Young Canadians entering the workforce in the last few years have been greeted by warnings and war-stories; dour advice from those who have braved a bootstrapped job market and a cascading recession. For those with disabilities, prospects become that much scarcer, and the uphill pursuit of professional success might well seem impossible. Though this is often a lonely struggle, both federal and provincial governments have a host of administrative and financial supports available to eligible applicants capable of navigating the labyrinthine bureaucracy. Despite the best intentions, however, these projects all share a common (and perhaps fatal) flaw by focusing on the suppression or ‘management’ of symptoms, and an unspoken goal of teaching those with disabilities how best to emulate their more ‘normal’ peers.

This approach is at odds with the innovative business model of entrepreneur Thorkil Sonne, whose company Specialisterne not only caters to the unique difficulties of disabilities in the workforce, but welcomes them. The Danish company, whose name translates to ‘the Specialists’, actively seeks out young professionals with disabilities, providing them with the training and support needed to harness their strengths for a career in information technology. As an industry that prizes logic, focus, and mathematical insight, IT is perfectly matched to the ‘symptoms’ typically found in those diagnosed with disorders on the autistic spectrum. This compatibility isn’t just optimism or theory, either — since its founding in 2004, Specialisterne has grown to employ over 50 individuals with autism and grosses over C$2 million a year.

In discussing his inspiration and successes, Sonne conveys an air of humble conviction despite his company’s ambitious mandate and the imminent launch of a sister project in Scotland. “The first seven years have been hardest,” he explains simply. “Now it is a matter of expansion.” The story of Specialisterne is similarly straightforward, but no less touching; after his son Lars’s diagnosis of autism in 2004, Sonne sought to educate himself about the condition, becoming involved with the Danish Autism Association and learning what opportunities and difficulties the future might hold for his family. Eventually, convinced that fulfilling employment held the key to improving quality of life for those with disabilities, Specialisterne was born, though there remained a significant gulf between conception and execution. “I knew what I wanted to do,” Sonne explains with a wry laugh, “but was not sure how to do it… Social reason excluded, it was hard to be a pioneer; banks in Denmark have little experience with social enterprises [such as this].” Quitting his job and mortgaging his home, Sonne committed himself fully to the cause, and even after his profitable success (amid a global downturn, no less) he plans to aim even higher — Specialisterne Scotland (a non-profit project in cooperation with the National Autistic Society Scotland and the Autism Resource Center) will be launching in early 2011, and further expansion is being overseen by the Specialist People Foundation, with an ultimate goal of one million ‘specialist’ jobs internationally.

As altruistic as it might seem at first glance, the reasoning behind Specialisterne is actually based on some hard and fast economic facts. Sonne’s description of the business model emphasizes reassuringly practical terms — the need in Denmark to maintain a domestic workforce, the ultimate goal of transforming perceived disabilities into a “competitive advantage”, and the high-stakes nature of the current global market. Furthermore, he explains that, after a downturn such as this one, consumer expectations rest on more than profitability; they expect social responsibility. This last touches on an interesting perspective — that some degree of moral reassurance is just as important as fiscal trends, and that (cynicism aside) humanitarian values need not be anathema to economic viability.

For the moment, however, these potentially lofty goals are being approached in a decidedly staid and scrupulous manner, with the opening of future branches (especially any forays into the North American market) being reliant on a solid foundation of experience and financing. Though it may be some time before Specialisterne Canada is launched, this continent has its own trailblazers in the field of disability inclusion and ‘neurodiversity’ — individuals like Kim Peek (the real-life inspiration for Hoffman’s character in Rain Man) and livestock-consultant-turned-author Temple Grandin. Attitudes toward autism, and towards intellectual and psychiatric disabilities in general, have shifted dramatically in the past few decades due to the activism and celebrity of these ‘savants’, but it’s important to note, though, that less than 10 percent of those with autism possess such high-functioning and dramatic abilities and that for both them and the majority of those diagnosed, there are often significant social obstacles to the “meaningful and productive” jobs that Sonne envisions. Organizations such as Toronto’s Geneva Centre for Autism and Autism Society Canada have their own non-profit equivalents to Specialisterne’s employment preparation program, helping to achieve what Sonne views as the ideal outcome of this perceptual shift — that there will be no need for ‘specialist’ companies in the future, and inclusive hiring practices simply being a hallmark of successful businesses.

Given the broad implications of such a goal, it’s almost possible to forget that the foundation originated with a single toddler, scarcely old enough to play with Lego, the famous Danish toy being one of the methods used to convey technological concepts in the Specialist People Foundation’s training program. Lars, now 13, is described by his father as being bright and keen to learn, with ambitions of some day joining Specialisterne’s workforce as an instructor, though only for a short while before pursuing other things. “I didn’t make the company for him; he wants to do other things,” Sonne admits, his tone a mixture of pride and amusement, before summarizing his parental and philanthropic hopes with characteristic simplicity — “All I want is that he’ll be understood and respected for his skills and personality.”