Earlier this month, a 25-year-old autistic man named Alex LaMorie called for help. He was not reporting a crime or seeking assistance for someone else. He was calling because he was in crisis.
According to reporting, LaMorie had recently moved into a Maryland housing community designed for people with disabilities. During a suicidal episode, he reached out for a wellness check, a step often encouraged in crisis response plans. When police arrived, they encountered him holding a knife. Officers instructed him to drop it. When he reportedly moved toward them, three officers opened fire. LaMorie died at the scene.
His family has called the death senseless, and an investigation is now underway. But beyond the details of this single case, it has reignited a broader and deeply uncomfortable question. What happens when the system designed to respond to crisis is not built for the people it is responding to?
For LaMorie’s mother, Jill Harrington, the loss is not only personal, it is something she fears other families already understand. She described the moment in terms that many parents of autistic children recognize immediately. “Every parent of a child with autism knows this is their worst nightmare,” she said. “Alex was in crisis and called for help, and first responders must be better trained to prevent tragic outcomes instead of contributing to them.”
This is not the first time an autistic individual, or someone with a developmental or mental health condition, has died during a police response. But LaMorie’s case carries a particular weight because he did what many are told to do. He asked for help.
In the aftermath, a controversial idea has resurfaced in policy discussions. Some advocates and officials are calling for voluntary state or local registries for autistic children and adults. The concept is that individuals or families could provide information in advance about communication styles, behavioral responses, or medical needs so that first responders would arrive with context. Supporters argue this could help reduce misunderstandings, particularly in high-stress situations where behaviors such as stimming, delayed responses, or lack of eye contact may be misinterpreted.
In theory, the goal is to allow responders to approach a situation with awareness rather than assumption. But for many in the disability community, the proposal raises serious concerns. Questions around privacy, data control, and long-term use are central. There is also a deeper fear that being listed in a registry does not necessarily translate to safety. It may simply change how a person is categorized, without changing how they are treated in the moment.
Others argue that the focus should not be on tracking individuals, but on transforming the response itself. They point to the need for more comprehensive training in crisis intervention, neurodiversity, and de-escalation techniques. Yet even that solution is complicated. In LaMorie’s case, at least two of the responding officers reportedly had crisis intervention training. Despite that, the encounter still ended in fatal force.
This raises a more difficult question about the gap between policy and practice. Many departments now have crisis response protocols and access to mental health resources, including mobile crisis teams. But those resources are not always deployed. In this case, reporting indicates that a mobile crisis unit was not sent, and the situation was handled through a traditional law enforcement response.
For families and individuals in the autism community, the issue is not abstract. It is deeply personal. What they are asking for is not surveillance or classification, but predictability. They want to know who will respond, how they will be trained, and whether there are options beyond escalation. They want to trust that a call for help will not become a life-threatening event.
Harrington’s words cut to the heart of that fear and frustration. She urged those moved by her son’s death to take action, calling on people to contact their state and federal representatives and demand better protections for vulnerable individuals. She also made clear what was missing in her son’s final moments. “Persons with autism who are in crisis must never be viewed as expendable,” she said. “Alex deserved understanding, de-escalation, and safe care in his moment of greatest need.”
There is no single solution that resolves this entirely. Registries may offer value in some situations, while better training and expanded crisis response models may address others. But what is clear is that the current system is not consistently meeting the needs of the people it serves, particularly in moments of vulnerability.
The debate over registries ultimately reflects a larger issue. It forces a choice between adapting individuals to fit existing systems or redesigning those systems to meet individuals where they are. Until that balance is addressed in a meaningful way, cases like this will continue to raise the same urgent questions.
Alex LaMorie called for help. That fact alone should give pause. Because whatever solutions are proposed next, whether they involve policy changes, training, or new systems of response, they must answer a basic and essential question. How do we ensure that when someone asks for help, they are met with care instead of harm?