On September 23, 2025, the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) took a cautious but significant step by announcing new warning labels for acetaminophen—commonly known as Tylenol or paracetamol—citing a “possible association” between prenatal use of the drug and autism in children. The move marked a rare intervention for a medication that has been a mainstay in medicine cabinets for decades, especially among pregnant women seeking relief from pain or fever. According to InsideSources, half of all pregnant women in the United States take acetaminophen, as it’s often the only over-the-counter option considered reliably safe during pregnancy.
The FDA’s warning, however, was measured. The agency pointed to a “possible association,” not a proven risk. That nuance was quickly lost in the political storm that followed. Former President Donald Trump, never one to mince words, issued a blunt directive: “Don’t take Tylenol.” He was joined by Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., who has long courted controversy with his views on autism’s origins. Together, they suggested that acetaminophen—and, yet again, vaccines—were suspects in what they described as an autism epidemic.
This clash between cautious science and sweeping political pronouncements is hardly new, but the stakes are especially high when it comes to autism. The consequences of such rhetoric ripple far beyond the pharmacy counter. For mothers and children, the fallout could be immediate: pregnant women, alarmed by the warnings and political declarations, may forgo the only pain and fever medication that doctors routinely recommend. Some may turn to less studied, potentially riskier alternatives. For the broader public, the focus on tenuous links between common drugs and autism risks obscuring the more complex, evidence-based questions that science is still working to answer.
Autism, as defined by the medical community, is characterized by differences in social communication and behavior. Its reported prevalence has soared over the past several decades, sparking widespread concern and a relentless search for causes. Yet, as The New York Times reports, most researchers emphasize that this rise has far more to do with expanded diagnostic criteria, improved recognition, and greater public awareness than with an actual surge in cases.
Take, for example, the story of Jodie Singer. Diagnosed with autism nearly 25 years ago, Jodie’s early years were marked by profound challenges: she barely spoke, sometimes hurt herself, and required—and still requires—round-the-clock care. At the time of her diagnosis, autism was understood as a rare and severe disorder. But over the years, the definition broadened, and the spectrum widened to include individuals with far less impairment. This shift, autism experts believe, is at the heart of the dramatic increase in diagnoses—from 1 in 150 eight-year-olds in 2000 to 1 in 31 in 2025, according to CDC data cited by The New York Times.
The broadening of the diagnosis was not accidental. In 1980, autism first appeared in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), with strict criteria that identified only the most severely affected children. Many had IQs below 70 and exhibited self-destructive or aggressive behaviors. But clinicians soon noticed that some children who didn’t quite fit these criteria nonetheless shared many features of autism. By 1994, the DSM loosened its requirements and added Asperger’s syndrome—a diagnosis for individuals who struggled with social interactions and displayed repetitive behaviors but had average or above-average intelligence. The spectrum concept took hold, and by 2013, psychiatrists unified all these categories into “autism spectrum disorder,” with levels to indicate the amount of support an individual might need.
Not everyone has welcomed these changes. Alison Singer, Jodie’s mother and head of the Autism Science Foundation, is among a group of parents and clinicians calling for a split in the diagnosis. They propose a separate category—profound autism—for those with the most severe disabilities, arguing that the current spectrum is so broad it obscures the needs and experiences of individuals like Jodie. “Research that includes people with the most significant impairments has declined, even as overall funding for autism research has grown substantially,” Singer and her colleagues argue, according to The New York Times.
Yet, many autistic activists bristle at the idea of splitting the diagnosis. Dr. Mary Doherty, founder of Autistic Doctors International, warns that such a move risks invalidating the experiences of higher-functioning autistic people: “We’re not really autistic—that’s the undertone of all of this.” Ari Ne’eman, an assistant professor at Harvard and founder of the Autistic Self Advocacy Network, echoes this sentiment, emphasizing the importance of interventions that improve quality of life rather than simply trying to make autistic people “look and act normal.”
Amid these debates, the search for autism’s causes continues. But the best available science does not support a causal link between acetaminophen and autism. A landmark Swedish study, analyzing health records from nearly 2.5 million children born between 1995 and 2019, found only a negligible difference in autism diagnoses: 1.42% among those exposed prenatally to acetaminophen versus 1.33% among those not exposed. A separate 2025 study from Japan, involving more than 200,000 children, reached the same conclusion: no causal connection. Mainstream scientists have also long rejected the theory that vaccines cause autism, despite persistent claims to the contrary from some public figures.
Nevertheless, the political narrative persists. President Trump, referencing the rising numbers, declared, “The meteoric rise in autism is among the most alarming public health developments in history.” Kennedy and others have echoed these sentiments, often citing the same statistics to suggest that autism is spreading like wildfire. But as Dr. Eric Fombonne, a psychiatrist and researcher at Oregon Health & Science University, told The New York Times, “Everything changed when we included Asperger’s.” In earlier studies, 75% of those diagnosed with autism had intellectual disabilities; now, only about a third do.
Experts caution that the real danger lies not in the numbers themselves, but in how they’re interpreted—and politicized. Dr. Allen Frances, who led the 1994 DSM revision, reflected, “The dire consequences now include that people won’t get vaccinated because of this diagnosis.” The fear that autism is caused by childhood vaccines has already led some parents to skip immunizations, a trend public health officials say puts entire communities at risk.
Behind all the statistics and political theater are real families, grappling with the day-to-day realities of autism. For some, like Jodie Singer’s family, the challenges are profound and lifelong. For others, the diagnosis brings a sense of understanding and access to resources that might otherwise be out of reach. The debate over how to define, research, and support people with autism is far from settled—and the stakes could hardly be higher.
As new warning labels appear on bottles of acetaminophen and political debates rage on, the need for clear, evidence-based information has never been greater. Autism, in all its complexity, deserves serious inquiry and compassionate support—not scapegoats or stigma.
