Mental health reform: What it would really takeTipper Gore has brought a welcome focus on the problem. But millions of mentally ill Americans aren't getting the treatment
they need. And there's no easy fixBy John Cloud/Los Angeles
May 31, 1999
Web posted at: 11:13 a.m. EDT (1513 GMT)
Gerald Minsk used to drop acid and smoke pot to help quell
paranoid delusions that Boston's North End mafiosi were
conspiring against him. Yes, it's crazy to take hallucinogens to
soothe your hallucinations. But that's what untreated mental
illness does to you. It can also leave you jobless and sleeping
under the Boston University bridge. That's what happened to
Minsk, anyway, in the 1970s. For years, his bipolar disorder was
virtually ignored as he cycled in and out of jails, mental
hospitals and community centers, none of which took the time, or
had the resources, to treat him properly.
Millions of Americans are treated the same way. As a rule,
mentally ill people are no more likely than their neighbors to be
violent. But untreated mental illness can have horrific results.
Andrew Goldstein asked to be hospitalized in New York because he
was terrified of phantom voices. Instead, budget-conscious
officials most often referred him to short-term emergency care.
Last year, in a psychotic state, he shoved a woman from a subway
platform to her death under the wheels of a train.
Though tragedies like this one make headlines, the real shock is
what happens to the vast majority of mentally ill people. Most
Americans with mental illness simply aren't treated. Of the 2
million who suffer from schizophrenia, for instance, more than
half receive substandard care. Only a third of those with serious
depression receive any treatment. Reformers have tried to call
attention to these problems for years--former First Lady Rosalynn
Carter has been an advocate since the '60s--but the mentally ill
have a powerful new ally.
Tipper Gore, wife of the Vice President, has organized a
first-ever White House conference on mental health, which takes
place next week. Gore, who disclosed in the run-up to the
conference that she was treated for depression in the early '90s,
has prodded her husband's boss to ask Congress to spend more
money to treat the mentally ill. President Clinton backs a bill
in Congress to force employers to help too by providing equal
insurance coverage for mental and physical health. (Currently,
insurance plans can charge higher co-payments for psychiatric
visits than for other medical care.) Clinton aims to set an
example by announcing at the conference that the Federal
Government will begin providing its employees equal benefits for
mental and nonmental ailments.
"Coming out" of a different kind
In the past decade, a few pioneering celebrities have shared
their experiences with mental illness
Janet Jackson
In 1997 she told reporters she had suffered from depression for
two years; she said its roots were in childhood
Mike Wallace
He kept quiet about his depression until a friend, novelist
William Styron, came out. Wallace did too, in 1988
Alma Powell
After reporters inquired, the wife of the retired general said
she had been treated for depression for many years
Tipper Gore
Last month the wife of the Vice President said she had been
treated for depression. But her interest in mental health isn't
new. She has a master's degree in psychology. As a child, she saw
her mother suffer the stigma of having a mental disability
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Even if all the proposals become law, they will represent only
the first steps in solving the crisis of the mentally ill.
There's not much political benefit to pushing the cause of people
with mental disorders, and over the past 30 years governments
have done little to fulfill a promise made by President John F.
Kennedy in 1963 to subsidize mental-health services in every
community.
Instead, communities have hired a lot of police, and today cops
are the primary care givers for most of the unemployed mentally
ill. That's because 200,000 of them are homeless, according to
the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill, an advocacy group.
Another 200,000 are incarcerated, usually as a result of petty
crimes. Fewer than 70,000, on the other hand, live in state
mental hospitals. And according to a study by Maryland
researchers, less than 10% of Americans with schizophrenia are
treated in the smaller community programs envisioned by
Kennedy-era reformers.
Attacking this problem all at once is impossible. It would take
billions of dollars. The state of Virginia alone would have to
spend $500 million to begin providing adequate community
treatment, according to a 1998 report prepared for it by
consultants. Virginia's Governor, Jim Gilmore, has proposed
spending $41 million instead. The Clinton plan would increase the
mental-health grants that go to all states by just $70 million
next year, to $358 million in all.
In Congress, two Senators who have seen family members with
mental illness benefit from modern treatments are trying to
improve access to care for others. Republican Pete Domenici of
New Mexico and Democrat Paul Wellstone of Minnesota have
introduced a bill that would force employers to provide the same
level of coverage for mental and physical illnesses. Although the
bill would represent the most meager of advances--it would help
only those well enough to work--its passage will still require a
monumental lobbying effort. Business groups are already working
against it, saying it's part of a liberal package of insurance
reforms that would raise their costs.
Domenici and Wellstone point out that the legislation is a solid
long-term investment, since it would help people get treated
before their illnesses become so severe that they lose their jobs
or hurt themselves. Even business lobbyists admit that the cost
increases for mental-health insurance will be small (maybe 1%).
But they fear it will open the door to other mandates as well.
"You have to remember that the Patient's Bill of Rights is being
considered too," says Kate Sullivan of the U.S. Chamber of
Commerce, referring to the proposal in Congress to make it easier
for people to get around the cost restrictions of managed care.
"So you're talking about 1% here and 1.5% there, but in the
aggregate, you're looking at a 6% increase, which is huge."
Prospects for the mental-health bill look even weaker in the
House than in the Senate, where Domenici chairs the influential
budget committee. House majority whip Tom DeLay of Texas, who has
close ties to business groups, was 1 of just 17 members of the
House to vote against a very weak 1996 version of the
Domenici-Wellstone proposal; he also seems to have a deep
suspicion of psychology in general. Just last month, he accused
the American Psychological Association of trying to "normalize
pedophilia" after the association published a study suggesting
that not all childhood victims of sexual abuse necessarily suffer
mental illness as a result.
If DeLay's views on psychology are a bit harsh, many Americans
have only in the past decade begun to see mental disorders as
illnesses, not moral shortcomings. Though we still whisper about
it, we all know a Tipper Gore at work today. Indeed, in addition
to pushing her policy goals, Gore is hoping her own story will
nourish this cultural shift. She and other reformers want to
convince the nation that mental illness doesn't result from bad
parenting or lax churchgoing but from chemical imbalances. In
Gore's case, she says there was a problem with her brain's "gas
gauge."
This is canny p.r. Americans would probably feel much better
about meeting the enormous costs of reform if they thought mental
illness is as fixable as, say, "a game knee," as Dr. Peter
Whybrow puts it. He hosted a May forum with Gore at the
University of California, Los Angeles, where he chairs the
psychiatry department. One of the reformers' favorite statistics
is that 60% of those who have schizophrenia can be successfully
treated, while just 41% of those who have angioplasty (to open up
clogged blood vessels) can recover fully. Medical comparisons are
often used by those coming out as mentally ill. In 1995, when
Alma Powell, wife of retired General Colin Powell, said she had
suffered depression, her husband said it was "very easily
controlled with proper medication, just as my blood pressure is."
But this is where the p.r.--and the quick-fix politics--begin to
collide with reality. To be sure, people with mental illness can
get better. Advances of the past decade have given independent
lives to some who thought they would never have them. But there
are no cures for mental illness--only lifelong management--and
treatment is highly unpredictable. At the UCLA forum and at
similar events, Gore cites seemingly simple "success
stories"--cases like that of Minsk, the man who had been homeless
in Boston in the '70s. "We're proud of you," she told him. But
those real-life cases tend to be much more complicated than
fixing a game knee. Minsk's salvation wasn't medication--or it
wasn't only that. By the mid-'80s, he had moved to Los Angeles
and met an advocate for the mentally ill who won his trust. He
helped Minsk sign up for benefits, find housing, and, yes, stay
in treatment--therapy and medication.
Today, at 47, Minsk has a wife, a home and an e-mail account. He
has become an advocate himself, canvassing dirty streets of
downtown L.A. to tell mentally ill people about Lamp, a center he
helps run for them. But the people Lamp serves "need many
different solutions," Minsk says. Some need food and a bed before
they can consider getting well. Others have medicated themselves
with illegal drugs for so long they have become addicts. Some
want to take prescription medication for their illnesses, but
some don't, because of side effects or for other reasons. Many
Lamp folks have all these problems, each crisis ricocheting off
the others until their lives seem hopeless. For everyone, Minsk
says--including himself--"there is no beginning and no end" to
mental illness. It is a profoundly individual experience.
Americans may not have recognized that reality the last time they
tried to reform the system. Back then, in the 1960s, there were
also new wonder drugs. Chlorpromazine and its cousins composed
patients enough that reformers could suggest closing the
institutions that had often done no more than chain the ill to
their beds. President Kennedy signed the landmark bill in 1963
that was to create as many as 2,000 community mental-health
centers, compassionate places that would dispense the drugs and
ease the ill into society.
Psychiatrists started to notice that the drugs brought some awful
side effects--facial contortions, blurred vision--and many patients
began to refuse them. But "deinstitutionalization," as the reform
movement was called, was well under way. Nearly half a million
patients were returned to their communities between the mid-'50s
and the mid-'80s. The Federal Government never built all the
centers Kennedy promised--there are just 740 today--and states
didn't take up the slack.
Each state blundered differently. Washington State tied community
mental-health spending to the size of welfare rolls, a sign of
stigma itself. In Illinois, the state often paid nursing homes to
take many of its patients. But old people and mentally ill people
don't have the same needs, and few nursing homes hired the staff
needed to treat the different set of patients. A bill before the
Illinois legislature would require those hirings, but the efforts
come too late for Russell Weston Jr. In 1996 he became an
outpatient at an underfunded community mental-health center in
Waterloo, Ill. The staff there can't closely monitor every
patient, and Weston disappeared--until last July, when he shot and
killed two U.S. Capitol police officers.
Such crimes have had political consequences. Some New York
legislators, for instance, want to make it easier to force people
into treatment. Such measures have a law-and-order feel, and
politicians like New York Attorney General Eliot Spitzer--a
Democrat who barely won his race last year--have embraced them.
But most advocates for the mentally ill point out that even if
the potentially violent mentally ill could be committed more
easily, there are still few places to take them.
If Tipper Gore and the reformers are to educate Americans about
mental illness and hence reduce its stigma, they will have to be
honest about such complexities. But openness about mental illness
isn't easy. Gore has at times even seemed reluctant to share her
saga. She refuses to name the medication she took, and she gives
few details about the nature of her depression, saying mainly
that it emerged after a car accident that nearly killed her son.
Such pressures affect those who work daily to fight stigma.
Consider Michael Faenza. "If I didn't take medication for
depression, I would drink a quart of Jack Daniels every week to
slow my thoughts enough to go to sleep," he said recently. At
first he asked that the comment not be printed. But then he
reconsidered: he is, after all, president of the National Mental
Health Association, a 90-year-old advocacy group. "That's one of
the pieces in this puzzle, to remove the shame," Faenza says. "It
takes some courage to do that."
MORE TIME STORIES:
Cover Date: June 7, 1999
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