Mission Impossible

a mission statement hate to see an autistic employee coming

Corporate mission statements wave their banners of virtue—proclaiming sustainability, fairness, and putting people first. These declarations of purpose are designed to inspire trust and faith in the company. Yet, beneath these promises often lies a more cynical reality: values serving as PR shields rather than guiding principles. Behind the scenes, profit remains the real priority.

For many, these values are simply part of the corporate landscape. They don’t expect the company to fully live up to them. But for neurodiverse employees, particularly those on the autism spectrum, these statements represent more than words—they are commitments. When companies claim integrity or fairness, we expect them to follow through. This expectation, however, often creates tension.

Autistics, by nature, value clarity and consistency. We expect actions to align with words. So when a company partners with unsustainable suppliers while claiming environmental responsibility or handles layoffs despite professing fairness, it doesn’t sit right with us. And when we ask questions—seeking accountability for the gaps we see—we often find ourselves seen as the problem. The system, it turns out, isn’t designed for those who take values seriously; it’s designed to manage perceptions and keep up appearances while prioritizing profit.

This dynamic puts neurodiverse employees in a difficult position. We’re expected to go along with the performance, to be "flexible" and overlook the contradictions. But suppressing our instincts toward honesty and integrity is deeply unsettling. And when we refuse to accept the dissonance, we’re often labeled as difficult or unrealistic.

The real tragedy is that neurodiverse employees, with their attention to ethical coherence, could be a company’s greatest asset. We notice cracks in the system long before they become major issues. But instead of valuing our insights, companies often dismiss them as inconvenient disruptions. The focus shifts from the ethical concerns we raise to labeling us as the problem.

What’s even more tragic is that we’re not challenging the system out of ignorance. We understand market pressures and the need for profitability. But we also see that without genuine integrity, the entire structure is at risk. Over time, the ethical inconsistencies companies ignore erode trust, hollow out culture, and lead to disengagement.

This system is fragile. Projecting values without practicing them leaves companies vulnerable to scandal and loss of trust. If companies truly listened to neurodiverse employees—those who are willing to ask hard questions and demand alignment between words and actions—they might avoid these crises. Instead, the system silences those who care too much.

Neurodiverse employees could be the ethical backbone of organizations. Our insistence on ethical consistency is not a flaw but a strategic advantage in a world where trust is increasingly rare. Yet, companies often push us to the margins, choosing short-term convenience over long-term integrity.

Ultimately, this system isn’t sustainable. The contradictions it thrives on will eventually lead to its downfall. The neurodiverse employee watches from the sidelines, knowing the curtain will fall, revealing the truth that the system has long denied. Until that day, the performance continues, leaving those who care deeply about values sidelined, their integrity both their strength and their undoing in a world that prioritizes appearance over substance.