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Positive representation of the autistic spectrum matters to me because I want kids who are struggling with their condition to have heroes they can see themselves in. I didn’t know I was autistic growing up but, now that I do, I don’t want anyone else to wrestle with the same confusion and frustration that I had to deal with. Of course, there are plenty of protagonists whose problems are universal but it’s still nice for children to have role models they can connect with at a deeper level.

But there’s another big reason why I think our media should discuss the subject of autism, and mental health in general: I firmly believe that the more we talk about it, the less taboo it will seem. Too many of Great Britain’s people still live under the medieval delusion that keeping a stiff upper lip is the solution to their problems. Two thirds of our adult population feel they have no one to turn to and studies show that we are among the most depressed nation in the western world. This is to say nothing of all the bullying, exclusion, and isolation that autistic children feel on a day-to-day basis (below). If we raised our people to understand that there’s no shame in having difficulties, perhaps they could grow up feeling happier and more content with their lives.

And mental health is a very difficult thing to deal with. Nothing is quite as scary as the first time that you sit down and acknowledge that your brain isn’t fully under your control and never truly will be. That feeling of powerlessness can be very upsetting for those of us who wrestle with our minds every day and we all have different coping mechanisms. Mine is cracking jokes about it, which is pretty easy thanks to Hollywood giving its audiences so many iffy ideas about what my condition actually is.

After receiving my diagnosis, I poured over a lot of mental health movies in the hopes of finding something I could consider a good representation of our problems. Instead, I found some very unfortunate implications, like the suggestion that autistic spectrum disorders were barriers to happy human relationships. So, imagine my pleasant surprise when, about ten years after getting that little piece of paper that explained what was wrong with my brain, I discovered a game that somehow managed to portray it “correctly” without overtly trying to.

That game is Persona 5 and, to talk about why and how it does, this, I’m going to have to get into spoiler territory. You’ve been warned.

There are a lot of great characters in this game but the first one that I’m going to focus on is a young girl named Futaba Sakura. This girl is extremely intelligent, has a great passion for technology, and generally cares very little for anything outside her limited sphere of interests. She’s awkward around people and finds them physically exhausting to be among for great periods of time but she doesn’t hate them and grows to be very close to her companions.

While she is not explicitly autistic, social media websites like tumblr tend to interpret Futaba as having the condition. This is somewhat supported by the performance given by her English actress Erica Lindbeck, who has stated that she tried to portray Futaba as if she were on the spectrum. And, as someone on that spectrum, I think that she did a great job.

There’s a lot about this this performance that I could sing the praises of, like how bright and energetic Futaba sounds when she’s enthused by something, or how sincere she sounds while talking about the connections she’s developed with her friends. Simple things but they’re luxuries we aren’t always offered. Far too often, autistic people are stereotyped into being a bunch of emotionless puppets, never expressing any kind of physical or emotional affection. Futaba isn’t like that. Once she gets going, she becomes a human dynamo and it’s adorable.

Despite that, though, the thing I find most interesting thing about Lindbeck’s performance is its awkwardness. Every now and then (especially during emotionally tense-moments), Futaba will sound oddly stilted or suddenly start talking far louder than she needs to. This made me wonder if, in-universe, Futaba herself doesn’t know how to respond appropriately to situations she finds distressing. I don’t know if this was intentional on Lindbeck’s part but, if it was, then… wow. Someone really did her homework. It’s a fantastically subtle detail that perfectly conveys a problem people like me have. We don’t always know how we’re coming across to others and it’s incredibly frustrating to be dismissed, even if we’re making valid points, just because our tone of voice wasn’t the most contextually appropriate. Especially when those people are our loved ones, who should really know full damn well now how difficult reading a situation can be for us but you don’t want to say that openly because then you get accused of being an ungrateful child and so you bottle it up and words and emotions just become this big, horrifyingly Lovecraftian mess of feels.

Persona 5 could have stopped right there and Futaba would still be a more accurate, and interesting, representation of autism than any of the cardboard cutout characters wheeled out for Very Special Movies. But it didn’t. Developers Atlus instead chose to take this very well-developed, very-probably autistic character and build an entire section of the game’s story around her. Most impressively, it’s a chapter that’s affected by her condition without being about it.

At the start of the game, Futaba is suicidal. Her mother Wakaba died long ago under mysterious circumstances and, thanks to a condemning final message, she’s grown up believing that her parent didn’t love her. Anyone who knew Wakaba could tell you that she’d never try to kill herself, much less leave a note blaming her child for it, but Futaba takes it all at face value. If Futaba is indeed supposed to be autistic, this makes perfect sense. We are an impressionable bunch, especially when we’re young, and we do have a tendency to take things completely literally without further investigation. We don’t mean to, we’re just wired to assume that things are true unless stated otherwise. So, Futaba’s probable-autism explains why she despairs so much but it’s not the real source of her problem.

Despite its real-world setting, Persona 5 is a fantasy game at heart. This means that the aforementioned problem is resolved not through therapy but by beating up its mystic embodiment. The interesting part, however, is the role that Futaba herself plays in that process. She actively seeks out the Phantom Thieves, heroes with the power to change the hearts of others, and enlists their aid in helping her to restore hers. This is a great moment because it shows off Futaba’s ingenuity. She knows the Phantom Thieves can turn bad people into repentant ones, so she figures they could probably turn a depressed person into a happier one. And, of course, that’s exactly what happens. It’s a creative use of their powers that they hadn’t considered before and Futaba being the one to think of it foreshadows her future role as the brains of the team.

But what makes this episode so great is that, ultimately, Futaba doesn’t end up requiring any magic brainwashing to get better. In reality, there’s no shortage of shady people who think autism needs curing. Having the Thieves literally change her mind, even with her consent, might’ve been an uncomfortable reminder of them. Instead, it’s really Futaba who saves herself from her own despair. How does this happen? Well, strap in if you’ve never played the games before because this is going to get weird.

The Persona franchise is a fantastical interpretation of Carl Jung’s theories of psychology. To very briefly explain, Jung discusses two personality elements referred to as the Persona and Shadow. A Persona is a social mask a person presents to the outside world while a Shadow is an amalgamation of unconscious desires and emotions, which can be dangerous if repressed. As such, the Persona games typically treat them as monsters.

Futaba’s Shadow, however, is different. Because Futaba has been so distressed throughout her life, her Shadow represents the positive emotions she’s buried over its course. It embodies her kindness, creativity, and critical thinking. This allows the Shadow to convince Futaba that the mother that loved and cared for her would never have killed herself, nor blamed her child for any problems she was facing.

This realisation is what inspires Futaba to fully accept her Shadow, start recovering from her suicidal tendencies, and seek the truth behind her mother’s death. It’s such a heartwarming moment, it very nearly reduced me to tears. The fact that she, not the Thieves, is the one to truly take agency and overcome her weaknesses is what makes it so damn great.

Best of all, Futaba doesn’t magically turn into a “normal” person after all is said and done. She’s still the same dorky, awkward, huggable mess of a kid she always was, it’s just that now she’s surrounded by friends who understand her. Friends who’ve seen her at her lowest, and highest, points. The realisation that she’s no longer alone gives her the strength she needs to confront the world and show it what she’s made of.

Speaking of loved ones, one last thing before I draw to an end. Another great character in Persona 5 is Futaba’s adoptive father Sojiro. We first meet him while Futaba is trapped in her despair and he comes off as a very stern, no-nonsense sort of man. As time passes, however, it soon becomes clear that he’s far more sensitive than he lets on. He’s just struggling to raise Futaba because he has no idea to deal with a child who’s so closed-off from the world. It reminds me very much of the relationship I used to have with my own father and, just like mine, it’s one that improved after the autistic kid started getting out and finding friends to be with. Sojiro seems to warm up to the other characters after Futaba joins them on the main stage and it makes total sense as to why. He’s happy that his daughter is finally happy. And, for the parent of an autistic child, that must be a great feeling.

It would have been so easy for Atlus to write Futaba as just another sad little autistic girl, one whose condition needs curing or some patronising support to overcome. Instead, they created a deep, dynamic, and very well-developed character whose mental difference is the cause of and solution to different problems in her life. I’ve heard it said that a good way to write a gay character is to write a good character first, then explore their sexuality. Looking at Futaba, I can’t help but wonder if maybe the rule is the same for those of us on the spectrum. Even without the trappings of autism, Futaba’s story would still be an emotionally-intense tale of loss, despair, and the triumph of the human spirit. She’d still be one of the game’s better characters. With them, and Ms. Lindbeck’s informed performance, though? She’s very arguably the best.

. . .

Addendum: So, thanks to the advertising shenanigans of my friend Dan, Erica Lindbeck herself has seen this article and had this to say.

Apparently, I have the best buddies of all time. Thank you so much, Dan, and thank you Erica for your kind words. And, since it’s only fair, you should go check out Dan if you’re done reading this. Especially if you’re a RWBY fan. He does some pretty great coverage of the series.