“Life Unworthy of Life”: Historical Amnesia, Ausmerzen and the Rhetoric Surrounding Autism

In a time when the voices of neurodivergent individuals are only beginning to be heard and valued on their own terms, it is deeply disturbing to witness public figures—especially those seeking high office—revive narratives that dehumanise and diminish them. Recent comments by Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., suggesting that autistic individuals are a “burden” on society due to their inability to “work” or “pay taxes,” warrant not just outrage—but reflection. These are not merely careless remarks; they are emblematic of a deeper, more insidious problem: the resurgence of a logic that history has already exposed as deadly.

To understand the gravity of such rhetoric, we must revisit one of the most chilling ideological and bureaucratic programmes of the 20th century: Aktion T4 in Nazi Germany. Between 1939 and 1945, this state-sanctioned “euthanasia” programme targeted individuals deemed “Lebensunwertes Leben”—“life unworthy of life.” The victims were not soldiers, criminals, or political opponents; they were disabled children, neurodivergent individuals, people with mental illness or intellectual disabilities—those who, in the regime’s cold estimation, failed to meet a standard of economic or biological “fitness.”

Before the gas chambers of Auschwitz and Sobibor, before the industrialised murder of millions, came the sterilisation clinics and “mercy killings” in German hospitals. These early atrocities were justified not on the grounds of hatred or vengeance, but on economics. The Nazi regime framed the existence of disabled and neurodivergent people as a financial burden on the state. In internal documents and propaganda, their continued care was described as wasteful, inefficient, and unfair to the productive majority. The German term Ausmerzen, meaning “to eradicate,” was used to describe this policy of quiet, systematic elimination.

The machinery of death began not with bullets or gas—but with ideas. With speeches. With normalised conversations about who “contributes” to society, and who does not.

And now, nearly a century later, we are hearing faint but unmistakable echoes of that same logic.

The Problem of Productivity as the Measure of Human Worth

The idea that human value can be reduced to economic contribution is not merely reductive—it is deeply dangerous. It transforms the human being into a commodity. And in such a worldview, those who fall outside the conventional workforce—the elderly, the disabled, the neurodivergent, the chronically ill—are rendered expendable.

It is no accident that neoliberal economic frameworks and far-right ideologies often meet at this crossroads. Both are prone to viewing people as units of productivity rather than as complex, interdependent beings embedded in community, culture, and care. Autistic people, in this frame, become “problems” to be solved, not people to be supported, empowered, and celebrated.

But autistic people are not burdens. They are artists, coders, teachers, friends, carers, scientists, and leaders. Some are verbal; some are not. Some work in conventional jobs; others contribute to their communities in ways that cannot be captured by tax returns or performance reviews. They enrich the social fabric by challenging norms, offering unique perspectives, and living lives that remind us of the full breadth of human experience.

To suggest that their value is contingent on employment or tax contribution is not only inaccurate—it’s ethically untenable.

Leadership, Memory, and Moral Clarity

As an educator and youth leadership facilitator working in communities historically fractured by division, I know how dangerous it is when language begins to otherise, to marginalise, to reduce. When leaders speak in ways that exclude, young people listen—and learn. They learn who is valued. Who belongs. Who matters.

History teaches us that cruelty often arrives dressed in the language of common sense. The architects of Aktion T4 were not madmen in basements. They were physicians, policymakers, bureaucrats, and professors. They held conferences, published justifications, and maintained a quiet, professional tone as they made lethal decisions. Evil, as Hannah Arendt wrote, often appears banal—embedded in systems and processes, cloaked in administrative language.

We must not make the mistake of assuming that we are immune to such thinking today. When public figures question the value of neurodivergent people based on their economic output, they do not merely risk offense—they risk awakening an ideology that history has already thoroughly condemned.

A Call to the Academic and Professional Community

As educators, researchers, psychologists, social workers, health professionals, and leaders, we must meet this moment with clarity. We must reject any rhetoric that reduces human beings to economic units. We must remember that inclusive societies are not built on metrics of profitability, but on principles of dignity, equity, and care.

We also need to foster dialogue that celebrates neurodivergence, challenges stigma, and centres the lived experiences of autistic people themselves—not as passive subjects of study or charity, but as agents of change and insight in their own right.

This is not about political correctness. This is about historical literacy. About moral integrity. About refusing to allow old and dangerous ideas to wear new and respectable clothes.

To those who believe that the lives of autistic people matter less because they may not conform to normative economic expectations, I offer a reminder drawn not from ideology but from history:

It began this way before.

Let us ensure it ends differently now.