The fatal police shooting of 15-year-old Chase De Balinhard earlier this year continues to reverberate through British Columbia’s disability community. Chase, who was autistic, was killed in February after an approximately 40-minute encounter with RCMP officers in his Surrey neighbourhood. His death has sparked calls for stronger training and accountability when it comes to interactions between police and people with developmental disabilities. A teen known for his kindness and holiday spirit Chase’s mother, Crystal De Balinhard, remembers her son as a generous, funny boy who found joy in brightening other people’s lives. He was well known in his neighborhood for dressing up — sometimes as the Grinch, sometimes in a Halloween mask — and leaving treats on doorsteps. His love of holidays, costumes, and giving back were what his mom describes as the “gifts of his autism.” When he was just eight years old, he and a group of friends sold Freezies outside a local Save-On-Foods as a fundraiser for cancer research. The kids raised thousands of dollars over two years. Those same friends organized a similar fundraiser in June of this year, just one day before what would have been Chase’s 16th birthday, to honour their friend. The group raised more than $10,000 for the Terry Fox Foundation. “His goal in life was to make people laugh. He wanted to do good. He wanted to volunteer. He idolized Terry Fox. He helped his neighbors. He was our little boy, our only son, and it is so quiet in our home right now,” Crystal said through tears. But along with these strengths, Chase’s autism also brought challenges, such as delayed social, language, and learning development. Crystal believes those challenges played a direct role in the tragic events of that February day. Fear, miscommunication and sensory overload On the day he died, Chase was carrying what his parents later discovered was an unloaded pellet gun. Surveillance video shows him walking slowly, appearing disoriented, while police advanced with sirens blaring and voices shouting. Crystal believes her son was terrified and desperately looking for help. “Chase was walking down the street looking for help — you know, anybody who wasn’t in a police officer’s uniform,” she said. “I think in Chase’s mind, him putting the gun up like to his head, he thought they would stop. They’re obviously going to stop.” Advocates say the signs of sensory overload were clear. Suzanne Perreault, an autistic parent and advocate with AutismBC, said she immediately noticed indicators of distress. “He wasn’t running, he wasn’t fleeing, he was staggering, which were signs of dysregulation and dissociation to a space and place,” Perreault explained. “As an autistic parent and person, I can pick up those things. If officers aren’t trained and exposed, they would never know what that is. It could look like disregarding commands. And it resulted in a deadly outcome.” To help neurotypical readers understand the chaos Chase may have experienced, Perreault offers a simple analogy: Imagine you’re deeply hungry and don’t realize it, then drop yourself into a loud concert with powerful smells and constant motion. Now try to follow a sequence of urgent instructions. The brain’s ability to decode and respond collapses under the sensory load. In those conditions, advocates argue, compliance-first tactics become ineffective. A trauma-informed approach asks officers to manage their own activation first, slow the scene, and communicate in ways that make sense to someone who may be overwhelmed, non-verbal, or processing differently. “When we talk about inclusion and equity, human dignity has to be attached,” Perreault said. She believes the officers were also failed. “The system is not equipping them, just as the system’s not equipping our educators, our doctors and nurses.” The fears of other families Chase’s death has shaken families across the disability community. Tamara Taggart, president of Down Syndrome BC, said many parents worry their kids could end up in a similar situation. “Lots of us feel helpless,” Taggart said. “And, I mean, the most obvious thing is we’re terrified it would happen to our own loved ones.” Taggart shared the story of her own recent scare when her son Beckett, who has Down syndrome, slipped out of their Vancouver home. Police safely returned him, but the experience left her shaken. “It’s impossible to explain what it feels like. It’s like someone’s kicked you in the stomach, and you just freeze,” she said. Her family’s outcome was positive, she says, partly because Beckett’s disability is visible. For those with “invisible” disabilities such as autism, encounters can unfold very differently. What the province says is changing B.C.’s Crisis Intervention and De-escalation (CID) training was established in 2012 and, according to Public Safety Minister and Solicitor General Nina Krieger, requires all police officers and supervisors to “recognize crises, respond appropriately and limit the use of force wherever possible.” Krieger says the course is delivered virtually through the Canadian Police Knowledge Network (CPKN) or in person as a seven-hour class, with refreshers required every three years for municipal police and RCMP in the province. Advocates argue that’s not enough — especially when it comes to autism. “Story is powerful. It can’t be just, you know, click the answer, click the answer, click the answer,” said Perreault. “There needs to be the testimony of lived experience.” Krieger says the province is refreshing the course for rollout this fall, adding content on neurodivergence and “in particular, autism spectrum disorder,” with the goal of helping officers recognize sensory sensitivities, communication differences and related behaviours. “New methodologies and new best practices, including trauma-informed practices, must continue to inform our training,” she said. When asked who is shaping the update, Krieger said the course is “being informed by police officers, mental health professionals, people with lived experience, Indigenous leaders and others” and will be available through the CPKN. After being pressed on why major B.C. autism advocacy groups say they were not consulted, including AutismBC, Pacific Autism Family Network, Autism Support Network, Autism Community Training, and Autism Canada, Krieger responded that the process included “robust consultations” and was “evidence-based.” She said she had confidence the developers “consulted in a fulsome way,” and emphasized the course’s trauma-informed aim. Krieger also pointed to a digital tool, HealthIM, that the province is rolling out to help officers and health professionals share information during mental-health encounters. “Ideally, police officers aren’t the first people to encounter crises,” she said, but stressed the need to equip them when they are. AutismBC told CTV News it only heard back from Krieger’s office after participating in this series of reports. The CPKN did not reply to multiple inquiries from CTV News. Perreault argues the entire approach that police take in responding to crises needs an overhaul. She says that a compliance-based model — focused on issuing commands and securing obedience — can escalate risk for people who process information differently or are in sensory overload. She says training needs to be centred on co-regulation — the skill of first calming oneself, then helping regulate another person — with practical role-play and testimony from autistic people and caregivers. “Everybody benefits from a co-regulated, trauma-informed approach,” she said. “Whether you’re autistic, neurotypical, or carrying trauma, it creates safer outcomes.” One size does not fit all Taggart worries police are not equipped for the range of disabilities officers encounter. “If we’re strictly talking about an intellectual or developmental disability — no, 100 per cent they’re not equipped. How could they be? They already have so much on their plate,” she said. Still, she rejects the notion that “you can’t be trained in everything” as a reason to do nothing. “No one’s asking you to be an expert on everything,” she said. In 2022, some 8 million Canadians aged 15 and older, or 27 per cent of the population, had at least one disability, according to Statistics Canada. “That’s a large chunk of the population that you are policing or keeping safe. It would probably be a good idea to have an idea of what that’s like,” Taggart said. For her, some solutions are simple: ongoing relationships with local disability groups; quick-access “scripts” for communication with non-verbal people; a culture of asking questions rather than escalating. “That’s called community,” she said. “Knowing who you’re policing.” Watching the video of Chase’s final moments, Taggart saw “ample opportunity to de-escalate or take a completely different approach.” She adds that a whole neighbourhood was traumatized by what unfolded. “The last thing I ever want to do is watch that video again,” she said. “But watching it, you know there were chances to choose differently.” ‘He did not have to die’ For parents and advocates, the promised changes come too late. “It’s a horrible thing that somebody had to die in order for us to even question what their training is,” Taggart said. “There are a lot of families in the province that are watching to see what the province does in response to Chase’s death. It was completely preventable. We all know that it was preventable. He did not have to die.” Crystal De Balinhard shares that belief. Her grief is compounded by the thought that her son’s final moments were spent in fear and confusion. “He was in complete sensory overload, and I just wish his final moments on this Earth at least had somebody who cared about him next to him.” A step in the right direction In 2023, the British Columbia Association of Chiefs of Police (BCAPC), in partnership with the BC Law Enforcement Diversity Network, launched the Autism Decal Project — an initiative designed to improve interactions between police officers and autistic or otherwise neurodiverse individuals. The program distributed about 15,000 decals across the province, available for voluntary pick-up at local police departments. Families were encouraged to place the decals on vehicles or homes to alert first responders that someone with autism might be present. According to the BCAPC’s flyer, decals are meant to “prompt police to adapt their approach, expectations, and communication styles” to accommodate sensory sensitivities and communication differences. For vehicles, the decal is designed to be affixed beside the licence plate, where officers are most likely to see it, while homes are advised to display it near the doorbell. But the project quickly raised concerns within the autistic community. Perreault said the original rollout included language that “wasn’t neuro-affirming, wasn’t properly inclusive, and wasn’t trauma informed.” She worried the messaging risked stigmatizing the very people it aimed to support. “I reached out to the B.C. Association of Police Chiefs and said, ‘Hello, you’re missing part of the voice here. We’re that other part. Can we have a talk?’” That conversation led to a partnership. AutismBC worked with the BCAPC to update the decal program, launching a survey to capture families’ perspectives on what training and tools officers truly need. “They were very supportive, very collaborative,” Perreault said. “My voice in there, as well as AutismBC, was working towards that neuro-affirmative approach.” AutismBC has since confirmed that decals are not currently available, as the program is being updated to reflect more inclusive and affirming language. Advocates hope the revisions will ensure the decals promote safety without inadvertently reinforcing stereotypes or overlooking lived experience. BCAPC declined a request from CTV News for an interview on the program. Silence, trust, and the call for answers Seven months after Chase’s shooting, B.C.’s police watchdog has not released its findings. The De Balinhard family says they had not heard directly from the provincial government until after the minister’s office was questioned by CTV News. Taggart calls the silence “sickening.” “Can you imagine what that’s like? Your child dies at the hands of the police… and then there’s radio silence for six months,” she said. “It’s heartless, and our government should do better.” When asked about a coroner’s inquest, she says it can help establish the facts, but isn’t confident recommendations lead to change. “We shouldn’t have to advocate as parents when something horrific happens in order for things to change,” she said. “If the death of a child does not create serious, systemic, positive change in policing for people with disabilities, I don’t know what to say.” What happens now? The province has promised autism-specific training for police this fall and says it is modernizing tools to support front-line encounters. It says the updates were already in the works prior to Chase’s death. Advocates say the measure of success will be whether changes are co-designed with autistic people and caregivers, whether the approach shifts from compliance to co-regulation and trauma-informed practice, and whether communication with families restores trust. Perreault has a motto for reform: move quickly toward the target, but slow down enough to get it right. “We’ve got to go as fast as we can, slow as we must… and demonstrate we’re moving.” Chase’s family hopes that by sharing their son’s story, no one else will have to endure their loss. The unanswered question is whether this moment becomes a turning point — or just another chapter in a system that asks for compliance when what’s needed most is compassion. CTV News will continue its investigative series on Chase De Balinhard’s death throughout this week. Thursday’s story explores the lack of explicit tracking of police incidents involving people who are neurodivergent, which leaves policymakers in the dark about the true scope of the issue. Follow all the coverage here.
