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I am delighted to be here
today. The topic that we have been asked to address is a critically
important one—our successes and challenges in introducing
the fight against psychiatry into the halls of academia—what
we as academics have been able to do, what challenges we have found,
some of ways that we have discovered of meeting the challenges.
All of us who combat psychiatry are engaged in a very important
fight. While it is just one, academia is an important place to be
waging that fight for it is a place where new ideas have a chance
to gain currency. Now of course we would all like to believe that
if we phrase our ideas well, good ideas will drive out bad. It is
not so easy, however, for power and hegemony are stacked up against
us. Accordingly, we have to be strategic if we are to successfully
lay claim to this space. I feel strongly about staking out our claim
to this space, and have been involved in this common enterprise
for decades. So in their own way, has everyone on this panel.
While I have a broader base as a human being navigating the world,
also as a community activist, I come to the academic fight per se
from within a few different disciplines, always from an antipsychiatry
position, and always as a faculty member. Basically the story which
I wish to tell is my story as an antipsychiatry academic. Now insofar
as academia is the venue, the most obvious place for us to wage
such battles is in our courses--as content, as vantage point, as
epistemology, and I have long been doing so.
The first department where I introduced an antipsychiatry perspective
into course work was a social work department, the first time in
1980’s at Winnipeg Education Centre (University of Manitoba).
I introduced a critique of psychiatry only in passing into a course
on communications which I was teaching. In fact, the critique in
question was not about psychiatry per se. I was critiquing a particular
communication style and was using psychiatric communication as an
example.
This incident—for an incident it quickly became—constituted
a moment of learning. A ten-minute example in which psychiatry appeared
in an unfavourable light was sufficient impetus for resistance to
mobilize. And one thing this incident teaches us is that while leeway
exists in academia, and while there is such a thing as academic
freedom—and this works for us—if we introduce any perspectives
critical of psychiatry, we have a fight on our hands.
One week after this ten minute critique, I was called into the office
of the head of the department to discuss an urgent request which
the department had received from the Faculty of Medicine. In short,
the letter in question stated that it would be a shame if students
in my classes got only one perspective on psychiatry.
Correspondingly, in the interests of ameliorating this unfortunate
situation, they suggested that someone from the medical faculty
be allowed to come into my courses and provide my students with
the psychiatric perspective.
The very fact that something like this could happen speaks to power
of the medical faculty in universities. Very few if any other academic
units exercise comparable power. Note, while I am also blatantly
anti-capitalist, schools of business have never argued they be allowed
to come into my class and provide my students with a pro-business
stance. Only medicine has this entitlement.
To his credit, the department head did not have a knee jerk reaction.
He asked what I thought. Here, let me be clear, is where I could
have erred. The wrong move would be to protest how outrageous this
is. It would have been wrong not because what had happened was not
outrageous but because it would be a losing strategy. What did I
do? I stated that in the name of students having more than one perspective
I would be very happy for medical faculty to come into my classroom
and teach their perspective as long as—and this proviso was
critical—in the name of introducing their students to multiple
perspectives, I be invited into their classrooms to introduce my
perspective. I put this response in writing at his request, and
it was delivered to the medical faculty. Needless to say, the issue
was dropped like a hot potato.
Now this story is funny, but
there is a point here. As academics, insofar as we do anything which
threatens the status quo—and if we are not, we are not teaching
anything meaningful—there will be pushback. A strategically
good way of meeting opposition when it comes is to turn the tables.
“Turning the tables” is one version of a more general
strategy of “catching the opposition on the horns of dilemma”,
and I wholeheartedly recommend it. What could they do? If they came
back and said, “No, we only want to go into her classes; we
don’t want her to go into ours,” they look bad, and
I win. If they say, “Okay, let’s go to each other’s
classes, besides that I gain access to a much bigger audience, I
am likely to do a better job. Again, I win. Alternatively, if they
drop the issue entirely, they look like cowards, and once again,
I win.
What happened? They dropped
the issue entirely. And minimally, there was a moral victory.
The next time and occasion
where I introduced the fight against psychiatry into courses is
a year later in a radical social work school at Carleton. Now this
school was an optimal place to be—a place where the envelope
could be pushed.
Accordingly, I asked to be allowed to introduce a course critiquing
psychopathology. The request was granted. This was a major victory.
For the first time in social work history in Canada, there was a
course introducing students to a counter-hegemonic understanding
of psychiatry. It is good that we introduce counter-hegemonic perspectives
into our courses whatever their locations, and whatever the nature
of those courses. It is better yet when we introduce courses whose
very content is a critique of psychiatry. An added advantage of
these counter-hegemonic courses being ones which serve students
in the helping professions is that professionals who emerge from
your courses come out with a critical awareness. And we urgently
need to help raise awareness here, or the other helping professions
will increasingly become extensions of psychiatry.
Did this happen without any
push back whatsoever from social work profession? Of course not,
but I do not have time in a speech this size to outline what unfolded.
If anyone wants to hear more, feel free to inquire further during
question period.
The next place where I had
the opportunity to introduce the battle at the course level is at
OISE—Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. As a faculty
member of the Department of Adult Education and Counselling Psychology
here, I have been able to introduce critiques of psychiatry into
a number of courses, and I would have to say, my adult education
colleagues especially have been very supportive. It is an integral
part of my trauma course—and here psychiatry enters in not
as a resource for traumatized populations but as a traumatizing
institution. It enters even more formidably into a community development
course which I teach called, “Creative Empowerment Work with
the Disenfranchised”. The latter is really important. The
fact that I am able to teach such courses with little opposition
is an indication of how far things have progressed since late 80’s.
In late 80’s it was impossible to introduce even a ten minute
critique by way of example without major opposition. Now I able
to teach a course one of whose major themes is precisely how to
mobilize against psychiatry.
So far, I have been focusing
in on courses. The university being a huge resource, it also provides
other avenues and resources for combating psychiatry. Most people
here are familiar with many of these, and so I do not want to go
into them in depth. In passing, however, let me name a few. They
include: ordering books and films for the library which are critical
of psychiatry; use of university space for movement events; academic
publishing—and I am delighted that one of the presenters is
presenting on creating online journals which critique psychiatry—involvement
of students in our organizing. The university provides manifold
opportunities. Our job is to be aware of them and avail ourselves
of them.
That said, I would like to
focus in on a resource which I used recently and which is not so
obvious—my will. Obviously, this does not fit everyone’s
circumstance, but here too is a playing field on which a fight with
major consequences can be waged.
A couple of years ago, I introduced
clauses into my will that would set up scholarships at University
of Toronto precisely in this area. More explicitly, after I die,
scholarships will be set up funding masters and doctoral students
doing dissertations either in the antipsychiatry area or the area
of mobilizing to end homelessness. Correspondingly, priority will
be given to students who are themselves psychiatric survivors and/or
have experienced chronic homelessness.
An import caveat about universities
and bequests—the fact that you make a bequest in no way obliges
the administration to accept it. In fact, at University of Toronto,
a bequest must be approved by three levels of administration—the
relevant Dean, the university lawyer, and the president of the university.
Did the University accept the scholarships without a fight? Not
exactly.
What was the initial response?
They asked for a number of changes, three of which were major and
had the potential of seriously undermining the purpose of the behest.
The first is a standard one which faces all people who leave money
to University of Toronto and to which to date all had acceded—that
I insert a disclaimer clause, stating, in effect, that if in the
opinion of University of Toronto, the money could best be used for
other purposes, they can indeed use it for any other purposes at
their discretion. The second major change requested is that no priority
be given to psychiatric survivors. The argument here is that priority
should not be afforded survivors as the identity in question is
a stigmatized identity, and so no survivors would actually want
priority. The third requirement is that the scholarship essentially
be tamed down and made general. The argument here is that otherwise
no department at OISE would see it as within their mandate and therefore
wish to administer it.
Now I had a fight on my hands, and I knew it. The first part that
I tackled was the disclaimer clause. The ostensible point of the
disclaimer clause, or so it was presented to me, is that over time
words and conceptualizations become obsolete, and so unless the
university is given a free hand, they will find themselves with
pots of money that they are unable to use. Now indeed, that can
become a problem for universities administering the provision of
wills. However, to give a university carte blanche with your money,
and especially in an area which is counter-hegemonic, is unwise
to say the least. My solution was to create my own disclaimer clause
which set out alternative framing that would come to apply if words
like “homelessness” were deemed to have lost their meaning
or indeed if psychiatry as an institution no longer existed.
While it was hardly their preference, introducing my own disclaimer
clause helped, but it hardly addressed all of the university’s
concerns. The thing about being in a fight, however, is to know
what leverage you have. I had two sources—allies (and in these
fights, our allies are indispensible) and money. Allies helped me
go a long way to winning two of the skirmishes.
At my request, the Mad Students Society provided me with a statement
that they were in support of the scholarship, and indeed, that as
psychiatric survivors, they wanted psychiatric survivors to have
priority. This effectively took care of one of the major objections.
The next ally—and they also set to rest a major objection—were
my colleagues. I began by approaching the one department at Ontario
Institute in Education which had other faculty who worked in closely
neighbouring areas—Sociology and Equity Studies. Essentially,
I asked them if they would consider passing a resolution supporting
the scholarship and expressing their openness to administering it.
The next time the department met, they passed such a resolution.
Now obviously, if having one department in hand was good, having
more than one was better. Accordingly, I approached the Adult Education
and Community Development (my program) with a similar request. The
immediate response was that if Sociology and Equity Studies could
administer such a scholarship, surely Adult Education could. Adult
Education, in turn, passed their own resolution. The relevant statements
and minutes were subsequently submitted to the administration.
Now my allies had essentially solved much of the problem. There
were still concerns over the disclaimer, however, and there were
still a number of other issues. When you get this far, however,
it is important to know the power of money.
One thing about offering money is, ultimately, you have significant
leverage. You can go elsewhere. At this point, literally, over half
a year had passed. When it became blatantly obvious that no end
was in sight, I made it clear that if the scholarship were not accepted
more or less as described, I would take my money elsewhere. In fact,
I named the two university programs in Canada that were next on
my list. Now the bequest had still not be cleared by the Dean, albeit,
she was favourably disposed, and still had to land on the desks
of the university lawyer and the president of the university. I
held my breath after issuing what was essentially a friendly ultimatum.
Three difficult days passed. Then I received word. The Dean had
written to the president, stating that she wanted the scholarship.
The president had been in touch with the university lawyer. The
scholarship had been accepted as drafted.
This may seem like small victory but it was not. Long after I am
dead, students will be funded to pursue research in this area. That
essentially guarantees the continuation of the area at this university
and likely its expansion. Moreover, it will inevitably generate
new knowledge and lend it legitimacy.
Finally, I would like to highlight an academic avenue open to academics,
survivors and activists alike and which is being actualized at this
very moment by each and every one of us. We can create and participate
in conferences like this one, also like the groundbreaking Madness
Conference, which Dr. Menzies over there was so instrumental to.
The beauty of an international conference is that it at once gives
rise to scholarship, legitimates the area, and helps the movement
spread. I am delighted that we are doing this now, and I am proud
of my department and indeed OISE for its support—and let me
be clear—very generous support of this conference. Let there
be no mistake, however, if you mount a conference such as this,
there will be people in the university who will not like it and
are only too willing to be vocal about it.
What happened in the case
of the PsychOut Conference? Repeatedly, complaints were sent by
faculty to the office of the president of the university. These
complaints were subsequently forwarded to the Dean, who in turn,
sent them to the head of the department, who in turn drew them to
my attention as Chair of PsychOut. Additionally, there was one complaint
sent directly to the head of my department. The most common complaint
was over it being called a University of Toronto Conference. Optimally,
the objecting faculty would have preferred it be seen as a conference
unconnected with the university, which just happened to be held
at the university—a description that belied the fact that
I am a faculty member at the University of Toronto. Minimally, if
had to be associated in some way with the university, they preferred
that the term “A Conference of the University of Toronto”
be removed and replaced by a term like “A Conference of the
Department of Adult Education and Counselling Psychology”.
This was the complaint that had most traction. Behind it, though,
lurked a far more formidable grievance. To give you feel for the
letters, I would like to read just two lines from a letter from
one such colleague. “Imagine my dismay when I received a notice
advertising an antipsychiatry conference hosted by your department!
Can this be true?” (Private correspondence, April 24, 2010)
Now there is an old rule in
community organizing—pick your battles. Given the generous
support of OISE, including the Dean, the best thing to do was not
fight the battle on the level of fairness, in fact not fight at
all--just solve the problem. And solve it, we did. We got rid of
the descriptor a “University of Toronto Conference.”
We called it instead “A Conference of the Ontario Institution
for Studies in Education at the University of Toronto (Department
of Adult Education and Counselling Psychology)
(See http://ogs.library.utoronto/index.php/psychout/index/about)
In no way did this detract from the conference. It got the issue
out of the Dean’s hair. And it protected the Institute in
the process.
To sum up, much can be done
in the halls of academia to advance the battle against psychiatry
and in the process, the struggle for a kinder more tolerant society.
We can advance it through course work. We can advance it though
ordering of books, the use of space for movement events, the launching
of publishing initiatives, mounting of conferences, our very wills.
I invite colleagues, survivors, and fellow activists to use it in
these and whatever other ways you can find. Be aware, though, that
if you push the envelope, there will be opposition.
When it comes to dealing with opposition,
there are a few pieces of advice that arise from my story, and I
would like to end with these: First, be on lookout for ways of turning
the table. Second, know who your allies are. Third, know when you
have a winning hand and play it (and money goes a long way to giving
you a winning hand). Fourth, pick your battles. Fifth and finally,
do not be discouraged. Hegemony is a hard thing to fight, especially
for those who are students, especially those who are psychiatric
survivors. Ultimately, however, the power of truth and the lessons
of history are on our side.
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