LOWELL M-POWER CHAPTER
FOUNDING MEETING: A KEYNOTE ADDRESS
November 19, 1988
By
Patricia E. Deegan, PhD. President of the Empowerment Sponsoring Committee

I consider it a great honor to have been asked by the members of the Lowell M-POWER Chapter to give a keynote address at this founding meeting. In the last couple of years I've given a lot of talks, in a lot of

fancy places, but I consider this the most important and significant event at which I've been asked to speak.

Every one of us in this room tonight is a survivor of the mental health system. Its kind of strange but I don't see any "mental patients" here tonight. I don't see any "chronics", "psychos", or "schizos" here tonight. No one in the audience appears to be carrying a chain saw. I see no signs of nurses waiting in the wings with syringes full of Prolixin. I see no case managers here managing our cases for us tonight. I see no psychiatrists here tonight prescribing our futures for us. All I see is us, on our own, against all odds, proud, gathering together, having worked for the last two years to establish this first chapter in what will soon be the nations first statewide, completely member-run, grassroots empowerment organization for persons who are survivors of the mental health system.

Yes, when I look out in the audience all I see is us, on our own, against all odds, pushing back the time of history; determined that history will stop repeating itself; determined to end the history of abuse, isolation, discrimination, degradation and segregation that has been our story throughout all the ages of time. Yes, we are tired of the "same old story" and we are determined to write a new story, for ourselves. Our new story will be a story of pride, of dignity, of justice, of empowerment, of humane treatment, of recovery, of choice, and of hope. The foundation of M-POWER in the Greater Lowell Region is the first chapter in our New Story. And so I am both deeply honored to be here tonight and humbled by the task of trying to put into works our vision for our new organization.

When I think of our vision for our new organization, I keep thinking of this tree that I see every morning. You see, my favorite part of the day are those quiet, early hours of the dawn. During those early hours I go out and I sit by the side of a pond near my home. I sit very quietly and I listen and I watch. I go there in order to witness the coming of the light. The coming of the light always begins in darkness. It always begins when the sky is still black and the dawn is but a promise that must be awaited in faith.

The other morning I was out there as usual sitting by the pond. That morning the light did not come in a spectacular sunrise that broke the darkness wide open. The sun did not rise like a mighty chariot to race its course over a brilliant sky. Rather, on that morning the light came imperceptibly. It came as a mist that began to stir. It rose up off of the dark surface of the pond like incense consecrating the first moments of the day. And as the mist rose it revealed a tree. It was just a little tree. It stood naked and bare while the darkness slipped silently into the gray of a cold and wet November day.

Gradually I came to see that the little tree was overshadowed by huge towering evergreens. It looked like a little David next to those towering Goliaths. While the evergreens stood fully covered in their rich, lavish robes, the little tree had lost all of its leaves and was so completely naked in the cold November air that you could almost see it trembling. The little tree was also surrounded by majestic birch trees. It looked pretty fragile and dwarfed under the muscular thrust of those birches, which seemed to break up out of the ground and grow until they touched the sky. The little tree out by the pond was not nearly as strong as the birches that surrounded it. Yet it was the little tree that captured my attention.

There was something about that tree that was special. There was something about that tree that reminded me of myself, of us, and of the experience that we all share by virtue of being survivors of the mental health system.

Despite its nakedness I sensed that the tree was not ashamed. In wide open abandon it trembled but did not cower or try to hide itself. With wide open branches it had grown in a slow up sway, reaching, reaching toward the light. Fully exposed it was unafraid of who it was. Against the odds, stripped bare, possessing only itself, it was not afraid of winter's coming.

This tree was a survivor. It has learned how to grow and take root in a hostile environment. As Autumn's light waned, it grew in such a way as to use every bit of light available to it. Overshadowed by the bigger trees, it has learned to grow around the shadows into its own light. This little tree would not be swept away. It rooted itself firmly and deeply into the ground. It was a fragile life, but an insistent one, whose strength rose up from its very weakness.

Oncoming winter had striped the tree of its leaves, but it could not strip its pride. And so the little tree arched its proud branches toward the new day - a courageous silhouette against a stark November sky - stripped and bare yet overflowing with Being Itself. It was as if I could hear the tree whispering: "It is I. It is I, and I am here. It is me and I will keep growing. It is me and I will not go away. It is me and I am not afraid. It is I, and I am not ashamed. It is I, and I am beautiful. It is I, and I am precious. It is I - rejoice."

For me, that tree symbolizes our vision for our new organization. We know what it means to be admitted to an inpatient unit, to be stripped of our personal belongings even to the point of being stripped of our own clothing, and put in hospital gowns.

We know what it means to be stripped of our dignity when we learn that there were separate bathrooms marked for staff and other ones for "the patients." We know what it means to suffer the loss of privacy and dignity as we had to line up in front of the nursing station and were told to drop our pants, bend over and get a shot of Prolixin Decanoate. We know what it means to be stripped of our dignity and privacy, and to have our own deepest wounds and personal stories discussed freely among many staff when our intent was to only share with one staff person.

We know what it means to be stripped of our voice, and to have our choices for our own lives be completely violated and ignored. We know what it means to be given huge doses of neuroleptic drugs which, even by conservative estimate, cause tardive dyskinesia in 20 percent of those receiving the drugs. We know what it is to never be informed of this and other disabling side effects, and to rarely if ever, be asked to give our informed consent to such treatment. We know what it means to have the sanctity of our bodies violated by involuntary or coercive physical therapies. We know what it means to be punished with medications. We know what it means to be so angry about being abused and violated in these ways and than to be told that our anger is not real and is merely a symptom of our disease.

We know what it means to feel so frightened that our bodies are trembling, and instead of being helped to feel safe, we are thrown into the empty void of a seclusion room. We know what it means to be so afraid that it feels like we are coming apart, and instead of being comforted, we are tied in a spread-eagle position in four-point restraint. We know what it means to feel such pain inside that we weep aloud, and instead of being consoled, we receive an increase in medication.

And we know what it means to be discharged from such inpatient programs into a community that does not want us. We know what it means to be further stripped of our pride under the lash of stigma and discrimination. We know what it means to lose jobs, our homes, our place in school, our families and friends. We know what it is like to be stripped of hope, to feel useless, unwanted, outcast, like so much refuse that has been pushed to the farthest fringes of humanity.

Yes, we know what it means to be stripped of our dignity, our voice, our privacy, our liberty, our civil rights, and our humanity. We know what it means to be a part of a system that systematically dehumanizes not only us, but the staff who work in it as well.

Just like that tree we know what it means to be stripped. But just like that tree we are survivors. Somehow we have managed to keep our spirit alive. We have not been crushed. We have not been destroyed. Despite the towering oppression that overshadows us, we have managed to put down roots that go deep into the ground. Despite the lack of appropriate services we have learned to bend and reach and grow toward the light. We have learned how to survive a hostile environment.

We have not been swept away by the cold winds of degradation and dehumanization. We have not been swept away because our humanity runs deeper than the degradation we have suffered. We have not been swept away because our souls reach deeper than the effects of the dehumanization which we have suffered. We have not been swept away because our will to live is stronger than the pedagogy of despair that we have endured. We have not been swept away because our love is stronger than all the dark and powerful forces of ignorance, stigma, discrimination, and fear.

We have not been swept away because we possess a power that is empowering. We possess a power that is stronger than the power of the system under which we have suffered oppression.

Our power begins with the recognition that we are not the problem. The problem, the barrier, the oppression is coming from out there in our environments.

We are not the problem. The problem is a mental health system which prescribes the role of learned helplessness, which encourages "mental patients" to abandon responsibility for their own lives, and which creates and fosters dependency in consumers.

We are not the problem. The problem is the stigma, fear, and ignorance of the general public who for instance, in my own town, suggested that a residential school for mentally ill children be built, not in a neighborhood, but on the median strip of some desolate highway.

We are not the problem. The problem is that the mental health system is built on a series of "catch 22's" and double binds. For instance there is the classic double bind of being told over and over again that we lack insight, and cannot be held responsible for our own lives and choices. We need professionals and family members to run our lives and make our choices for us. Then, once we learn this prescribed role and become expert mental patients, we are blamed for being irresponsible, and are told that when we are ready to help ourselves, when we are ready to take responsibility for our behavior, we will get well!

Or there is the other classic "catch 22" that we have all experienced: I mean they put us in mental hospitals because they say we are crazy. Then they tell us that in order to get out of the hospital all we need to do is gain enough insight to recognize that we really are crazy. They put us in for being crazy and will only let us out if we admit that we are crazy. Lets face it, that kind of double bind could drive you crazy.

So our power begins with the recognition that we are not the problem. We are not the problem but we have the power to create the solution. However, we must understand that the solution is not for us to simply become powerful in the same way that those who oppress us are powerful. This is the great danger. Empowerment does not mean simply transferring power from one group to another group. Empowerment does not mean that we aspire to become oppressors ourselves. But we have to be very careful or this is exactly what we will end up doing.

Part of what happens to people who live in oppressive situations is that we internalize the values and the opinions of those who oppress us. As victims of oppression we come to see ourselves and hate ourselves in the same way that our oppressors do. We find ourselves divided inside, both enraged with the ones who have the power over us and simultaneously aspiring to have a share in that power. As Bruce Curtis, a leader in the Disability Rights Movement put it: "Being disabled is no guarantee of sensitivity. As in all oppressed groups, discrimination teaches self hate and instills a deep desire to be a part of the privileged class."

The solution is not to become the oppressors of our oppressors. In order to avoid this pitfall we must undergo a radical change of heart and mind, and eject that internalized oppressor that dwells in us. We must undo the dehumanizing power of oppression by becoming as fully human as possible. We must recover and reclaim the fullness of our humanity. We must take up the awesome responsibility of our vocation to be as fully human as possible.

In order to eject the oppressor that we have internalized within ourselves we must affirm ourselves. We must affirm ourselves as being human beings whose lives are sacred and are of infinite values. We must affirm ourselves as having value, as having a unique and important contribution to make to our world. We are not broken things that need to be fixed and we are not defective rejects who need to be repaired. We are not ashamed of who we are. We are human beings. We are beautiful. We are the Beloved. Our lives are precious. We are each a delightful mystery that is unfolding and will never be repeated. We are each a wondrous creation who, by virtue of being human, have the vocation and the awesome responsibility to create our world and not to simply be created by it. This is what it means to affirm ourselves as fully human and thus to defeat the power of dehumanization.

And when we take up our vocation to be as fully human as possible, when we succeed in overcoming the oppression we have internalized, than we are prepared to risk an act of love. To risk an act of love means to care deeply about our brothers and sisters who are diagnosed with mental illness. It means to love one another enough to reach out and help our brothers and sisters who may be suffering anguish or despair. It means to love one another enough to share our experience, strength and hope with each other. It means to love one another enough to stand up in public, in front of the media and to risk saying, "I am a survivor of the mental health system and I am not ashamed." It means to love one another enough to dare to openly confront stigma and discrimination. It means to love one another enough to testify at congressional hearings, state hearings and local hearings, in order to educate the public and to change the laws that so affect our lives. To be empowered means to love one another enough that we take the risk to become a majority voice on mental health advisory boards to ensure that our needs are addressed. To be empowered means to take the time to educate staff, and to sensitize them to our experience. It means to take the time and effort to rehabilitate staff that is still caught up in a system that dehumanizes them.

To be empowered means to love one another enough to commit ourselves and our new organization to changing the mental health system into a community which helps us achieve the fullness of our human potential rather than robbing us of our humanity. That is what M-POWER is all about.

Power used for the sake of being powerful will corrupt the foundation of our new organization. The power, which comes from love, creates, transforms and makes everything new. For instance, consider another bare tree on which a man was hung naked on a cold and wet day. Like the little tree out by the pond he had been stripped of everything. But his roots ran deep and firm and he would not be swept away. Instead he spread out his arms; he achieved the fullness of his vocation and said, "Love one another." And with those words the towering majesty of the Roman Empire was brought to its knees and the course of Western Civilization was inalterably changed. So too, our love for ourselves and for one another will be the power that will empower us to transform the history of oppression we have suffered and to write a new story for ourselves. Lowell M-POWER is the first chapter in the new story. Congratulations, and I celebrate your achievement.