Our crazy mental health systemA crusading journalist with a bipolar son says jails have become warehouses for the mad -- and argues for forced commitment.
By Marissa Kantor
April 11, 2006 | Pete Earley never thought he'd be writing this book. No parent would. Spurred on by his son Mike's journey through diagnosis and treatment for bipolar disorder, Earley, a former Washington Post reporter and the author of several acclaimed nonfiction books, begins "Crazy: A Father's Search Through America's Mental Health Madness" in the midst of personal crisis. But though "Crazy" starts as a chronicle of his family's journey, Earley's instincts as an investigative reporter soon take over. While his son shuttles through the hands of doctors and lawyers, Earley undertakes a larger examination of America's labyrinthine mental health system, culminating in an investigation of daily life within the psychiatric ward of the Miami-Dade County Jail. By weaving together both narratives, Earley creates a work of advocacy journalism that is not only a record of one man's struggle with his child's uncertain prognosis but also a look at the ways in which mental illness -- given the legal barriers to care and the inadequacy of the current system -- can devastate any American family.
Earley's work is grounded in two simple premises. The first is that mental illness can happen to anyone at any time and it is never the affected person's fault. The second is that jails and prisons have become our new state asylums, where we hide rather than rehabilitate people. During his year in Miami, Earley is granted complete access to the primary psychiatric unit, sometimes called "the forgotten floor," on the ninth floor of the jail. There he finds "hidden prisoners" with severe mental illness -- who have committed crimes ranging from felonies to petty misdemeanors -- on suicide watch, while psychiatrists try to force mumbling, confused patients to take medication so they will be stable enough to stand trial.
But Earley's solution to America's mental health crisis is nothing if not controversial: He advocates for a reinstitution of the old state hospital system, for places outside the jail system that can house people with severe mental illnesses who have nowhere else to go. After sitting in an emergency room cradling his psychotic son for hours, only to see him denied care because the state of Virginia's strict interpretation of the imminent danger clause determined he was not an immediate threat to himself and others, Earley is moved to reach out to other parents to let them know that they are not alone. That same experience also convinces Earley that a reconsideration of forced commitment -- a move that would certainly require a serious national debate about civil rights and when to suspend them -- is a reform that mental health advocates should not dismiss out of hand. In the end, "Crazy" is as much a call to arms as it is a portrait of a hidden population.
Salon spoke with Earley by phone about his experiences as a parent of a child with bipolar disorder, the need for more police training about mental illness, and how America might begin to repair its broken mental health system.
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