We fear that the president’s baseless theory stigmatizes our children and could impact their access to care.
Donald Trump’s commanding presence on the world stage took an unexpectedly personal turn during his address to Congress on March 4. Near the end of his 100-minute speech, the U.S. president veered away from his usual themes of American greatness and political grievances to discuss an unlikely topic: autism.
Trump singled out his newly appointed health secretary, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., and assigned him a critical task.
“Not long ago, the rate was one in 10,000—now it’s one in 36,” Trump declared. “There’s something wrong. So we’re going to find out what it is. And there’s nobody better than Bobby. Good luck. It’s a very important job.”
This was not Trump’s first foray into the autism debate, nor his first endorsement of Kennedy’s ability to tackle it. However, the gravity of the setting underscored the implications of his words. For me, as a journalist and the father of an autistic child, the moment carried a stark realization: a deeply personal decision—to move to the U.S. in search of better support for my son—had now become entangled in a national controversy.
My wife and I relocated from Prague to the U.S. to access superior autism care for our son, diagnosed just before his third birthday. While progress has been uneven, we have benefited from dedicated professionals and better resources than were available in the Czech Republic. Now, suddenly, autism had become a political focal point in ways we had not anticipated.
Trump’s claim about rising autism rates was exaggerated. The CDC’s most recent statistics, from 2020, indeed indicate a rate of one in 36, but the increase has been more gradual than he suggested. In 2000, the rate was one in 150. Nevertheless, the growing prevalence of autism has fueled demands for answers.
The real issue lies in Trump’s choice of Kennedy, a vocal proponent of the discredited theory that vaccines cause autism. This unscientific belief, which Trump himself has previously entertained, now stands at the center of a renewed national inquiry.
Parents of autistic children, whom I spoke with, described Kennedy’s views in harsh terms—“dangerous,” “scary,” “despicable.” Experts fear that his new role will lend unwarranted legitimacy to a theory that has long been debunked.
Dr. Paul Offit, a pediatric immunologist and author of Autism’s False Prophets, condemned the anti-vaccine movement for misleading parents and diverting resources from legitimate autism research. “This narrative puts the burden on parents,” he said. “It’s spurious and, in some ways, malicious.”
The vaccine-autism myth gained traction after a now-discredited 1998 study by British physician Andrew Wakefield. His research, later proven fraudulent, was retracted by The Lancet, and he was stripped of his medical license. Despite overwhelming scientific refutation, Kennedy continues to push this narrative.
In a 2023 New Yorker podcast, Kennedy insisted, “If it didn’t come from vaccines, then where is it coming from?” Scientists point to genetics, prenatal factors, and other environmental influences—none of which provide a single definitive cause but all of which are more scientifically grounded than Kennedy’s claims.
Caught in this battle between science and misinformation are parents facing the daily realities of raising autistic children. Autism is a spectrum, with children exhibiting a wide range of abilities and challenges. Some, like my son, are verbal and highly functional; others are non-verbal with severe intellectual disabilities. Each child is unique, yet all require specialized support.
Many parents resent Kennedy’s rhetoric, which they say stigmatizes their children and unfairly blames them. “It implies that parents did something wrong during pregnancy,” said Davina Kleid, whose nine-year-old daughter has autism. “That’s not just wrong—it’s harmful.”
Some fear Kennedy’s influence could have even graver consequences. Maryland resident Madeline, whose 24-year-old son was diagnosed before receiving vaccines, called his views insulting. “It suggests it’s better for kids to suffer deadly diseases like measles than to have autism,” she said.
Lux Blakthorne, a Pennsylvania mother of a non-verbal nine-year-old, is considering emigrating to Germany, where she believes autism support is stronger. A key concern is Kennedy’s oversight of Medicaid, which funds her son’s specialized education and daily care. Another is the recent White House ban on puberty blockers for minors, which she fears could limit medical options for autistic children facing puberty-related challenges.
“I think RFK sees disabilities as problems to be fixed,” she said. “His views aren’t science-based. They’re dangerous.”
Despite widespread criticism, some autism advocates see an opportunity. Alison Singer, president of the Autism Science Foundation, believes Kennedy could use his position to declare profound autism a national public health emergency. “That would unlock funding for research into causes, treatments, and prevention,” she said.
The question remains: will Kennedy’s tenure lead to meaningful support for autistic individuals, or will it embolden harmful misconceptions? For parents like me, the stakes couldn’t be higher.
