While playing through the first few hours of Star Wars Outlaws, I found myself once again presented with an all-too-familiar trope. ND-5, the game’s primary droid crewmate to Kay Vess, appeared to be yet another autism-coded droid that is typically played for laughs or treated as “other” by the main cast.
He is introduced as a stoic and serious character who appears to have no sympathy for anything but his mission. Once he and Kay officially team up, he is given the role of the straight man. Kay will quip and make ironic or sarcastic comments that ND-5 responds to with sincerity. Whenever she asks a question, he delivers his honest answer without cushioning the blow if it would be insulting. In times when Kay wants to act based on emotion, he counters with cold logic. Generally speaking, these are all common traits those on the autism spectrum present.
Putting these characteristics on a droid or robotic character is a common trope in and out of Star Wars. For a viewer, it makes sense for a machine to defer to logic, not be very empathetic, and not pick up on the nuances of social interactions. It’s likely not done to intentionally target those on the spectrum, but I’ve always had to put up with it as a slightly insulting form of negative representation. However, one blink-and-you-miss-it line finally took advantage of using a robotic character to provide a rare example of positive representation — one that spoke to me, as someone with my own history of overcoming autism stigma.
I’m not broken
ND-5 meets up with Kay early on and is tasked with supporting her in building a team to pull off the game’s big heist. He doesn’t join her out in the world, but is Kay’s eyes and ears when she needs intel or advice. These initial hours with him did little to assuage my first impression that he wouldn’t be used for anything more than the foil to Kay’s comedic tone.
Not long into the adventure, Kay eventually reaches a planet in search of a droidsmith to recruit for the heist. As the ship touches down and she discusses the mission with ND-5, she makes an off-hand remark that this droidsmith could adjust his protocols — essentially altering his personality. ND-5 replies with two lines: “I don’t need help. I am not broken.”
I imagine most people watching this scene will assume ND-5 is speaking literally, as he so often does. In the literal sense, no, he isn’t broken — there’s no damage in need of repairs. But that’s not what this line means to me.
When I was a child, I suffered from extreme sensory issues. I was extremely oversensitive to scents and textures, to the point of breaking down into tantrums if I felt the tag on my shirt against my skin or having to ride in the car without the windows down to not feel suffocated by the scents. I can’t recall exactly what happened in this one instance, but during one overwhelming moment with my two older siblings, who couldn’t comprehend at the time why I was acting that way any more than I could, my brother said to our mother, “Mom, fix him.”
Living with autism is a different battle for everyone. I don’t intend to speak for anyone else’s experience but my own, but I do believe one shared struggle is accepting our differences and not thinking of them as flaws. Yes, there are things we need to learn to do, change, or find ways to accommodate for that seemingly no one else does. That makes it so easy to fall into the mindset of being “wrong” or “other.” “Broken.” When everyone and everything else seems to fit so neatly into place, but we don’t, it is a logical train of thought to assume we’re the problem.
Honestly, it is still something I struggle to accept even now in my 30s. There were hundreds of times when I would’ve taken any opportunity to just be “normal.” It’s hard to convey just how isolating and demoralizing it can be to live in a world where you are seen as the outlier. The weird one. The problem. What makes this such a persistent and complex issue is that it is reinforced internally and externally. If you didn’t have access to other people like you as I didn’t and media either ignores or plays others like you for laughs, it is all too easy to fall into a vicious cycle of negative self-perception.
My mother may have been just as lost as I was when it came to raising me, but she already knew something that ND-5 puts so confidently. When my brother made that comment, she simply said: “He’s not broken.”
It’s only two lines, but this was the first time I truly felt understood by a character. ND-5 knows he is different, but accepts that’s who he is. There’s nothing to “fix,” only differences we need to understand and accept. At least in my experience, that’s just as hard for someone on the spectrum to grapple with as it is for the ones around them.
