Soundproof Childhoods: Autism in the Crossfire

In January 2025, Rio de Janeiro’s Complexo do Alemão erupted in a 15-hour police raid. While officers stormed the favela, six-year-old Maria, an autistic child, trembled under a blanket as her mother, Rafaela Figueiredo de França, tried to drown out the gunfire with fans. The blasts were so loud they brought down a neighbor's wall. For Maria, the operation was not just terrifying but disorienting, triggering sensory overload and deep trauma.

Everyday State Violence

This is not an isolated event. More than 1,250 police raids took place in Rio’s favelas last year—more than three per day. Across Brazil, police violence kills nearly 6,000 people annually, disproportionately affecting poor and Black communities. In the state of Bahia alone, 289 minors were killed by police in 2023. Children with autism face a unique vulnerability within this landscape of constant fear and confrontation.

Autism and the Sound of War

Living under siege-like conditions keeps families in a state of chronic stress. For autistic children, whose brains process stimuli differently, the effects can be devastating. A slammed door or thunderclap is often overwhelming—so imagine the impact of rifles, helicopters, and flash grenades. During the Alemão raid, Maria went silent for hours. In another favela, a nine-year-old autistic boy leapt from a window in panic during gunfire. Miraculously, he survived.

Across Brazil, families report similar stories. Children suffer nightmares, bed-wetting, and regression in communication. Those who once spoke stop speaking; those who made eye contact withdraw. One mother from Maré, another Rio favela, says her autistic son now covers himself with a blanket at every loud noise. She lost two other sons to police violence and lives with hypertension and depression. Her surviving son now texts her morning and night just to confirm he’s alive.

Invisible Trauma, Measurable Harm

These cascading effects are also measured in public health data. A recent survey showed that 59.5% of residents in Rio’s high-conflict neighborhoods suffer from stress-related illnesses, compared to 19% elsewhere. The same study found a 42% higher rate of hypertension among favela dwellers. These are not random health disparities—they’re the physiological echoes of state violence.

Children raised in these conditions are often misdiagnosed or untreated because their trauma-related symptoms—like mutism, avoidance, or heightened sensitivity—are mistaken for disobedience or delay. Educators and healthcare workers, rarely trained in trauma-informed or neurodivergent care, may fail to identify the underlying issues. In extreme cases, children who are non-verbal or exhibit repetitive behaviors are criminalized, reinforcing a cycle of fear, misrecognition, and exclusion.

Grassroots Resilience

In response, families are organizing. In 2022, Rafaela Figueiredo de França founded the Star of Maria Stimulation Center to support neurodiverse children in favelas. What began as a circle of mothers now operates from community buildings and churches. The center has distributed over 500 pairs of noise-canceling earmuffs and offers therapy sessions, workshops, and emergency refuge during raids.

The center’s rooms are padded with old mattresses. During police incursions, families gather, kids listen to white noise through headphones, and parents hold hands as bullets ricochet outside. In some raids, they lie flat on the ground. “We sang lullabies as bullets hit the walls,” one mother said. “It sounds crazy, but it helped.”

Inspired by these efforts, local clinics have adopted similar strategies. Therapist Monica Cirne Albuquerque now keeps earmuffs in stock and guides families through coping techniques. Even neurotypical kids ask for the protective gear. One girl, about six years old, approached De França and asked, “Auntie, can I have those things for my ears? I get really scared.”

The Cost of a Drug War

Sociologist Julita Lemgruber, one of Brazil’s leading experts on public security, calls this a crisis of conscience. “Supporters of drug prohibition say they want to protect families, but look at the cost,” she says. A 2023 study by Rio’s CESeC found that seven Brazilian states spent 7.7 billion reais on drug-related policing and incarceration—enough to build 954 schools or maintain nearly 400 health clinics.

Lemgruber and others argue that Brazil’s drug war has militarized public safety, turning favelas into war zones. The police rarely arrest major traffickers. Instead, street-level raids target communities that are poor, Black, and increasingly neurodiverse. Lemgruber helped secure funding for more earmuffs and sensory toys for the Star of Maria. But she is clear: these grassroots patches cannot replace systemic reform.

Resisting Rollback

In 2020, Brazil’s Supreme Federal Court tried to impose limits. A ruling required body cameras, the presence of ambulances, and stronger oversight during operations. Killings dropped by half. But since then, Rio’s state and city governments have tried to overturn the ruling, calling it an obstacle to effective policing.

Mothers Turned Organizers

The mothers of favela children disagree. Many have joined RAAVE, a network of women whose children were killed by police. In partnership with the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro, RAAVE trains mothers as community researchers. They receive stipends, document abuses, and develop proposals for national policy. Their knowledge—born of pain—is transforming into activism.

Autism Advocacy Expands

Meanwhile, Brazil’s neurodiversity movement is pushing to make autistic children more visible. The 2012 Berenice Piana Law and the 2015 Statute of Persons with Disabilities created legal protections, including early diagnosis and inclusive schooling. More recent measures include a national autism ID card and plans for a centralized autism registry.

Still, access remains deeply unequal. In favelas, therapists are rare and schools often lack support staff. National autism advocacy groups, once led primarily by middle-class families, are now being challenged by movements like ABRAÇA, which bring intersectionality and racial justice into the frame. A manifesto published by ABRAÇA in 2021 declared that the rights of autistic people must be tied to broader fights against racism, police violence, and inequality.

New Conversations, New Demands

This shift is influencing policy. The Ministry of Human Rights has begun consultations with groups like RAAVE. Proposals include trauma training for first responders and warning protocols before raids. Advocates are calling for sensory-informed public safety measures, arguing that autistic people are often misunderstood in tense situations. A rocking child may be read as suspicious. A non-verbal teen might fail to comply with shouted orders. The consequences can be fatal.

Resilience in the Face of Fear

Despite these dangers, the community continues to resist despair. On World Autism Awareness Day in 2024, favela mothers organized acceptance events instead of charity campaigns. Schools experimented with "quiet hour" drills. For the first time, autistic adults are joining public advisory councils.

Back in Alemão, Maria has returned to the routines her mother carefully rebuilt. But the scars remain. Each new helicopter sends her retreating. Her toy star, the center’s namesake, rarely leaves her hands. Painted on the wall of the center is a simple message: "Enquanto houver sol, há de haver esperança"—As long as there is sun, there will be hope.

A Call for Protection

For Brazil’s autistic children in the favelas, that hope is not abstract. It lives in earmuffs, lullabies, and the quiet bravery of surviving another day. It lives in mothers who refuse to accept violence as normal, who build sanctuaries where none existed. And it lives in a growing movement that demands children like Maria be seen—not as casualties of a broken system, but as lives worth protecting.