Birthday with Daily Cal Weekender.
NonVerbal and College Bound
Headline: Non Verbal and College Bound
SEO Headline: What does it take for an autistic student to survive college?
I took the other fork on the road in my journey to UC Berkeley. As a nonverbal autistic student, my road is not only less traveled by, but it is also fuzzy.
I had no idea how I would even survive university. Unlike my neurotypical peers, there were not many role models for me to follow on this road to higher education.
Last summer was a very exciting time for me — I was admitted into all the UC schools I applied to. But students like me can’t just toddle off to any school, because we need strong support systems to help navigate our university life.
When I was applying to the UC schools, I was aware that they all had a Disabled Students’ Program, or DSP — but what exactly the program did was a veritable black box to me. So it was not without some apprehension and anxiety that I met with counselors in the program at a few of these UC schools as my acceptances started coming in.
My meetings with the program counselors were encouraging on the surface. They seemed open to working with me. But I could see puzzlement in some of their eyes — I was a new type of differently abled student for them because of my atypical communication, sensory disorganization and impulsive body mannerisms.
In fact, my good friend David Teplitz and I are the first nonverbal autistic students to join UC Berkeley, according to campus DSP Director Karen Neilson. We both type to communicate and have other similar sensory challenges. Needless to say, both of us are thrilled to be here and will not give up on creating shifts in attitude.
UC Berkeley had been my dream school for more reasons than the obvious ones, such as its world ranking and its top notch academic programs. UC Berkeley is also the birthplace of the disability rights movement.
The movement was spearheaded by Ed Roberts, who was severely affected by polio. He challenged the system in the 1960s, paving the way for other physically challenged students and helping to establish DSP. The program was later expanded to include people with learning and intellectual disabilities.
I sat down with Neilson on Feb. 9 to talk about the services on campus. I liked the program’s functional approach to disability, wherein disability is essentially anything that affects major life functions, be it a broken hand, a medical condition such as cancer or a learning disability such as autism.
Disabled students are held to the same high academic standards as their typical peers, which means that they don’t get an easier or modified curriculum. But a student can, for example, get additional time for an assignment, although the number of papers has to be the same as for other students. The end goal of such DSP accommodations, as dictated by law, is to provide “access” to the educational environment.
Some of my academic accommodations include additional time for exams, use of a iPad (it’s my communication device), a laptop (I have no handwriting skills) and the use of specialized software such as MathType for my statistics and other math exams. I’m also given a notetaker for classes and allowed to take fewer courses every semester.
Neilson and I also spoke of the necessity to adapt services to suit the needs of the growing number of autistic students, as they do not fit the traditional mold of a disabled student. Neilson pointed out that many in the autism spectrum need more assistance with social skills, executive functioning and making friends. Traditionally, these issues are not thought of as accommodations, but these are essential to an autistic student’s success.
There is now a newer subset of autistic students who are college-bound — the nonverbal and the sensorily disorganized autistics like me.
While we nonverbal autistics are very much capable of meeting the highest of academic expectations, we present some unique needs with our atypical communication — such as the need for a communication partner or assistant to help keep us organized and navigate the campus — to be successful.
“Providing assistance to students with autism with communication and executive functioning is a must if we are to provide them with full access to Cal and to allow them to meet their full potential here,” Neilson said in an email.
We are, in Neilson’s words, challenging universities to think differently.
I have found DSP at UC Berkeley very willing to listen and think innovatively, which is very encouraging. It’s a learning experience for both us autistics and DSP as we figure out how to move forward. Access and services at UC Berkeley has been shaped over the years by what its students have demanded of it. At the end of the day, the continuing inclusion and success of nonverbal autistic students may well rest on us refining what “access” means and what “accommodations” mean.
You can be sure that students such as Teplitz and I will be part of the change we want to see.
Hari Srinivasan writes the Thursday column on his experience as an non-verbal autistic student.
Daily Cal Orientation
Communication Conundrum
THEME: The Person Inside
HEADLINE: Communication conundrum
What if you had no voice and no handwriting skills? What if your body was so disorganized that you couldn’t even do sign language or consistently point to what you wanted? What if there was no way for you to consistently communicate your thoughts and feelings to those around you? Would any of your needs be met, and would you be able to engage in any sort of meaningful social relationships and friendships?
For many nonverbal individuals with autism like me, this is our daily reality. It underlines the fact that communication is fundamental to society.
Communication issues often mask intelligence in the autism population, affecting our inclusion in society. If you don’t have the ability to communicate effectively, you are hard-pressed to exhibit your intelligence. If you add body disorganization to the mix, you can’t consistently point to the right response among the set that the therapist places in front of you. After multiple incorrect responses, the therapist arrives at what seems like a logical conclusion: “This individual is incapable of learning.”
This was my story until I turned 13.
Learning to communicate through typing as a teen totally turned my life around. That was the start of my journey to UC Berkeley. With communication, I could exhibit that I was an intelligent individual who deserved access to the mainstream education that many of my neurotypical UC Berkeley peers have taken for granted all their lives.
A child that is perceived to be intelligent will automatically be placed in a stimulating classroom. A child who may be as intelligent but who is perceived to be incapable would be placed in a drastically different environment. The outcome for the former would be positive, while the outcome for the latter can only be frustration, often expressed in the form of maladaptive behaviors — which is a catch-22. Adding insult to injury, the latter is now labeled as both unintelligent and difficult.
I was that difficult child acting out in frustration and dismay.
The basic issue may be pure confusion over input and output systems. I believe that intelligence is an output issue, since you have to exhibit your intelligence to earn that label. But I learn at the same rate as my typical peers through observation and inference — in other words, my input systems are functioning fairly well. The mind of an autistic person can truly be a marvel, since we interact with our environment in rather unique ways, which lends unique perspectives.
What differentiates us is our inability to exhibit those skills, especially if you are nonverbal like me. Nothing beats being able to talk. The speed and social opportunities it offers cannot be overstated. I find it frustratingly awkward to slowly type on a device while another person fidgets near me, not knowing whether to look at me or at my keyboard over my shoulder.
The way I function in a social setting becomes so much more difficult when input systems are impaired. Think of it like static interference in internal signals — my mind may think one thing, but the signals get mangled in the motor task of carrying that out, be it through handwriting with my fingers or motor-planning speech with my mouth. We may end up smiling when we should be looking sad upon seeing someone fall.
I am well aware of these deficits, which triggers parallel loops of anxiety, further worsening the signaling systems. Think about it: A typical student may get stressed during an interview and fumble as they attempt to retrieve information from their mind and formulate an elegant response.
My every attempt at communication is like being under a stage spotlight — I get all nervous and start fumbling. My very attempt to effectively communicate may become a self-defeating prophecy further eroding my coping skills. Ironically, coping skills themselves are often tied to effective communication.
If intelligence is thought to be an output issue, then we should not assume that an autistic individual is incapable of learning based on his mannerisms. Instead, the focus should be on improving communication skills while providing a stimulating environment.
We autistics may yet surprise you, and we have a lot to contribute to society. I shouldn’t have had to wait for a chance meeting as a teen to lead me to communication. My special education teachers should have taught me typing instead of trying to restrict me to the dozen picture icons they decided I needed. Of course, other autism issues such as sensory dysregulation can make the act of typing itself hard. I am still a one-finger typer for the most part, and it took me a really long time to type out this one article.
Every day, I walk by the labs and research facilities on campus and I think, “Surely UC Berkeley can research a solution for us.” #InThisGen, I want to call on campus innovators to develop systems that make getting out what’s inside our heads easier, perhaps through the development of artificial intelligence or neural link technology. I want us all to help the world see the person inside.
Happiness Happens at Six
As you walk down the steps of Dwinelle Hall at 6pm, the bells of the Campanile start chiming accompanied by the music of the carillon.
You look up to see the top of the Campanile all lit up just behind Wheeler hall.
Happiness happens at Six!!
As the clock strikes six at Dwinelle Hall,
The Campanile's bells start nightly call,
Accompanied by carillon's sweet sound,
Echoing through the campus grounds.
Under lamplight in Dwinelle Plaza,
Rising moon glows over Wheeler Hall,
Strawberry Creek's trickle adds to the stanza,
Nature's serenade, a peaceful lull.
Neurotransmitters dance in the brain,
In that stroll towards Sproul Plaza again,
On Berkeley's campus, riding dreams.
Happiness happens at six, it seems,
In Awe of Awe
RPP - Participating in Research.
RCEB Annual Meeting
Two Years at Daily Cal
The Fundamental Theorem of Hari
The Fundamental Theorem of Hari
Member of ASAN Board
Spectrum at Cal plans for the Semester
3rd Board Meeting with a guest from another student org |