Monthly Archives: February 2014

Canadian Human Rights Commission

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The treatment of offenders with mental disabilities is in the news again. The use of solitary confinement for mentally ill offenders has been going on for decades in Canada and our standing government has been made aware in dramatic style but prefer to use rhetoric rather than humanity. Some will say I hate conservatives. I don’t, I just don’t suffer fools well.

I met one of Mr. Harper’s men through the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and I feel like I had an enema. These people scare the crap out of me. Member of Parliament Mr. Blake Richards was interviewed by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation and I was sure I was watching “The King’s Speech” with all the stuttering. I Googled the man and I don’t think he’s the minister of anything. Thank God for that. It seems if you can move your lips and dance the Harper Hustle they will put you in front of a camera. Mr. Richards’ tie was straight but his answers were not. There must be a 7-eleven behind parliament because all I seem to see is a brain freeze. Seriously Stephen, there should be a Bill outlawing the Big Gulp during parliamentary hours.

It’s become a bad habit for Conservatives to discount good advice. If it come from a scientist, an association or even the Human Rights Commission these guys think its wrong because it isn’t part of their platform. I know Prime Minister Harper and company can run the country but I would feel better if they at least listened to people who are experts and not politicians. Just because you sound good in the green seats doesn’t mean you know a lick about what you’re talking about. There’s no shame in asking for directions when you’re lost especially if you’re guiding a country. If people who know what they are talking about use big words try Google.

Here is what the government chooses to ignore:

“It is the position of the Canadian Human Rights Commission that people with serious and acute mental disabilities should be housed in a treatment facility or hospital. In addition the Canadian Human Rights Commission continues to express deep concern over the practice of placing people with mental disabilities in solitary confinement. Solitary confinement should never be used for inmates with serious or acute mental disabilities.”

Apparently, Prime Minister Harper and Mr. Blake Richards find the advice of the Canadian Human Rights Commission superfluous. As a Canadian, as a human, I find importance in their words. We may not be prisoners but there may be an instance where their words affect us. If you had to choose someone to speak for you would it be the Canadian Human Rights Commission or an MP from Alberta?

According to MP Richards, Correctional Services Canada is the best place to determine how to deal with certain TYPES of offenders. Mr. Richards said I, I, I, I ah can’t speak specifically to decisions being made in terms of the proper course for offenders, that’s the job of Correctional Services of Canada  and the experts there. I have met these experts and in fact been deeply impacted by their proper course. The Deputy Superintendent at the detention center I was held in administered to my needs. When I made a disturbance one evening in the medical cells I was delivered to the Hole. This man may have had community college but he didn’t look that smart. I outmaneuvered him while psychotic and he had no comprehension of the legalities surrounding being found Not Criminally Responsible on account of a mental disorder. I’m not saying everyone in corrections is stupid but when I see this man in a management position it makes me wonder.

Mr. Richards’ makes me wonder as well. Possibly he was the last student in the halls of democracy and pushed into the interview but he and the prime minister assume Canadians are stupid. The entire story revolves around the only dedicated psychiatric unit in Ontario being closed but he actually tried to tell me this government is ensuring proper funding is in place and that they are investing in mental health care for inmates. This government was warned by people who are experts not to close the Kingston facility but they closed it anyway. If this is investment what does a cutback look like? You can dress my dog in a tutu but she will never be a ballerina even if you call her Karen Kain.

MP Richards was asked if legislation is required to prevent solitary confinement of mentally ill persons. I went outside and kicked the snow off my satellite. The answer was from the Disney Channel to which I don’t subscribe. Mr. Richards stated that serious crimes need serious punishment and victims’ rights should be a priority. Is it actually a victim’s right that inhumane conditions and treatment be delivered to mentally disabled offenders? I rather doubt that is their intention and I’m sure they are ashamed to be linked to a government that hides behind their pain to the point of indecency and inhumanity. Isn’t that the problem to begin with? Does victimizing someone enhance, support or serve victim rights in any way? It’s easy to say what about the victims but it’s paramount we minimize their multiplication.

Offenders in general need to be rehabilitated if society is to benefit from their incarceration. Mentally ill offenders should be rehabilitated not only to enhance public safety but because it is moral. A broken bone in jail will receive treatment. When mental illness is recognized by this government as deserving of comparable treatment they will in fact represent a moral majority.

Mental illness should not be warehoused in an abandoned segregation unit no matter what colour you paint it. If Mr. Richards and Prime Minister Harper are so proud of their stance and policies they should paint the unit blue. It is a conservative crisis and the only reason it is a crisis is that there are no moral men sitting on that side of the house. You can point fingers and call it an “over dramatization” or a “politicizing of an issue” but until you have been locked in a 5 by 8 for 24 hours with delusions and more you can shut up and do what’s right. We don’t need your words.

Tomato

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When I was allowed off the forensic unit I lived in, one of my accompanied destinations became the greenhouse. It was always a pleasure to be in the greenhouse. It was connected to the hospital so it was like Eden at the end of a hallway. I`m not sure how I didn’t bump into anything on early occasions as I glanced through windows each with a new view. New horizons. I tended many plants and grew many of my own. I can recall the warmth of the area and the light but some of the experience was lost on me. In some sense of reality the dimensions of the building itself added considerable square footage to my world. I don’t recall the scheduling of visits but I wouldn’t be surprised if I mentioned to my therapist that the plants were due for some water.

I could forget myself there without the cameras and as a good friend might say avail myself of meaningful and fulfilling occupation. I was doing something that didn’t have to be shuffled and dealt. I was blind to the balm but can remember the face of the staff member who applied it.

In the spring we reclaimed an area of weeds and weeds. I planted some tomatoes there that I had started from seed. I remember one sunny day taking the shortcut across the grounds as we were only there for tending the tomatoes outside. There were three of us. A clinician and a female patient who was newer to the unit. She seemed a little bewildered and was very quiet. There was one ripe tomato and I held it long in my hand like a hungry man and handed it to this woman. I watched her tear into it like an apple. It is a little hard to enjoy a tomato from three feet away but in this case it was a little hard not to. I smiled as she devoured it. I wanted that tomato and it may have even been a first but I`m glad I gave it away. Before I gave it to her I didn’t know her hunger.

Herstory

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I was at a funeral this afternoon. I was there as a personal comforter and had never met the departed. One never knows what to say at a funeral and this opportunity was more so for me. I was sorry for their loss though I didn’t even know what they lost.

I learned the departed’s age, knew what she looked like as a young woman and saw the flower in her hair everyone seemed to be mentioning, in more recent photographs. I learned about her family history and stories from her life.

I met the departed in the voices of a daughter, a grandson, a granddaughter, a niece, a friend and a minister. Her spirit trembled in their words. She floated from their thoughts and hearts even into me; a stranger. If I could be touched without a real glance at her what might have she been like alive? There was no casket but she moved through the room and down the cheeks of several sitting in front of me.

The person I was accompanying had never been to a funeral and was a little unsure of herself. I didn’t give her any advice on what to say or where to sit. She figured it all out as she sat next to me wiping away tears as well. Tears are always appropriate and a funeral is a good opportunity to feel someone one last time or for the first.

Mustard

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The media perpetuate stigma because the stories they posses and seek are the sensational. As consumers of media we are part of the problem. We don’t care much about the mayor of Calgary; we want to see the mustard on Mayor Rob Ford.

I was at a restaurant with friends and our seats were elevated next to a window looking down on patrons eating outside. I was glancing out at their plates as I was somewhat seized with hunger. A table with pasta belonged to a man in a tie and the back of a woman. On a future glance my friend looked out with me and sighed at the fact this man was eating alone. My friend is not wrong for the assumption; they simply do not possess enough information to draw an accurate conclusion. The conclusions we are given by the media contain the history of our appetite for the sensational.

We make conclusions because they keep us safe but they are not all factual or complete. We make mental shortcuts and apply the smallest of information to anything of resemblance. Not Criminally Responsible is likely about three images for many people. The term for some draws only information from the media.

Guilt is not the act but the act of knowing. When someone is found Not Criminally Responsible on account of a mental disorder it is because experts have found that they could not appreciate the nature of the act or omission. They are not sentenced according to a code of punishment but are placed under forensic mental health care. Forensic mental health facilities are secure, humane, progressive and therapeutic. Interdisciplinary teams were used for my progression through my rehabilitation and treatment. These facilities are hospitals and not jails because Not Criminally Responsible offenders are not criminals they are patients. They require not our judgement or fear but rather our assistance.

It is not a chosen path so it makes no sense to punish the traveler for being where they are.

It is difficult for many to reconcile illness with atrocity. It needs to be kept in mind that without the illness there may have been no crime. We recognize the defendant but we cannot see the culprit. The culprit is mental illness.

Not Criminally Responsible in my case was not a chosen defense. If I had my way I would have been a brilliant lawyer at my own trial. It was a defense of default for me. I was incapable of any other defense. The courts and medicine intervened to protect justice and my mental health. If we are to be merciful it is imperative we do not punish illness. It is pointless and cruel.

If it is an eye for an eye, Christ`s words were wasted.

Touch

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I sat in on a presentation on sexuality among mental health patients. The whole topic is a little like making love to a Porcupine. There are many points to consider. I wasn’t as fortunate as some patients but there was certainly sexuality among us. I can remember smoking and drinking coffee while people rolled on a blanket in front of me kissing. I enjoyed the coffee more. There were certain stairwells that were considered intimate no matter the weather. We were also blessed with a well treed knoll on the hospital property. We called it “Pecker Hill.” Even when I was not well the naming was evident and amusing. I know of one poor individual who didn’t quite make it to the hill and found ecstasy among the long grass not far away but apparently far enough.

We can laugh or shake a finger but I was without an intimate encounter for 7 years. I don’t know about the 7 year itch but I wallowed in the 7 year rash. Had the opportunity presented itself to me I’m not sure I would have made it to the long grass.

The World Health Organization defines sexual health as a state of physical, mental and social well-being in relation to sexuality. Being on a locked ward for me was just that. If my footsteps had boundaries you can imagine the same on my sexuality.

I can remember being on the Forensic Assessment Unit on a vacation from jail. One day I walked by the common area and saw a hairdresser giving a patient a haircut. I was months without a trim and was eager to find out how this all worked. I paced by a few times and finally asked if I needed an appointment or money both of which I was without. I needed neither and when I sat down I was astonished by being touched. Usually you check how much hair is falling on the floor but each time my scalp was touched that’s all I could focus on. All my visits for months were from behind glass and my fellow prisoners were not known for hugging.

If we are placing individuals in situations where touch is unlikely it becomes imperative to introduce a healthy replacement. Some in the psychiatric community are unlikely to encounter touch because of their symptoms and or resulting circumstances.

Part of sexuality is a connection. Consider what it would be like to go for months and years without being touched. Even those of us who have the benefit of touch can recognize its power and importance when we visit a massage therapist. The social, mental and physical benefits can only translate into improved mental health and overall well being.

Segregation; the Hole is deprivation of everything. I was psychotic for most of this deprivation but pulled an important truth from the experience. I had a cheap French/English dictionary in my pillowcase. I wrote a note from the Hole to one of the guards who were bilingual. In choppy French I wrote the following:

“I need love and touch I beg you, more.

I’m not crazy or madness, truly yours

I’m tough and strong angel.

Please mention it nay not what

In any manner that push me by heart and has your friendship; we shake on it.

Please mention it nay not what.”