The Adolescence Autopsy: Who Gets to Be a Child?
4 min read
Adolescence portrays a white teenage boy as vulnerable and deserving of care, surrounded by a system that protects and supports him. In contrast, Black, brown, and Muslim boys are often criminalised, adultified, and denied the innocence routinely granted to their white peers. By centring whiteness as the default for complexity and vulnerability, the show obscures how childhood itself is unevenly distributed – granted as a privilege rather than a right. While white youth are met with care and caution, marginalised youth are more likely to be misjudged, mistreated, and treated as problems. When juvenile justice is discussed, the real question is: who gets to be a child?
If you watched Adolescence with no context, you’d be forgiven for thinking the most vulnerable person in the story is a white teenage boy. He’s “just a child”. Just a boy who made a mistake. A boy who might be guilty, but who definitely deserves time, space, and sympathy.
The show all but wraps him in bubble wrap. There’s an entire ecosystem of characters orbiting his feelings. The police are gentle (even the Black one). The psychologist is endlessly patient (even when he scares her). The school system is chaotic but still trying. And the family? Devastated, but never abandoned – even being told they can claim for any property damage caused by the authorities! When he’s charged, the language used is careful, cautious, and full of caveats. Explanations and justifications flow freely, interspersed with checks for comprehension and counsel on every available option.
Now imagine that same boy is Black. Or brown. Or Muslim.
There would be no time for slow pans, subtle gestures, or softly lit silence. The system wouldn’t wait to understand him. It would define him – fast. He’d be a “young man” before the end of episode one. His hoodie would be a threat, his trainers an affront, and any silence would be read as defiance, not depth.
In real life, Black and brown boys don’t get the “just a child” framing. They get adultified, criminalised, and pre-judged. The moment they’re even adjacent to harm – or the suggestion of it – they’re not seen as victims, or even as complex. They’re seen as guilty until proven innocent (and often not even then).
There have been reports of Black boys being handcuffed or arrested in schools, with some strip-searched by the Met Police without an appropriate adult present. A 15-year-old Black girl, Child Q, was even strip-searched at school by the police while menstruating. And Muslim children, even under the age of six, have been referred to the UK’s anti-terrorism programme for simply mispronouncing or misspelling words.
There were no soft frames for them. No hesitation. No protection. No doubt or uncertainty. The adults in the room didn’t see a child. They saw a problem.
Adolescence makes its central character’s pain legible to the audience. He’s scared of needles (but allegedly has no problem brandishing a knife). When he’s voluntarily strip-searched, everyone turns away – giving him dignity and privacy. He retains rights to his property – his phone, his messages, his data, his person. And we even witness his bemusement at being placed in a mental health facility (and not a prison like we’re all thinking).
The show centres whiteness as the default setting for complexity – even when the suspect is supposed to be considered dangerous. Meanwhile, in the real world, Black kids are defaulted as dangerous, even when they’re vulnerable. The few peripheral Black boys who appear in the show are either voices of streetwise logic (Tommy) or victims of a harsher reality (Adam). But these boys “are grown” – they demonstrate a maturity beyond adolescence – because they have to.
And that’s the thing: who gets to be a child is a political question. Childhood isn’t just a biological stage – it’s a cultural permission slip. And that permission is unevenly distributed.
So, when politicians talk about showing Adolescence in schools, I have to ask: What are you showing? The process you’ll go through if you’re ever involved in a juvenile crime? The rights, responsibilities, and likely impact it will have on you and on your family? And who are you showing it to? White kids? Black kids? Muslim kids?
Because if Black and brown students watch this and expect the same treatment, they’re being set up for disappointment – or worse. And if white students watch this and see their own entitlement to care, they’re being taught to mistake privilege for fairness.
A better option would be to show something like When They See Us (2019), or even to actually tell the real stories this country continues to ignore. Because if Adolescence is a case study, it’s not one in justice. It’s one in who justice is for.
