A scene from I Swear.
My wife Sally loves going to the movies. Over the past few months, she has invited me to “Wuthering Heights”, “The Bride”, and “Hamnet”.
I graciously declined each of these invitations because the films are not really in my wheelhouse.
When she suggested we go to “I Swear”, I was instantly intrigued.
The film, inspired by the life of Tourette’s campaigner John Davidson, follows his experience of living with involuntary tics, including vocal outbursts that can be confronting, unpredictable, hilarious, and often misunderstood.
The experience of losing control of your body, of movements happening without permission, is something I know well.
Living with cerebral palsy means living with spasms, with muscles that don’t always co-operate.
And yet, like the characters in the film, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been told “just be really still now” – I just cannot keep still at all.
In fact, the opposite occurs. It’s fairly torturous at a dentist or ophthalmologist.
Mere words can trigger a spasm. In a formal situation if someone says a sexually related word out of the blue, I will flinch violently, making me feel like a big pervert.
That’s the thing about involuntary movement. It’s not a failure of effort. It’s not a lapse in discipline.
It simply is.
What the film captures so well is not just the physical reality, but the social one, the weight of other people’s expectations. The subtle and not so subtle judgment. The assumption that behaviour must be intentional, and therefore correctable.
We saw that same misunderstanding play out on a global stage at the 2026 BAFTA Film Awards, when John Davidson involuntarily shouted the “N” word during the ceremony.
It was a symptom known as coprolalia, an uncontrollable vocal tic that affects a small percentage of people with Tourette’s.
Coprolalia often forces the release of words that are the most intense or socially inappropriate. It was not planned, not chosen, and not reflective of who he is. The incident sparked widespread debate.
African American actors expressed their dismay after the incident online.
Jamie Foxx said: “Unacceptable” and “Nah he meant that s**t”. Jamie Foxx obviously hadn’t watched the movie! He didn’t understand Tourette’s, or didn’t want to.
And that’s where the frustration lies. It’s in the constant translation required. Explaining, justifying, reassuring others that what they’re seeing isn’t what they think it is. It’s exhausting. And often, it’s avoidable.
I don’t think people’s reactions came from malice. More often, they come from a kind of tunnel vision. We are all shaped by our own experiences, our own challenges, our own perspectives.
But problems arise when we assume that those experiences are universal, or when we fail to pause and consider that someone else’s reality might be fundamentally different.
Being part of the disability community teaches you that lesson quickly, and repeatedly.
You learn that your experience is not the same as the next person’s, even within the same impairment. You learn to ask rather than assume. You learn to listen more carefully, to observe more closely, and to hold space for perspectives that don’t mirror your own.
It’s a deeper kind of empathy, not the surface level version that simply acknowledges difference, but a practised, intentional empathy that recognises complexity.
It understands that what looks like behaviour might actually be biology. That what seems controllable might not be. That what feels obvious to one person can be completely invisible to another.
Watching I Swear reminded me how powerful it can be when stories like these are told well. It invites people into an experience rather than speaking over it. But it also reinforced how much further we have to go.
Because at its core, this isn’t just about Tourette’s, or cerebral palsy, or any one condition. It’s about how we respond to difference. Whether we rush to judgement or take a moment to understand. Whether we centre ourselves, or make room for someone else.
The answer doesn’t require expertise.
It requires of you something much simpler. Listen.