if I am sensorially overwhelmed, as I was on this occasion. The interview was disastrous because they asked me what I thought of the Vice-Chancellor and I gave a full and honest reply which was pretty negative. Autistic people are always honest and direct in their answers to interview questions, regardless of the consequences for their own prospects. Looking back, though, I reckon I had a lucky escape!

Before becoming an academic at the age of 29, I survived in a haphazard way on a mixture of unemployment benefit (“the dole”, without which I would probably not be here today) and occasional casual work. I never held down casual work for long (it included things like collating traffic surveys, screwing the baseplates on mannequins, and working in a food warehouse) and I was never interviewed because I was placed in these positions by the dole office. Avoiding being interviewed was a key part of the reason for my lack of regular employment. I also did quite a lot of copying music parts for publishers and composers, something that again I could do without being interviewed and which I could do at home. At the time, I was unaware that it was the prospect of being interviewed that drove me away. Now, of course, I realise that that was a major reason, alongside the fear of having to mix with colleagues, working in unfamiliar environments, etc. 

Since my diagnosis in 2018, I have become much more aware of the issues facing autistic people who go for an interview. To give one example, I have repeatedly challenged HR (Human Resources) departmental advice to interviewers that they should assess a person’s body language and eye contact. This seems to be something all HR people are taught and fits with ridiculous clichés such as the idea that people are more honest if they look you in the eye. The whole idea of “body language” seems suspect to me. As far as I can tell, neurotypicals lie with their bodies all the time, and the notion that they share mutual understanding that way is just a comforting myth to make them feel reassured, a form of social bonding if you like. Needless to say, autistic people find all that utterly baffling and generally do not conform to normal expectations of how their bodies should behave.

Reinventing the interview process is a massive and probably unrealistic task. Organisations generally do not have sufficient time and resources to devote more to interviews. However, the downside is that many autistic people then either fail at interview or, more often, never get to the interview in the first place. There are numerous statistics around about the disproportionately low levels of employment in the autistic community. The National Autistic Society sets it at 30%.

What can be done? Ideally, I would like to do away with interviews altogether and replace them with a kind of probationary working model where people are given an opportunity to experience the real environment of the job for a week or two (during which time they would be paid, of course). One of the commonest mistakes autistic people make is to assume that they should try at all costs to get the job for which they are being interviewed. This is wrong because interviews should be a two-way process, in which both interviewers and interviewees figure out if this is the right ‘fit’ for them. Allowing a longer time to come to that judgment is the best solution, and would lead to far fewer bad appointments or, indeed, devastating rejections, being made.

Failing that, there are some practical steps that organisations can take to help autistic people who come for interviews. There are numerous good pieces of guidance online from, for example: the University of Bath, Autistica and the Buckland Review of Autism Employment. I’d distil these into the following key points:

1. Provide the candidate with videos of the interview venue in advance, or even a visit.
2. Give candidates the questions they will be asked in advance too.
3. Do not try to make candidates “think on their feet”. (That phrase is a typical example of metaphorical language to be avoided. Even as I write it, I become confused, even though I know exactly what it is trying to express). Even if the job involves having to respond quickly to situations, there is a great difference between doing so within a secure context and doing so in an interview.
4. Be sure to use clear language without metaphors and ambiguities. Speak literally.
5. Be very careful about the physical environment. Potential sensory issues include strong lights (strip lighting is the worst), unexpected sounds, strange smells, and so on. It is best to check with the candidate beforehand what bothers them. 
6. Avoid interruptions and stick closely to schedule. Include breaks if the process is long, and stick to them too.
7. Explain the process and make it clear that the interview is two-way.
8. Allow (even encourage) the candidate to stim during the interview. This has the advantage of being reassuring for them but also is an important signal that you understand their needs.
9. Provide a quiet room where candidates can decompress in private. Don’t make the candidates engage in social interaction with one another.
10. Be aware that autistic people may seek to comply with whatever it is you seem to be wanting.

For autistic candidates, the traditional interview process is often deeply flawed. The importance given to social cues and quick thinking under pressure works against autistic people. A more inclusive and effective approach would be to shift toward practical, real-world assessments that allow candidates to demonstrate their abilities in a supportive environment. To be realistic, though, the bets we can hope for is small but meaningful adjustments, such as: clearer communication, sensory accommodations, and a genuine commitment to neurodiversity. Where such changes happen, there are small victories which will eventually combine to change the culture as a whole. 

Retirement

Autistic people tend to dislike change, especially fundamental changes to lifestyle and routines, so approaching retirement was something that I viewed with considerable trepidation. I gave the university six months’ notice (rather than the usual three) partly to help them, but also to help me prepare psychologically. It is now a month since my retirement date, so I thought I’d pause to reflect a little from an autistic perspective.

The most dramatic change, unsurprisingly, is to my routines. Many of these were created over time to enable me to get to the end of the day with less drain on energy, or ‘spoons’. So, things like the breakfast routine, with its sequencing of marmalade and coffee and precise timings, existed to prevent me having to think about what I was doing. This gave me more headspace to cope with the anxiety that always built up before a day’s work. The coping strategy involved visualising all the situations I would be going into and scripting likely conversations and meetings. None of that is necessary now, so the whole routine has collapsed. Is this a good thing? I’m not sure, but my wife tells me I seem more relaxed, so perhaps it is.

Certain routines, like having lunch at 1.00 pm, have not changed, so the days are not totally without form and structure. But I can sense myself seeking to create new routines to fill the void. Working in my lovely garden office is helping with this. And I do still have quite a few projects and commitments going on, so they help to provide structure. I think the sense of empty space will really kick in after Christmas when those are over, but probably I’ll find new ones. I have started to get more involved in house and garden activities, and to go to the gym. Perhaps those will also add some routines once I get into the habit. 

The most positive thing is that I’ve now got more time to work on trying to help others. So, I am working with the Leicester, Leicestershire and Rutland NHS Autism Partnership on projects like Autism Space and the Supported Employment Service and I have joined their Board. I am working with All-In Leicester to review venues and we are currently consulting with the people who are redeveloping Leicester Railway Station.  I am also working with ArtReach on a research project funded by the Arts Council entitled ‘​​Developing Disabled Leadership in the Midlands’. 

These kinds of projects, combined with ongoing relationships with my former university and quite possibly another university means that I am transitioning into a retired life, rather than abruptly ceasing work altogether. In fact, retirement to me means just doing work on a different basis, one which resembles somewhat being on the dole back in the 1980s, when I didn’t have much money but did have a great deal of freedom. I can remember from those times, though, how much I struggled with the lack of structure.

One final thing is that my anxiety and stress levels have reduced considerably, thanks to being much more in control of my environment. No longer having a daily expectation of traveling by bus or train into an ever-changing workplace is a great relief. As Luke Beardon famously said: autism + environment = outcome. Here I have an environment that is exactly how I want it to be, so that makes life much more pleasurable. 

Changing police attitudes

I thought I'd report on a small incident that happened last weekend. While insignificant on one level, I found it immensely encouraging on the other and actually wrote to thank the police.

I had been attending the 'Indian Summer' Festival at Curve Theatre, Leicester as part of my work with All-In Leicester https://artreach.org.uk/allinleicester/ We are a group of disabled people who visit venues in and around the city, giving our advice on how they may improve accessibility.

As I was walking away, I became a bit concerned that if I were to walk through to the bus station, I might get accosted or involved in some kind of race riot/anti-racism protest. I'd heard there was some commotion in the centre of town. So I began to consider whether to catch the bus from the stop by the railway station. 

I saw two policemen walking past, so I stopped them. The conversation went like this:

Me: Excuse me. I’m autistic and I was wondering if you could advise me? Is it safe to walk through to the bus station from here?

Policeman (obviously aware of what "autism" means): Well, it could be very loud, if that’s a problem for you?

Me (pointing to my noise-cancelling headphones): Yes. I don't like loud noises.

Policeman (reassuring smile): You might be better off going to the stop by the station, then. But from a security point of view, there are no problems at the moment.

Me: Thank you very much!

I was impressed by how open and receptive the police were and by how they immediately understood why I was asking and the meaning of the words “I’m autistic”. It was really encouraging!

GLOSS: autistic web design, part 1

I've been commissioned by the Percy Grainger Society to review their website named GLOSS (Grainger Library of Sampled Sound) and to suggest ways it could be expanded to make it suitable for use by neurodivergent people. Here is their press release. We established fairly early in the process that I would focus on autistic users, rather than the whole of neurodiversity, because that is the area of my best expertise and because we want the site to have a clear sense of purpose.

I have had a longstanding interest in Percy Grainger (1882-1961), who was an Australian composer and pianist who ended up living in the USA, specifically in White Plains, New York. He is best known for his folksong arrangements and "light" compositions such as Country Gardens, but there is a great deal more depth to his work than this would suggest. In particular, he was a great experimentalist, composing chance-based music decades before John Cage and devoting the later decades of his life to a completely unique form of electronic music that he called 'Free Music'. There's a good summary of his life and work on the Percy Grainger Society website.

I've often wondered why I am interested in Grainger. It's not as though I am a folksong enthusiast, an aficionado of light music, interested in military bands, or a massive fan of all things "Nordic" (which was his passion). What I have come to realise is that he was probably neurodivergent himself, as a read of his correspondence will confirm. I won't give him the label "autistic" (retrospective diagnosis is always risky) but it is pretty clear that his brain worked in a decidedly atypical way. He had several "special interests", some of which have been the subject of disapproval or even condemnation. I'm not going to express a view on that, but I would say that any autistic person would recognise the extreme focus and obsessive nature he exhibited. Most importantly, his dedication to pursuing an alternative view of music based on the sliding tones he saw in the shape of the landscape or the ripples in the water went well beyond the kind of dispassionate, quasi-scientific, enquiries of the people working in the electronic studios at Princeton, for example. 

I have completed my initial review of the GLOSS website and will be reporting to the Percy Grainger Society later this month. When that exercise is complete, I will publish the key findings here. The next step will be for me to create some original soundscapes using the materials on the site, which I will also share. The project is due to end in December, when I will publish a full academic article, but I will also discuss the main findings from a purely autistic perspective here. Watch this space!

Advocacy: some challenges and benefits

I took the decision to start advocating back in 2017, after more than a decade of concealing my hearing and balance issues, and of course a lifetime of masking my autism. I decided to be more open about it all in the hope that I could increase awareness of the challenges facing people like myself and even change the world a bit for the better. 

It was not an easy decision. I am not someone who likes to share personal experiences in this way. I’d rather be professional and just get on with the job in hand. So why do it? Because I feel a responsibility to try to improve things for other people. 

I am a privileged person in a senior position in a university. People tend to take notice of what I say. Of course, it should not be this way. Everybody’s voices should be heard. But I am very aware of the many autistic people whose voices are not heard. Since I am able to influence things, I feel it is my duty to try to put over an autistic viewpoint, even though of course I recognise that I do not represent all autistic people and would never claim to do so. 

My mission, as I see it, is to be intensely and publicly honest about my own experiences, in a way that enables others to understand the various challenges and difficulties they create. Not because I am seeking sympathy or trying to get the entire world to configure itself to suit my needs - everybody has challenges and difficulties - but because mine are representative of a proportion of the population who have traditionally been marginalised or excluded. 

That makes me an advocate, and consequently I call out ableism when I see it and do my bit to support other autistic people by working with groups or organisations like the NHS and local councils. I use my national and international platform to advocate too, through projects like Aural Diversity and Spectrum Sounds. 

To give a few examples:

• while advocating for aural diversity, I have had an impact on the Welsh Government, whose recent call for responses to their proposed noise and soundscape plan included an entire section headed “aural diversity”. This led to me attending the Institute of Acoustics annual conference, at which I felt obliged to be very “out” about my identity.

• I recently took a stand on the use of awaydays (see my previous post on the subject) in my university. By raising this in various committees I have demonstrably raised awareness of the issues and probably changed policy. The cost was having to be very public about my autistic needs.

• At my local GP surgery, I have raised issues about the use of fluorescent lighting in the waiting area. I’m not sure whether this will change - it seems that can take a very long time - but in the process one nurse did confide in me that the lighting had a bad effect on her too. Anyway, to do this required me to be very honest about my autism to strangers.

While I can point to many such successes and examples of how my actions have made a difference, being an advocate does present challenges. I find that constantly being the one with the problem becomes tiring. I have a feeling that people might be rolling their eyes and thinking “oh no, it’s him again, endlessly talking about autism and/or hearing issues”. Part of me wants to go back to concealing and just “sucking it up” in the interests of moving things forward, regardless of the consequences for me. But another part of me resents this and says: why should I suffer to enable them to have things a bit more easy? Since I no longer fear the professional consequences of disclosure, I am much more willing to speak out. At the same time, I do not speak out about everything. That would be too exhausting. You have to choose your battles. 

The process of becoming aware of the social and environmental problems that beset autistic people itself tends to make you more sensitive. That sense of injustice that so many of us feel so strongly can also be injurious to your own wellbeing, especially if it cannot be channeled into positive action. The suspicion that those around you are quietly moving away, too, can be very disturbing, as you realise that something unspoken has changed and that attitudes have shifted. There’s that constant fear that suddenly you’ll find everyone ranged against you because you’ve “gone too far”. Classic autism.

At those moments when I become over-anxious or dispirited in my efforts, I remind myself why I am doing this. After which I become even more determined to carry on with trying to make life better for everyone. Nothing worthwhile is achieved without a struggle. Sometimes I must “take one for the team” by speaking out in an awkward situation. So be it. I always try to act with courtesy, dignity and respect for others, so I hope I do this without giving offence. But sometimes you just have to be clear and assertive, which can be surprising for people.

Awaydays, and how to include autistic people

Awaydays have become commonplace in most organisations. They are a day-long event for employees and managers to spend time away from their usual workplace or environment. They typically include team building exercises, training, or brainstorming activities. They are mainly used in the belief that a change of scenery would enhance creativity and relaxation. 

In practice, many awaydays have gradually lost this original sense of purpose. They often take place just in a different building or room on site, so they are not really ‘away’ at all. They can be full of unstructured or very loosely structured exercises using lots of post-it notes. They are frequently characterised by a sense of futility. This erosion of what seemed like a clear concept reflects their true function: to enable neurotypicals to feel more comfortable with one another. Sometimes the group will bond together in disapproving of the awayday itself. Funnily enough, that outcome can be productive.

From an autistic perspective, this amounts to a nightmare. Awaydays cause more anxiety and distress than almost any other activity. Having established a working pattern and set of routines at work, the autistic employee is suddenly required to stop all that in order to undertake a series of activities that rely on social interactions whose purpose is often unclear and in an unfamiliar environment that may or may not be well suited. 

Since most organisations contain autistic people, it is very important to plan awaydays effectively and inclusively. Here are a few thoughts. N.B. These are just my thoughts - others may disagree or want to add things!

First and foremost, an awayday needs to have a clear purpose, a set of aims and objectives. That should include a statement of why it is necessary to go away, rather than staying in familiar surroundings. If you cannot come up with a convincing reason for going away, then please don’t do it!

I would strongly recommend having autistic people involved in the planning. It seems obvious, but they will be best placed to advise on what will work and what will not.

You should provide information and guidance well beforehand, including an accessibility map and, preferably, a video, or at least photos, of the venue and the approaches to it. There should be a quiet room available and you should have adjustable non-fluorescent lighting and use microphones for speaking. 

You should space out noisy activities or, preferably, segregate them into separate areas. Avoid using balloons or other objects which may cause distress. Make great use of visuals, signs and timetables. Provide a clear running order, highlighting anything particularly bright, noisy or unexpected.

Every activity should be clearly structured, with a defined purpose and statements in advance about what is expected. Give people the option to drop out if need be. Never make “one size fits all” assumptions. Make sure that you know in advance if there are to be any fire drills or alarms. Those can really disrupt everything, for the whole day.

If you want to encourage unstructured social interaction (of course, there is no reason why the entire day should be made just for the benefit of autistics) then signal that clearly and give people who do not want to participate some acceptable way of ducking out. At some autistic events, people wear coloured communication badges to indicate whether or not they are open for conversation.

Bear in mind that autistic people can take longer to process information and may also struggle to explain how they are feeling, so build in plenty of space and time to get the best results. It’s ok to get personal – autistic people love talking about themselves! – but only in a way that gives the sense that we are contributing to a worthwhile exercise. In other words, there has to be an obvious reason. Avoid indirect and metaphorical speech and, obviously, expect social communication that lacks real and clear meaning to be greeted with incomprehension or anxiety.

To summarise: if the autistic person understands the reason for everything, can follow a clear structure and schedule that is stuck to rigorously, and is encouraged to share their insights, then you can get great results. On the last point, be ready: autistic people can talk for an hour or more without stopping on certain topics. It’s a good idea to specify before asking someone a question whether you want a short answer, a long answer, or a very long answer!

Finally, check in on spoons https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoon_theory Most autistic people have a sense of how they are doing during the course of a day. Ideally, you want to end an awayday with enough spoons to be able to get home safely. If spoons are getting dangerously depleted, then please allow the person to duck out, to avoid having a meltdown or shutdown later.

Experts by Experience

Over the past couple of years, I have joined the ranks of autistic ‘Experts by Experience’ (EbE) who take part in consultations with organisations ranging from charities to the National Health Service to local councils. When I first heard that phrase I was intrigued, because in the academic world somebody like me would normally be an expert on a topic that stands apart from their lived experience. So, whereas I am a Professor of Music, in which I have worked since childhood, the pillars of my expertise do not rely on my lived experience as a composer and musician, but rather on the scientific and artistic knowledge about music that I have accumulated along the way. 

The need for these EbE has arisen fairly recently and mostly from social care. It is recognised by the sector that talking to professionals alone is inadequate, if you want to capture the knowledge required to make progress. For that, the voices of people on the receiving end also need to be heard and indeed given an equal footing. So, EbE are recruited to advise and contribute to discussions of strategy and policy as well as practical and organisational issues. In many ways, this is a very welcome development. Giving voice to traditionally under-represented groups has to be a good thing. However, there are also a few problems.

First there is the question of representation. I have frequently raised this issue. While I am delighted to be involved and contribute my insights, I am hardly representative of the whole of autistic people. In fact, those people who most need the services provided are often the ones least represented. For example, non-speaking autistic people and those with learning difficulties are usually absent. 

Second, there is the thorny issue of remuneration. In all the groups I belong to, my advice and input has been sought without remuneration. Yet the professionals involved are being paid. So, a familiar picture of oppression and exploitation emerges in which autistic people provide their services for nothing, while others make their careers out of autism. I have raised this frequently and vociferously, and I am confident that the professionals do understand the problem, but nothing has been done so far and so resentments build among the autistic community.

Finally, there is the question of how EbE are chosen. Everybody has a lived experience, of course, so in theory any autistic person could be included. But there are clearly qualities that are required of EbE. These typically include an ability to talk openly and share with others. Since these qualities are determined by neurotypicals, this can become a source of difficulty, especially when autistic people start to express themselves. I have heard of meetings where rules have been set that constrain the EbE, when it is precisely in their unique expression that the autism resides. 

Despite these problems, I fundamentally like the idea of EbE and am happy to make my contribution as one. But the process of selection is fairly unclear at the moment. It would be good to have a transparent set of selection criteria, both to encourage inclusivity and to discourage people from arbitrarily using the EbE label.