Nonspeaking Autism, "The Telepathy Tapes," and Who Gets to Be Heard

When the controversial show The Telepathy Tapes hit the airwaves in late 2024, it did what few podcasts manage to do: make people question reality itself. The series, now streamed by millions, chronicled the lives of nonspeaking autistic individuals who appeared to communicate thoughts and perceptions in ways that defied conventional explanation.

Some called it groundbreaking. Others called it dangerous. Some called it pseudoscience. But underneath the noise was perhaps something deeper—a reckoning with how science and society decide who gets to be heard.

The Voices We Haven’t Been Hearing

For most of the 20th century, nonspeaking autistic people were treated as if they had nothing to say. Because they couldn’t speak, it was also assumed (by some) that they couldn’t think. Standard intelligence tests—built around verbal and motor responses—cemented this view, labeling many as profoundly disabled. ^1-3

Yet families and advocates kept insisting that something was wrong with this picture. ^4-8 They saw flashes of comprehension, humor, and insight that the tests missed. Over the past decade, evidence has begun to back them up. Eye-tracking research, for instance, shows that nonspeaking individuals using letterboards fixate on target letters before pointing—clear proof of intentional communication, not random movement or outside influence. ⁹

In short, the problem was never intelligence. It was access.

A Controversy Reawakened

The fierce debate around The Telepathy Tapes stems from its association with a long and tangled history.

Back in the 1980s and 90s, a method called Facilitated Communication (FC) swept through classrooms and therapy centers. It involved lightly supporting a nonspeaking person’s hand or arm as they typed or pointed to letters. Some messages were stunning—complex, poetic, and deeply human. But when scientists tested the method under controlled conditions, they found a troubling pattern: messages often matched what the facilitator knew, not what the nonspeaker had seen. ^10,11

By the mid-1990s, FC had been declared invalid, and its practitioners were dismissed as naïve or worse.

But the story didn’t end there. In the 2010s, a new method emerged: Spelling to Communicate (S2C). Instead of providing physical guidance, facilitators held a letterboard while teaching individuals to point independently. Over time, the physical prompts faded out completely. The goal wasn’t to “assist” thought—it was to unlock motor control so thought could finally find expression.

Much of the criticism surrounding the podcast stems from controversies over FC, with critics dismissing it as “already debunked”. However, it is important to clarify a crucial point that critics of the podcast tend to overlook: a substantial proportion of the individuals featured can type independently on a keyboard or with minimal assistance.

Nine individuals typed directly into an iPad or QWERTY keyboard entirely on their own, without any physical support whatsoever. Twelve participants, trained in S2C, spelled independently on a stencil or laminated letterboard without touch assistance. One participant was still in the early stages of letterboard use and required minimal physical support—specifically, a light touch of one finger on the body to regulate movement.

Remarkably, none of the participants relied on FC. In these cases, the possibility of facilitator influence or ideomotor response—the core critique used to dismiss the podcast’s findings—could reasonably be ruled out, if approached with less passion and dogmatism.

The Telepathy Question

And then came the part that pushed the conversation from controversial to incendiary: the suggestion that some nonspeaking individuals might communicate telepathically.

To many, that’s a bridge too far. But the idea isn’t as alien to science as it might sound. For more than a century, researchers in fields from parapsychology to cognitive neuroscience have studied what they call “anomalous cognition”—instances where people appear to access information beyond sensory channels. And many studies show small, but statistically significant effects. ^12-20

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Reconsidered in this light, some of the earliest “failed” FC studies—where nonspeakers produced information accessible only to the facilitator—need not be interpreted exclusively as artifacts of facilitator influence. What if, instead, they represent faint but genuine signals of an anomalous capacity, overlooked because it fell outside accepted paradigms?

While current data are inconclusive, these findings open a provocative possibility: that what mainstream science has long dismissed as error may, in select cases, reflect unexplored channels of human connection. To ignore this possibility altogether risks closing the door on a line of inquiry that, if pursued with rigor, could fundamentally reshape our understanding of communication and consciousness.

When Anecdotes Are Invitations

Skeptics often note that the podcast’s evidence is largely anecdotal—stories rather than data. Yet dogmatism once again misses the point: science often begins this way. Many paradigm-shifting discoveries start as something unexpected, even unbelievable. A strange mold killed bacteria and led to penicillin. A dream helped Kekulé envision the benzene ring. Anecdotes are not proof—they’re invitations.

In this light, the testimonies gathered in The Telepathy Tapes should not be regarded as definitive proof, but as early data points—signals that warrant rigorous, hypothesis-driven research. The podcast should be considered a filmmaker’s curious exploration of the phenomenon, which will engender the curiosity of scientists to move forward with carefully controlled experiments. To ignore such accounts outright risks silencing potentially meaningful insights and perpetuating blind spots in our scientific understanding of communication and consciousness.

Presume Competence

Behind all the scientific debate lies a moral one. For too long, professionals have required nonspeaking people to “prove” their intelligence before granting them respect. The emerging paradigm reverses that logic: presume competence until disproven. ²¹ This isn’t just an ethical stance—it’s a scientific necessity. When we start by assuming awareness and agency, we design better studies and uncover more truth. When we start by assuming a deficit, we see only what we expect to see.

Presuming competence opens a door that was shut for generations. And once you’ve seen someone walk through it, it’s hard to close it again.

Curiosity Over Dogma

The Telepathy Tapes did something: it made us uncomfortable. It’s forced scientists, clinicians, and the public alike to confront how quickly skepticism can turn into dismissal—and how easily dogma can hide behind the banner of reason.

The history of FC and S2C reveals how entrenched assumptions about nonspeaking autistic individuals—long dismissed as cognitively deficient—have shaped both research agendas and clinical practice, often to the detriment of those most affected. Yet emerging evidence underscores the need to reassess these assumptions, while anecdotal reports of telepathic phenomena invite exploration rather than derision; they invite curiosity.

Moving forward requires a shift in posture: less dogmatism, more methodological innovation, and a willingness to take unconventional questions seriously when the voices of marginalized groups are at stake. By presuming competence, embracing interdisciplinary collaboration, and treating exploratory findings as the seeds of rigorous inquiry, we can create a scientific culture that is both more inclusive and more courageous—one capable of capturing the full range of human communication and consciousness.

In the end, the real danger may not be believing too much, but refusing to believe at all.