Written for the International Neurodiversity Conference 2026
"The children everywhere are all ours, every single one of them." — James Baldwin
As we gather for Thursday's International Neurodiversity Conference 2026, I have been thinking a great deal about our panel session and the spirit of the work many of us are committed to. I wanted to offer a gentle challenge, not to the importance of economic arguments for neuroinclusion, but to how narrowly those arguments are sometimes framed.
When we talk about the economics of neuroinclusion, we should not only be talking about productivity, skills, or labour markets. We should also be talking about access, psychological safety, and who is actually able to benefit from the systems we have built. Neurodivergent children do not all start from the same place. Some families have the social, economic, and cultural capital to advocate, absorb risk, and navigate complex systems, even when doing so is exhausting. Others face far greater consequences for seeking diagnosis, support, or accommodation, particularly where race, migration, poverty, or historical mistrust of institutions intersect.
Historical and ongoing deficit-based models of difference often reinforce shame within communities. For many loving parents, this leads to hiding their children's needs in order to protect them. That has very real consequences, not only for individual wellbeing, but for economies, participation, and future innovation. When children are unsupported early, the costs are not avoided. They are deferred.
"Neurodiversity isn't more visible because there's more of it. It's more visible where parents have the resources, safety, and power to advocate for it."
Who Shapes Our Understanding
Our public understanding of neurodiversity is not shaped equally. It is far more often shaped by middle-class families with resources and relative safety, rather than by poorer families, children in care, or many Black and Brown communities. This is not because neurodivergence is more common in some groups over others, but rather because advocacy itself requires access, protection, and power.
The school-to-prison pipeline is not driven by neurodivergence itself, but by poverty and exclusion. It reflects who has the resources to access labels, support, and protection, and who does not. Neurodivergent children without those protections are more likely to be disciplined than supported, excluded rather than accommodated, and pushed towards systems of control instead of care. These pathways often reappear later as poor mental health, exclusion from work, or contact with the justice system, with long-term costs absorbed across healthcare, welfare, and lost economic participation.
The Economic Reality of Mental Health
To ground this more clearly in economic terms, it is important to recognise something simple. Poor mental health carries enormous costs for societies, not just individuals. According to the World Health Organization, more than one billion people globally are living with mental health conditions. Depression and anxiety alone are estimated to cost the global economy around one trillion US dollars each year in lost productivity. In the UK, the picture is equally stark. Research suggests that the total economic and social cost of mental ill health in England may be as high as three hundred billion pounds per year once lost productivity, reduced employment, informal care, and reduced quality of life are taken into account. These figures make clear that mental health is not only a clinical or social issue. It is a major economic one, and prevention matters.
The way children experience safety, understanding, and support in education shapes how they later experience work. Classrooms that punish difference often become workplaces that exclude it. Poor fit, chronic stress, and lack of psychological safety do not disappear in adulthood. They compound, contributing to burnout, mental ill health, and disengagement from work and society.
Beyond Superpower Narratives
I have never been a fan of "superpower" narratives. While it is encouraging that newer neurodiversity narratives celebrate talent, innovation, and resilience, not all children are seen through those lenses. When families do not see themselves represented, or when difference brings stigma rather than safety, exclusion becomes structural rather than accidental. That exclusion shapes health outcomes, educational attainment, economic participation, and social cohesion across generations.
So if the economics of neuroinclusion is truly about more than functional productivity, the real question becomes this. What kind of society are we choosing to build?
Three Questions We Cannot Avoid
1. Resources, power, and who gets to define neurodiversity
How do parental resources, social capital, and safety determine whose children are recognised as neurodivergent and supported, and whose children are simply disciplined, excluded, or ignored?
2. Mental health, false economies, and deferred costs
Are we creating false economies by failing to invest early in neuroinclusive support, shifting the cost instead into poor mental health, lost productivity, healthcare systems, and long-term economic exclusion?
3. Education, exclusion, and the school-to-justice pipeline
When neurodivergent children are unsupported in education, how do poverty and exclusion shape pathways from school into unemployment, poor mental health, or contact with the justice system, and who pays the price later?
Rethinking Workplace Adjustments
If we want neuroinclusion to be more than a label or a policy commitment, we also need to rethink how workplaces adjust, not just individually, but structurally. This means moving beyond one-off accommodations towards cultures of flexibility, trust, and psychological safety. I have explored this further in Rethinking Workplace Adjustments, which looks at how inclusion can be embedded systemically rather than treated as an exception.
As an Asian man who grew up in the UK within a migrant family, shaped by relative poverty and neurodivergent realities, this work is deeply personal to me. It can be harrowing at times, and the responsibility for change is both intergenerational and intersectional. But it is also genuinely healing. The fact that we are creating space, including here in the Middle East, to have these conversations matters more than we sometimes realise.
> "This conversation isn't just about today's workforce. It's about the society we are choosing to build for the children we are here to raise."
What Keeps You Hopeful?
I often end by asking one simple question. What keeps you hopeful?
For me, it is seeing psychological safety, authenticity, and belonging increasingly recognised not as optional extras, but as foundations for healthy economies and societies. For those interested, I have shared further reflections here:
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