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Slavery by Another Name by It is 1947 and ice picks are being hammered into skulls. The patient lays on the small, metal bed, subdued by electroshock therapy in preparation for the lobotomy. The blunt ice pick is being inserted directly above the eyeball, blindly moving up and down to sever the brain fibers, to mute the patient's personality, inhibitions, memories, and emotions--the pure core of them. Sheets of Pacific Northwest rain mourn the loss through barbed wire windows. Later, a wire knife with an open steel loop at the end is being inserted through holes in the skull to remove the unwanted brain tissue. The procedure takes ten minutes. The deserted Western State Mental Hospital gloomily sprawls across 264 acres of land just outside of Tacoma, Washington. Its burdened secrets and depraved ghosts swim in the nearby Puget Sound, some say, splashes of maltreatment revealed with their every move. Paint has long chipped away here, and the decrepit walls now read red graffiti warnings: in silence they scream. Never forget forced death. Forced death. Perhaps it's like someone stealing the sweater of your mind, like a zombie, a doctor telling you that now, finally now, you will be normal. The father of the lobotomy, Dr. Walter Freeman is quoted to say the "lobotomy gets them home." Whose home are they getting to? It is 1952 and Western's inhabitants are tightly packed into crumbling dorms designed to house half that. There are 14 doctors and 38 student nurses caring for 2,700 patients, less than a third of what national standards call for. Trails of filth, ethical misconduct, and budget cut grumbles echo down the hallways. Rumors of certain wards becoming brothels for soldiers from nearby Fort Lewis are whispered and screamed throughout the dorms, but fail to reach newspapers. Sixty years pass and some patients speak up, detailing stories of child abuse, rape by doctors, malnutrition, neglect. All cases are dismissed. It is 2016 and our prisons are overflowing; slavery by another name. Sixty-one percent of prison industrial complex bargaining chips are suffering from a mental illness. Locked in closed cages, various pills for mis-diagnosed disorders rattling in paper cups. Put away. This is the hospital now. This is "getting rehabilitated." This is what your white news anchors want you to be scared of, what they mean when they say "lost cause." On the outside, privileged white girls with an anxiety diagnosis are urged to "self-care" with mountains of soft pillows and anti-depressants and cat GIFS. On the inside, souls are crushed under orange jumpsuits, tracked, labeled, bartered. Lives are exported from humanity like society's unwanted brain tissue. So what is broken? Faulty neurotransmitters? Broken systems? Broken laws? "Broken families?" Please, show me a family that's whole. Show me a culture that prioritizes mental wellness over pharmaceutical companies. Show me support systems that let us possess our brokenness like splintering mirrors, that don't try to fix us. Show me a world where we are all more than case files and waiting rooms, medical bills and banishment. Show me a world that values its beings, as "broken" as we may be. Kayla Blau is a Seattle based writer, social worker, and community organizer. |
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