The unasked for implementation of silent clapping across universities and conferences
Over the last few years, silent clapping — also called “jazz hands” or “flapplause” — has spread across universities, conferences, and events, with those behind their implementation claiming commitment to neurodivergent inclusion (now known by the term neuroinclusion).
The rapid rollout looked like this:
Oxford University Student Union adopted it in 2019; The University of Manchester discouraged traditional applause; The International Society for Autism Research (without doing any research on this, which I’ll get to) implemented it at conferences; and Australian schools banned clapping in assemblies.
The logic, at the time, seemed straightforward: neurodivergent people experience sensory processing overwhelm from loud noise. Applause, after all, creates loud noises. Therefore, silent clapping must eliminate the problem. So in their final assessment, silent clapping makes events inclusive, ultimately meaning all events that choose to clap instead of exercising disciplined jazz hands, are not fighting the good fight.
Simple. Visible. Costs nothing. Demonstrates progressive values.
Except nobody actually asked neurodivergent people whether they wanted it.
Until now. Ready?
Researchers Melissa Black and Sven Bölte surveyed 389 neurodivergent and 237 neurotypical individuals internationally to determine whether silent clapping is “indeed of substance to the neurodivergent community.” Thanks guys, smart idea. Why didn’t anyone think of this until now?
Their findings, published the other day in their paper titled “Diversity-Friendly Initiatives: Substance or Show? The Case of Silent Clapping” in the Scandinavian Journal of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and Psychology December 2025 edition, expose the gap between performative gestures and actual inclusion.
The headline result: no clear consensus emerged.
Not overwhelming support. Not unified rejection. Mixed responses across both neurodivergent and neurotypical groups, with significant variability even among those who endorsed it.
Read that again. Then remember:
Universities banned applause. Conferences mandated jazz hands. Events positioned silent clapping as the marker of neurodivergent-friendly spaces. All based on an untested assumption about what neurodivergent people wanted, and even needed. Munchausen comes to mind.
The term “con” does useful explanatory work here — hence my writing of it in the title of this article — across its multiple definitions:
Con — (etymological originals) from Latin contra, meaning = “against”
Con — (recent etymology) English abbreviation of “confidence,” meaning = to play a confident trick
Con — noun, meaning = the act of deceiving or tricking someone
Con — informal noun, meaning = a convention for enthusiasts
Silent clapping functions across all four. Positioned against common sense needs while claiming to serve. Deployed as a confident trick requiring no evidence, putting those who question it on the “bad” side. Deceiving institutions (though as we know, it never takes much) into believing performative gesture equals access, inclusion, and equity. And creating conventions — literally, conferences and events — where implementers mandate the practice from backstage while audiences perform the ritual in front of them; with the implementers no doubt peering through the curtains making sure, and delighting in the fact, compliance is carried out.
The people banning applause aren’t sitting in the audience experiencing whether it works. They’re behind the curtain, watching others comply with their untested initiative.
What neurodivergent people actually think, when researchers finally asked them
Black and Bölte’s survey captured perspectives from 24 countries, though most respondents came from Sweden (44%), the UK (23%), and the US (11%). The neurodivergent group included people with autism (58%), ADHD (63%), specific learning disabilities, motor disorders, genetic syndromes, and those born prematurely.
When asked whether silent clapping should be implemented at conferences and events, both neurodivergent and neurotypical respondents showed similar patterns.
Most thought silent clapping should sometimes be used (neurodivergent: 41%, neurotypical: 46%). Fewer thought it should always be used (neurodivergent: 19%, neurotypical: 16%). Similar proportions thought it should not be used at all (neurodivergent: 19%, neurotypical: 22%). And some simply didn’t care either way (neurodivergent: 22%, neurotypical: 16%).
Which makes sense. I concur, personally. As, if there’s an event with, say, exclusively extremely autistic individuals sensitive to loud noises, I’d imagine no clapping (or loudness at all) from anything or anyone at that event would be best. But then that’s subjective implementation, not mandatory.
Ultimately, no statistically significant difference existed between groups on this question. So, you could say there was some shared common sense.
The researchers then examined 17 specific statements about silent clapping and applause. Again, neurodivergent and neurotypical respondents perceived silent clapping similarly across most items.
Where differences appeared, they revealed something more nuanced than the binary “neurodivergent people need silent clapping” narrative that drove implementation.
Neurodivergent individuals were the group slightly more bothered by applause than the neurotypical respondents — but that doesn’t translate to universal endorsement of silent clapping as the solution. And an higher proportion of neurodivergent respondents “strongly agreed” that silent clapping helps reduce sensory demands, but neurotypical respondents also broadly agreed with this statement.
The standout finding: when asked whether “neurodivergent people want silent clapping,” 72% of neurotypical respondents selected “neither agree nor disagree” — essentially admitting they don’t know. Among neurodivergent respondents, only 24% agreed or strongly agreed that neurodivergent people want it.
Let that land. As that is the key result, right there. Six years, I add, after the explosion (or implosion, I’d say is more accurate) of widespread implementation.
A quarter of neurodivergent respondents think neurodivergent people want silent clapping. Not a majority. Not even close to consensus. A quarter.
Yet the initiative spread across our institutions as if the desire was universal, obvious, and most (worse) of all righteous.
The conflicting access and inclusion needs that nobody considered
Further analysis within the neurodivergent group revealed that autistic individuals endorsed silent clapping more than those with ADHD or other neurodivergent conditions. Autistic respondents, as expected, were slightly more likely to agree that silent clapping makes events inclusive, should be mandatory, is effective at showing appreciation, and is as rewarding as applause.
But even within the autistic group, variability remained significant. And the qualitative responses exposed why blanket implementation creates new problems while trying to solve old ones.
172 neurodivergent respondents provided open-ended comments. The most frequent theme (20 responses, 12%) highlighted the need to acknowledge that silent clapping originated in the deaf community — not the neurodivergent community — and that its adoption should respect that origin. Interesting. I never thought the neurodiversity community would be getting outed for “cultural appropriation” but here we are — we live in interesting times.
The second most frequent theme (17 responses, 10%) raised conflicting access needs.
Silent clapping might reduce auditory overwhelm for some neurodivergent people. But it creates visual overwhelm for others. One respondent explained: “It is important though to remember that silent clapping can be overwhelming for those of us who are hypersensitive to visual stimuli such as moving objects which silent clapping has lots of.”
Didn’t consider that, did they? I also feel that, when I picture in my mind’s eye a long room full of rows and rows of people, all in silence that severe you could hear a pin drop, all complicitly jazzing their hands about, I feel uncomfortable, too. I think the kids these days call that form of discomfort I felt an “ick”.
For visually impaired individuals, silent clapping eliminates the auditory feedback that signals appreciation. Thirteen responses specifically noted this exclusion. Which makes sense, if I was blind and the only applause I was mandated to get was one I couldn’t hear I’d be well pissed.
For people who clap as part of stimming — a self-regulatory behaviour common in autism and ADHD — banning applause suppresses a necessary neurological function. One respondent wrote: “I sometimes clap as a part of stimming. If you ban clapping you also ban my stim.” In this case, mandating jazz hands is seen as no different to tying behind their back the hands of those who want — and need — to access them. Caused by people who, to use a comparative example, are mandating ramps that those in wheelchairs can’t use.
Others noted that conditions like rheumatoid arthritis make repeated hand movements painful. I bet. I wonder — I don’t, I know the answer — also if any studies have been done on whether mandated jazz hands over a span of years can actually lead to arthritis? Ultimately, silent clapping isn’t universally accessible even within disabled communities. As you can see.
You (maybe) solve one access barrier, but create six new ones. And call it inclusion. Then move on. Behind your curtain. Peering through, with a smile: “they’re actually bloody doing it!”
Con.
Why implementation happened before consultation — the pattern
The study’s introduction frames the core problem clearly: “Many strategies are implemented based on the untested hypothesis that their adoption is genuinely wanted and beneficial to those whom these approaches are designed to benefit.”
Hint: they’re only truly beneficial to those who implement them.
Universities didn’t consult neurodivergent communities before banning applause. Conferences didn’t survey attendees before mandating jazz hands. Events adopted silent clapping based on assumptions about sensory needs, then positioned themselves as neurodivergent-friendly for doing so.
This study represents the consultation that should have happened before the rollout — conducted six+ years after the implementation, across our institutions, in most of the western world.
The researchers themselves note that “there are risks that opinions driving the adoption of initiatives may be influenced by a vocal minority, with it being unclear whether these voices represent the majority.”
Social media amplifies certain perspectives. Self-advocacy creates visibility for specific experiences. But visibility doesn’t equal representativeness. And institutional adoption of initiatives based on viral narratives rather than systematic consultation guarantees that some subset of the population being “served” will be harmed by the very accommodations claiming to help them.
Several respondents noted exactly this dynamic. One explained that the predictability of applause made it less overwhelming than other unexpected noises: “Clapping is predictable and therefore not as distressing as other loud noises. It’s a social expectation that I actively enjoy engaging in because I know I’m doing the right thing socially.”
Another respondent with ADHD described how silent clapping creates a different access problem: “It’s amazing how often I still forget to silent clap despite being told to. This results in me appearing intolerant of neurodiversity, even though it’s specifically because of a neurodiverse condition (ADHD) that I have impulsively clapped out loud. It’s embarrassing and anxiety-inducing and uncomfortable, so I don’t find silent clapping helps reduce sensory overload.”
The initiative designed to reduce overwhelm creates overwhelm for different people through different mechanisms.
But nobody asked before implementing. And nobody asked about whether they asked or not, because they implemented it with confidence (see why I use the con word?).
The four definitions of "con" and how silent clapping functions across all of them
Let us now return to the etymology and put our philology hats on for a second.
Silent clapping as contra — against.
Despite claims of serving neurodivergent needs, the data shows no clear community consensus supporting universal adoption. The initiative positions itself as “for” neurodivergent inclusion while functioning against the expressed preferences and access requirements of significant portions of that community. It operates in opposition to consultation, evidence, and the complexity of neurodivergent experience. Therefore, it operates against truth; deceptively so, with confidence.
Silent clapping as confidence trick.
The mechanism is elegant. Institutions adopt a visible, costless gesture. No structural changes required. No venue redesign. No format accessibility improvements. No professional norm adjustments. Just hands waving instead of clapping. Then position this gesture as evidence of neurodivergent commitment. The confidence trick works because it requires the audience to accept that surface accommodation equals genuine access — and most people, wanting to believe in institutional good faith (still? really?), accept it.
Silent clapping as deception.
The deception operates at multiple levels. First: deceiving neurodivergent people that the gesture serves them when data shows mixed benefit at best. Second: deceiving institutions that implementation without consultation constitutes inclusion. Third: deceiving the broader public that banning applause represents meaningful progress on neurodivergent access. The trick isn’t that silent clapping never helps anyone — clearly some people benefit — but that its universal adoption is presented as universally beneficial when evidence demonstrates otherwise.
Silent clapping as convention.
Here’s where the final layer becomes visible, and its the layer easiest to miss and hardest to point out. The people mandating silent clapping at conferences and events aren’t typically sitting in the audience. They’re university administrators; student union officers; event organisers; conference committees; and DEI reps. They implement the policy, then watch from backstage — sometimes literally, sometimes metaphorically through their institutional positions — as attendees perform the ritual of reinforcement for their con. This makes the shows they put on, on behalf of the wider progressive-identity movement, their very own church comparatively, as the parallel is obvious.
The convention exists, then, for the implementers, not the attendees (remember the parallel — you can only access your religion and your God, through the church’s staff, at the church, with the church’s mandated reinforcement rituals). It allows institutions to claim neurodivergent-friendliness without consulting neurodivergent people, to demonstrate inclusion without changing structures, and to perform progressiveness without evidence.
And when neurodivergent people in the audience find it condescending, stigmatising, or performative — as several survey respondents described — they’re trapped in a convention someone else designed for them, unable to object without appearing to reject inclusion (and unearned righteousness) itself.
This is the dangerous layer that obscuring truth while claiming righteousness permits: if you’ve not fallen to compliance and still think you’re the sane one enough to speak up — you’ll be punished and ostracised into preferring compliance. The anti-fascists become the fascists. Honestly. In 2017 the National Union of Students (NUS) explicitly communicated that there would be “consequences” for students who clap and whoop at events.
One respondent captured this perfectly: “Silent clapping is merely ‘performative’ or ‘virtue signalling’ with limited impact.”
Another noted it was “condescending or stigmatizing, furthering the division between ‘neurotypical’ and ‘neurodivergent’ people.”
See. I’m not using this recent research paper and this article to espouse my ideological, or anti ideological, perspective. I’m putting the meat on the bones of what is actual reality when you actually remove the ideological additives.
The gesture that claims to include instead marks boundaries, creating visible performance of difference that some neurodivergent people find more alienating than the applause it replaced. But the irony is what makes the convention oh-so-sweet for those who put them on.
Who benefits when inclusion becomes a gesture?
The researchers conclude with appropriate caution: “We caution against the indiscriminate implementation of such initiatives in favour of more considered and targeted strategies. Implementation of any initiative aimed at increasing inclusion should be guided by consultation with the relevant community.”
Consultation with the relevant community. DUH.
That’s the structural intervention silent clapping, and its cousin initiatives, entirely avoid as they think they’re above the need.
Consultation requires time. Resources. Genuine engagement with diverse perspectives. Willingness to hear conflicting access needs and develop nuanced responses. Acceptance that no single gesture will serve everyone. Recognition that inclusion is complex, contested, and requires ongoing negotiation rather than top-down mandate. And, perhaps most important of all, the innate humility to operate as if, just maybe, you don’t know what’s best for people to the degree that you can mandate without evidence.
Silent clapping bypasses all of that.
One visible change. Immediate implementation. No ongoing engagement required. The institution demonstrates commitment without committing to anything difficult.
The survey revealed that some respondents highlighted more impactful accommodations being ignored: “Respondents indicated that although silent clapping could be helpful, it was perceived to address only a small issue, while other accommodations could be more useful and impactful.”
What accommodations? Sensory-friendly venue design. Clear communication about event formats in advance. Quiet spaces for regulation. Flexible participation options. Professional norms that don’t penalise neurodivergent communication patterns. Hiring practices that don’t screen out neurodivergent applicants.
These require structural change. Investment. Institutional redesign. Jazz hands require none of that. So who benefits?
Institutions get visible progressiveness without any structural cost. Administrators demonstrate responsiveness fluency on the frontline of progress without consulting the people they claim to serve. Events position themselves as neurodivergent-friendly without addressing barriers in venue access, format design, or professional culture.
The initiative, and its cousins, serves institutional image management more than neurodivergent access.
And the mechanism is self-reinforcing. Once implemented, questioning silent clapping risks appearing opposed to neurodivergent inclusion. The gesture becomes untouchable precisely because it’s positioned as serving a marginalised community — even when that community expresses mixed views about whether it actually helps.
This is accommodation as alibi operating at scale.
The researchers noted that their findings “suggest that silent clapping may be beneficial and wanted by particular subsets of the neurodivergent community, particularly for autistic individuals, but that it can also introduce other concerns.”
Translation: some people benefit, some people are harmed, most are ambivalent, and universal implementation serves nobody except the institutions claiming credit for it.
Black and Bölte recommend that “conferences and events with neurodivergent attendees be designed with input from neurodivergent individuals” through “consultation to co-production, where individuals are actively engaged in the development and design as equals.”
Co-production. Equal engagement. Ongoing consultation. THAT is inclusion. Silent clapping, on the other (stop jazzing so I can see your other hand!) hand, is performance.
The study’s existence — surveying hundreds of neurodivergent people years after widespread adoption to determine whether they actually wanted the initiative implemented in their name — proves the consultation happened backwards.
Institutions rolled out the gesture, declared victory on inclusion and progression, then someone finally asked whether it served the people it claimed to help.
The answer: you know it deep down already.
Con.
Citations
Scandinavian Journal of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry and Psychology — Diversity-Friendly Initiatives: Substance or Show? The Case of Silent Clapping (Black & Bölte, 2025)
BBC News — Australian school bans clapping in assemblies (2016)
University of Manchester — Student Union bans clapping (2018)
The Independent — Clapping replaced with jazz hands: Where did the action come from and what other alternatives are there? (Hosie, 2018)
The Oxford Student — SU adopts BSL clapping to replace traditional applause (Culbert, 2019)
