One day last winter, a 17-year-old girl sat down at a computer and began to type. She had an estimated IQ of 20 and the mental capacity of a 2-year-old, but she seemed to have made remarkable progress since her parents enrolled her at the Institute of Logopedics in Wichita, Kans., in January. Although she had never been taught to read, soon after she arrived she typed a letter saying, "I love you Mommy and Daddy." But then there was a darker note, announcing that her parents couldn't possibly love her since they had sent her away to school. Finally, last June 26, came a shocking accusation: in perfectly spelled pornographic terms, the Oklahoma adolescent typed out that her mother had sexually abused her. "My mother f---- me with a dildo," she typed.
The teenager's letters were made possible by a controversial new assisted-typing technique called facilitated communication. Its proponents claim it allows mentally impaired patients who cannot speak-particularly those diagnosed as autistic-to type their innermost thoughts on a screen or page when someone gently supports one of their hands, elbows or shoulders. First popularized in the United States three years ago by Syracuse University professor of special education Douglas Biklen, facilitated communication has been taught to thousands of cognitively disabled people.
While some parents and educators claim that assisted typing has allowed autistic patients to communicate for the first time, others are increasingly skeptical about whether the thoughts and emotions expressed are really those of the patients-or may in fact belong to the facilitators. But both critics and supporters of the method are concerned about a new pattern showing up: scores of patients, like the girl from Oklahoma, have "communicated" that they are being sexually abused.
The issue of sexuality is urgent and difficult for many cognitively impaired persons. Their sex fantasies and interests can combine with frustration and anger over their handicaps, resulting in explosive outbursts. Facilitated communication can provide an outlet for a variety of such resentments. Ann O'Neil, whose high-functioning autistic son does well with the technique, sees the potential for false abuse reports. "Sometimes the kids have been locked up in their minds and they have anger," she says. "Sometimes kids lie."
Tragically, some charges may be valid. The mentally disabled, particularly those who can't speak, are especially vulnerable to such victimization. Another disturbing case surfaced last June at the Institute of Logopedics (children's speech), where about 20 of the 50 residential students use facilitated communication. An 11-year-old boy, who had never verbalized his thoughts before, made a startling announcement in one of his first communications. His nighttime aide, the boy typed, had been fondling him against his will. But according to the school, the aide, Marc Warden, was not fired until he himself made remarks corroborating the youngster's claim. Warden, who also says he is HIV-positive, maintains his innocence. He is now awaiting trial on felony charges of taking indecent liberties with a child.
Some charges of sex abuse may be influenced by the facilitator. Skeptics note that children from primarily Spanish-speaking or Hindi-speaking homes, for example, have typed complaints of sex abuse in perfect English. "Facilitated communication overlaps [with] a Ouija-board technique," says Sally Bligh, who runs a speech-pathology center in Elmhurst, Ill., "so you get the illusion of communication. Two hands are involved in the motor movement."
While children from California to Illinois have accused their teachers, caretakers and even parents of sexual abuse, nobody has yet been convicted based on a complaint originating from facilitated communication. Indeed, only a few of the allegations have proved legitimate enough to press charges. Unsubstantiated claims cast a wide net of damage. Parents have had children taken away and put in temporary protective custody, faced the scorn of neighbors, borne the expense of hiring lawyers-only to receive belated letters of apology from schools months later. Teachers and aides have had careers ruined simply by the hint of scandal.
Cognitively disabled children sometimes pick up vulgar words, but the parents of the 17-year-old Oklahoma girl who accused her mother doubt that she could have used such language in context. "This is a girl who says 'mel-mel' for 'milk'," says the mother. The alleged incident never took place, she says; no evidence that the teenager had been abused was found, and no charges were filed. Nonetheless, the girl's parents withdrew her from the institute. " I can't imagine why in the world this would have happened," says her mother. "It only happens to people on TV."
Even advocates of facilitated communication acknowledge that the technique is fallible." Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn't," says Bernard Rimland, who heads the Autism Research Institute in San Diego. "Saying it always does puts tremendous pressure on teachers to produce." Messages can easily be misinterpreted, adds Jennifer Johnson, speech director at the Institute of Logopedics. Once, for example, when a teacher there asked an autistic student why he was agitated, the child typed: "Sometimes I run out of joy." At first his instructor acclaimed the boy's profound, poetic soul-until she found out that he habitually calmed himself by twirling a bottle of dishwashing liquid.
Is facilitated communication a powerful tool, a major hype-or, in the wrong hands, a dangerous weapon? Some advocates are standing fast. "We've determined we're not going to stop facilitating with children just because we're hearing things we wish we didn't hear," declares Jack Andrews, president of the Institute of Logopedics. But until proponents of the technique are willing to submit its practice to rigorous objective scrutiny, it will remain something of a shot in the dark-and one that frequently hits inappropriate targets.
Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
");jQuery(this).remove()}) jQuery('.start-slider').owlCarousel({loop:!1,margin:10,nav:!0,items:1}).on('changed.owl.carousel',function(event){var currentItem=event.item.index;var totalItems=event.item.count;if(currentItem===0){jQuery('.owl-prev').addClass('disabled')}else{jQuery('.owl-prev').removeClass('disabled')} if(currentItem===totalItems-1){jQuery('.owl-next').addClass('disabled')}else{jQuery('.owl-next').removeClass('disabled')}})}})})
ncG1vNJzZmivp6x7r7HWrK6enZtjsLC5jqGmq6qfp3q0wM6rsGanomKvqrOMoaaasF1mhnl%2Fl2k%3D