Autism doesn’t excuse bad behaviour – even if you’re Gregg Wallace

James Downs, Mental Health Campaigner

Gregg Wallace has linked past harassment complaints at the BBC to undiagnosed autism, claiming that MasterChef producers failed to support his neurodivergence and mishandled the situation.

“If somebody had recognised I was neurodivergent and put in some rules and boundaries, none of this would have happened,” he said.

“The team around me should have enforced boundaries.”

Wallace’s comments came after he was reportedly asked to step back from a BBC role following complaints of inappropriate behaviour.

This might seem like part of a broader, positive shift: we are, after all, talking more openly about mental health, neurodiversity, and inclusion in the workplace.

But openness shouldn’t mean shifting blame. Autism should not be used to excuse harm or displace personal responsibility – whether someone is diagnosed or not.

A world that doesn’t make sense

As a late-diagnosed autistic person myself, I understand how alienating and disorienting the world can feel without the right support or vocabulary.

Autism often brings challenges with social cues, boundaries, and interpersonal dynamics, especially when expectations are unspoken or inconsistent.

Many of us “mask” or mimic others to fit in, which can delay diagnosis and lead to burnout.

We may struggle to read between the lines. But none of this means we’re incapable of understanding or being held to rules about behaviour, particularly when it concerns other people’s safety or dignity.

In my case, I’ve always experienced differences in social communication, but I’m also inclined to identify patterns, study norms, and analyse feedback.

Like many autistic people, I’ve worked hard to learn the rules in order to fit in, often more diligently than those around me.

The additional burdens of the workplace

This has played out in the workplace and in relationships with colleagues.

I’ve felt intense anxiety about when to take breaks, worried I’d be seen as lazy.

I’ve spent hours proofreading paperwork that others would skim, terrified of making mistakes.

In meetings, I’ve felt paralysed, unsure when to speak, and distressed about how to join in with casual banter governed by invisible rules.

When socialising extended beyond the office, I was often left behind – not because I didn’t want to be included, but because I didn’t know how to ask.

Before I was diagnosed, I didn’t understand why these things were so hard. I just knew they left me exhausted and ashamed.

Ironically, the same traits that make life harder have also made me an excellent employee: detail-oriented, deeply committed, and capable of hyperfocus and intense productivity.

Like many neurodivergent people, I’ve brought energy and creativity to work, not despite my autism, but because of it.

A harmful framing

Wallace’s framing ignores this effort.

It erases the reality that many autistic people go out of their way to avoid causing harm, to follow rules meticulously, and to navigate spaces that weren’t designed for us.

It overlooks how distressing it is when we get things wrong, and how seriously we take it when we do. Instead, his framing casts autistic people as unpredictable, incapable of self-regulation, and dependent on others to contain our behaviour. That’s not just wrong, it’s harmful.

Not only do autistic people often experience a kind of social distress that neurotypical people don’t, but we are also more likely to be victims of harassment and abuse than perpetrators.

A 2021 study found that autistic adults without intellectual disability reported significantly higher rates of physical and sexual violence during childhood.

They were also less likely to have confided in anyone about these experiences, and autistic traits were directly associated with greater exposure to harm.

Our difficulties with social cues often make us more vulnerable, not more dangerous. But stories like Wallace’s invert that truth, casting us as the ones others must be protected from.

Autism is not a threat, or a free pass

The broader cultural moment we’re living through – one that blends pop-psychology with increased diagnostic awareness – often leaves little room for nuance.

It’s good that we’re recognising how different minds work, and how real the need for mental health support is. But we mustn’t flatten autism into a catch-all label for dysfunction, or a convenient explanation for unacceptable behaviour after the fact.

I get deeply frustrated by suggestions that people pursue autism or ADHD diagnoses just to opt out of things they find difficult – to get separate exam rooms, therapy exemptions, or workplace accommodations.

That narrative is harmful, and in my experience, rarely accurate. But I do sometimes see another problem, even among autistic people: the idea that a diagnosis is a hard limit on how we can engage with the world.

Difference is not deficiency 

Yes, autism is a biologically based neurodevelopmental difference. It can’t be reversed or “fixed”. But that doesn’t mean our behaviour is fixed.

We are capable of learning, adapting, and being included, just not always in conventional ways.

The problem isn’t that we’re inflexible. It’s that society so often is. We may need to approach things differently in how we process feedback, relate to colleagues, or manage overstimulation. 

But difference isn’t deficiency. Inclusion doesn’t mean removing expectations altogether. It means creating environments where we can meet them without needing to mask, shrink ourselves, or cause harm in the process.

Diagnosis helped me understand years of exhaustion, isolation, and sensory overload. But it also helped me take responsibility: to reflect on the impact of my behaviour, to learn better ways to communicate, and to seek out accountability where social rules aren’t intuitive.

That’s not something my diagnosis did for me.

It’s something I did because of it.

We deserve better narratives

Autism should never be used to excuse harm. But nor should it become a stigma that casts all autistic people as dangerous or incapable of change. Wallace’s comments do both.

They let him off the hook, while reinforcing the idea that autistic people can’t be trusted without supervision.

If we want a society that genuinely includes neurodivergent people, we must demand better, from our institutions, our workplaces, and especially from our public figures.

James Downs is a mental health campaigner, researcher and expert by experience in eating disorders.

He lives in Cardiff and can be contacted at @jamesldowns on X and Instagram, or via his website: jamesdowns.co.uk