In all our sanctuaries we sit at risk
  • Mental Health Witness – are UK services getting worse ?

    I was at an event at the Poetry Society in London the other night, celebrating the 21st anniversary of a small charity concerned with mental health and creativity. The charity’s Chair stood up and suggested that mental health services are actually worse now than they were when the charity was founded, all those years ago.

    That was a big and unpleasant thought. I have worked in or on the edges of mental health services for all those 21 years and actually much more. Do I think he’s right ?

    Certainly his own small charity is receiving less funding than it ever has before, to the point of reducing its activities almost to nothing. The same is happening to other agencies which until recently provided an important and sustaining service to people with mental health problems, and now cannot.

    Certainly too, over the years, dire reports on the mental health services in general have kept coming out, one report after another declaring emergency and failure, and often naming a culprit  – social prejudice, insufficient staff training, insufficient staff empathy,  poor communication between agencies, lack of money, whatever. The reports are headlined in the press and then we forget about them again. Until the next one. The succession implies no real progress, at best.

    And, over the years, I have witnessed successive governments stride into power, rolling up their sleeves, saying “Right, we’ll sort this one, we’ve got the answers, the last lot were useless, let’s chuck everything up in the air again, make ’em all scurry and worry, here and there, until some bright new building is in place, with our name on it, solving everything. The care-practitioners will lie about exhausted, abused and disorientated, and we’ll take all the credit.” But somehow nothing much gets solved, the new building looks immediately as tatty and unfit for purpose as the old one, and the practitioners’ exhaustion just continues and continues. Then a new government gets in and throws everything up in the air again.

    Much more impressively, much more importantly, I have witnessed, and still keep witnessing, people of calibre and real commitment making it their life’s work and whole meaning to bring amelioration into this dire and complex  territory, to plant the seed, to stem the flow – despite and behind all the political mis-diagnoses and flimsy shows, evasions, dogmas and blame-games.

    Certainly, there is a list of policies and developments I can bring to mind which I can say consititute improvement, or at least have good in them and are progressive. I am writing this piece at a late stage of my own working life in mental health care and should set out that list soon. While some of it will inevitably be subjective, it will help me in my assessment of my own life’s work, as well as that of many peers I respect. It will help me understand the value and profit of all that aspiration, all those working hours, way longer than the job description specified, all those relationships, all that hope and good intent, all that application of creative and well-intentioned human energy.

    But here and now I need to answer that question left hanging in my second paragraph.  Do I think that, overall, the UK’s mental health services have improved or deteriorated in the last 21 years or more ?

    Answer : I have worked as intelligently and as alertly as I can, at or near the work-face of mental health services, in a locality where they are probably better than in many other parts of the UK. That experience suggests to me that, for several years after the large psychiatric hospitals closed and Community Care was introduced, services improved – though always against a strong head-wind brought about by various insufficiencies : a lack of resources, a too frequent  insufficiency of professional skill, quality and co-ordination and, in too many cases and areas, insufficient variety and consistency of therapeutic response.  And they improved precisely into that head-wind  – through gradually accumulating more community resources, with greater variety and complexity to meet the immense range of need that exists in this field ; through improving inter-disciplinary co-ordination ; and through finding and developing approaches and interventions that can help and sustain vulnerable people in the community on a long term basis where necessary.

    Then – and I can’t say exactly when, and maybe there is no exact or single “when” – the reverse started happening. Resources started to decrease again ; the complexity brought about by experience began to be replaced by single answer dogmatism and radical and over-simple fundamentalist policies imposed from centre ; wheels started turning full circle so that things once known and accepted became as if they’d never been, platforms once built from a place of practice-learning began to be withdrawn in the name of new theory, leading back to an old familiar pit of nothingness.

    So this is my answer to the question. Yes, of course, something has been achieved after all these years of work in this very difficult part and corner of human experience. But recently, something else has intervened which threatens a great deal of that achievement, so that there is a real sense in which mental health services overall are indeed worse now than they were twenty one years ago. Something terrible and perhaps unforgiveable has happened, for reasons and with causes hard to understand. Something hard-won has been  surrendered, given up. Crucial knowledge painfully come by has been passed over and spurned and now lies neglected in the dust, as if it never took form and does not belong.

    Can this that I have said really be true ? If so, what has happened ? Can it be  named ? Am I, in my position, qualified to make the attempt at naming ?

    I believe in some ways I am.  I shall try this naming exercise on my own terms and from my own place, as honestly and as carefully as I can manage.  In the process, I must leave statistics and laboratory findings to those who work in such territories. I shall wander and search out, seeking particular anecdote and example that seem meaningful and representative of more general tendencies and changes afoot. I shall come at the issue in whatever way I can, and from whatever angle, trying to tease it out into the open.

    As I explore the theme, I shall keep posting onto this blog, using the same title as the one I’ve used above – “Mental Health Witness.” I shall keep the posts shortish and the angles they come from and styles they take may vary, since this matter is not simple, nor one-dimensional and cannot be approached as if it were. Mine is not the only witness and in putting it together, I shall refer to and consult with others whom I trust, when it seems relevant to do so and when I can. But ultimately I must take my own responsibility for what is written here.

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  • The Dry Fly Fisherman

    I was with some young people during the Christmas holiday. I liked them a lot and wanted them to flourish, for all our sakes. They were vividly awake to the difficulties in front of them,  and were discussing how to take their next steps,  what risks and uncertainty seemed justifiable, what strategies to deploy for their talents to gain purchase and credit, for their lives to mean something and not go waste. Feeling for them, I remembered an image I have turned to before, the dry-fly fisherrman, a sort of “Zen and the Art of…”

    The young people seemed to like it, so I have set it out here too,  this New Year’s Eve.

    Picture the dry-fly fisherman.

    There he stands in the flow of the stream, thigh-deep in water. The current whirls around and past him. But he is concentrated, his movements circumscribed and pre-ordained.

    He flexes his back and arms, to send the rod arching on before him so that the line flashes further still across the surface of the water. Yards and yards of perfect reach. The fly comes to rest, an inch or two above the surface, but too briefly to be seen, and then flicks back – over and behind the fisherman’s head – as he and the rod flex again and the long oval continues and continues.

    And all the while as the water gurgles, the rod and line are singing as if a strong wind is using them as reeds.

    The fisherman stays intent. He is the centre of each cast and it relies absolutely on the committed perfection of all his movements. He takes joy in his action, in his placing, in his place, in this time. If he thought of a catch, a hit, an end, he would lose equanimity and his cast would suffer, making the catch less likely. He is given over entirely to his instruments and their proper deployment, this moment and its proper living.

    Let the fisherman keep casting his line. Let each cast seem to hang in the air as the next one comes to join it.

    Let him persist in his joy and continue endlessly prolific with his casting.

    I remember this picture whenever I become distraught at my lack of progress or achievement !

                                                  Rogan Wolf
                                                   October 2006

     

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  • Fable 6 – Jason on the Walls

    I am adding Fable Six here to the pieces uploaded in previous posts (see further down on the blog for the earlier Fables).  In “Jason on the Walls,” we find ourselves in an ancient Greek landscape for a discussion on hope, leadership and decision-making. With relief, but in grief,  Jason gives up the leadership of his fresh-built city in favour of a battered staff and a pair of sandals. He looks forward to a future of pontificating in the sun to doubtful audiences.

    Fables Six belongs in a series called “Fables and Reflections” which consists of sixteen pieces in all.

    Each piece takes just a few minutes to read. I am uploading them one at a time, every month or so.  The idea behind this approach is that people running all day just to keep up, are more likely to read them in short doses and at intervals.

    But for those who prefer them all at once, here is a link to the sixteen together.

    The series is a set of essays written after a working life spent in the care services, primarily in the field of mental health. It thus records what I learned and saw during  all that time deployed at one of Society’s many fault-lines dividing Have from Have-not, Them from Us, I from Other. In a sense you can say that, in exploring the constituents of community here, and at this time of strain and fragmentation, frantic materialism and crude  zealotry,  the series asks and discusses what are the binding and redemptive skills of true human connection, the skills of love, the skills of being human.

    If anyone finds value or virtue in these Fables and Reflections, please send word of them to people you know who you think might want to read them. You could simply pass on this blog address, or, alternatively,  I am happy to e-mail them individually as attachments to people who would find that easier. I am already doing that for some people.  I would also be happy to send hard copy versions by surface mail.  If that is your preference, just send me your address.

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  • A Statement of Principle in time for Christmas

    I suspect that many of us see “principle” as something we can just hive off and leave in airy-fairy land while we hurry out to do our Christmas shopping.  So I’ll say straightaway that, on the contrary,  true and meaningful principle may in the end be the only fact that counts, far more significant and substantive than most of the stinging and hollow details with which we fill our days, calling these “facts”.

    The statement of principle set out below has just been written for Companies House. I run a charity called “Hyphen-21” which seeks to support the skills of love and healthy human connection in a Society whose economy in those currencies is – I suggest – presently in deeper recession than anything in its financial systems. Hyphen-21 is also a company, though not a commercial one and not in it for financial gain.  Every year, both the charity commissioners and Companies House require accounts and a report from all the many bodies, large and small, operating in the UK under their jurisdiction.

    Although this obligation can of course be a bit of a chore, I genuinely value and appreciate the principle behind it and the reason for it. I also rather love the process by which, around deadline time, all those couriers converge on the various buildings called Companies House around the country, to post their fat envelopes through the letterboxes just in time to avoid a time penalty. A few days before December 31st, I shall be joining the crowd hurrying to Companies House in Victoria, London. Maybe, I shall find myself standing behind a courier sent by HSBC or Barclays or News Corp. Maybe a courier sent by Starbucks or Google will stand behind me.

    Up to now, earlier versions of the statement of principle I am publishing here have been included in the introduction of my annual report on “Hyphen-21” sent to the Companies House and the Charity Commission. Henceforward, the statement will stand on its own.  Here it is :

    A Statement of Principle

    The charity Hyphen-21 is founded on the recognition that there is such a thing as community, after all. Human life cannot be just a lifelong grab for self, for me and for mine, my tribe, my possessions, my outward shows. my doing for me and for mine whatever-I-can-get-a-wye-wiv. That is death in life and visits death on others. We belong to community, we become through community.  Not only does community therefore exist, it matters centrally, an essential element of each individual’s welfare, meaning and survival. By definition, community means relationship and connection. Therefore, if community, and hence humanity, are to survive, the skills of creating and maintaining healthy and health-instilling relationship and connection have to be of central interest and in confident and widespread operation. The charity’s  very title refers to the hyphen which connects Me to Thee (from the theologian Martin Buber’s book “I and Thou.” The book contrasts two polarities of relating to Otherness – the mode “I-It”  and the mode “I-Thou”). Maybe, in a rushing world, the only solid ground that remains to us is the precarious slash that joins Me to Thee. This is where we have to build.

    Even naming the skills of connection is hard, but practising them is harder still. For now, let us just say that they start from the principle that “You” are no less the centre of the universe than “I”  am. The Universe speaks through you as crucially and as miraculously as it speaks through me. Therefore, we need to attend to each other with some care, if not awe. The future of at least this part of the Universe may depend on how well and truthfully we make connection.

    But how can I then achieve this mystery of human connection ? The Metta Sutra, a Buddhist tract on neighbourliness, talks about practising the “skills of love” as a requirement for satisfactory living, but does not go into detail on what constitutes those skills. The therapist Carl Rogers offers some clues, finding that “Warmth, Genuiness and Accurate Empathy” are what make the difference in a therapeutic relationship. Does this Rogerian triad constitute the elements of love ? Can that word love be used with confidence outside a pop song or place of worship ? Can the word be used with confidence as a description of the basis of a professional set of skills, the essential bindings of a civilised society ?

    Hyphen-21 and the position it takes seem not to sweep people along, or attract them in hordes. There is no sense of being part of a movement here. On the contrary, the position seems to be a defensive one, even fugitive. But if we think in terms of fraught frontiers and what a temptation it is to build barbed wire fences along them, and from these defences strike at worrying outsiders from “over there”, in case they strike first, then any insights we can offer on how to build bridges across the divide, how to break down barriers between Us and Them, how to ride the hyphen that creates real connection, those insights may be of use, however small the scale or isolated the instance. And we do keep hearing from individuals who contact from time to time that this or that initiative described on the Hyphen-21 site has influenced practice and behaviour elsewhere.

    Now, a few years into the twenty-first millennium, the principles underlying this small charity are more sharply thrown into relief than ever, as retrograde and ultimately lawless forces move in on non- profit making organisations associated with service, such as the NHS, and challenge and undermine  the principles of “regulation” and central planning, found over years to be necessary for equity, fairness and social health. That hooligan process goes hand in hand with astonishing abuses, and overweening and irresponsible greed manifest everywhere and at all levels, whatever national political parties are in power. The quantitative and materialist standards and measures and perspectives once restricted to the grocer’s shop seem now to have spread far past their appropriate boundaries, a process of global colonisation to which no one has yet found an answer. Christ, struggling to meet the challenge of the Pharisees, said “Give unto Caesar…” But what if this Caesar of the greasy till has monopolised the whole world and all worlds, inner as well as outer ? Then there is nothing left to give to God, whoever God ever was or is or may yet be. We have to find answers, we have to find ground. Whenever we do, on whatever scale, we must proclaim and hold.

    Hyphen-21 works along just a few fraught frontiers and we promote and focus on just a few initiatives. Several are in the area of the mental health services, positioned as they are at a fundamental fault-line, one of the most fraught frontiers of all, running through all societies and in a sense through every individual. We all fear “losing it.” That and the fear of death are perhaps the two greatest fears of all.

    The initiatives we emphasise do not grow much in number and several established ones do not necessarily advance very far. But that does not mean they are neglected. Several, once on the map, need constant tending, constant defending, so that reporting on them annually can sometimes feel difficult. Sometimes one cannot record an obvious amount of progress. One can only refer to the struggle of keeping a thing alive. But in some cases, that has taken more energy, and represents more of an achievement, than some easy advance might have done.

    This statement should end by mentioning the project “Poems for…”

    At first sight,  it seems to stand out from the rest of the Charity’s activities, not just for the fact that it is the only one which (sometimes) receives funding, but because it has to do with the arts. Certainly, by and large, it is less of a grind, less hard graft, more easily digested and more commonly supported, than the other projects with which the Charity is engaged.

    But the principles behind it are also Hyphen principles. These poems on public display,  most of them bilingual, offer and describe vivid human connection across a divide. In a sense, the Project’s poems, when they are able to act on people, function in the same way as those conversations between police cadets and ex-psychiatric patients that have been part of the Charity’s work, or that code of painfully honed words,  chipped from bad memories, whose aim is to make psychiatric ward rounds more sensitive and respectful to the people at the receiving end. The poems too cross a frontier and, in doing so, enhance and redeem community. In securing community, we redeem ourselves.

                                                                Rogan Wolf, December 2012

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  • Freedom of the Press does not mean Free Speech

    With Leveson now published, and much debate on the subject being reported, I think it is worth pointing out  that the Internet is not the only elephant in the room in these discussions.

    So long as newspapers are owned by super-rich oligarchs, ex-pornographers and the like, and mirror or reflect in any way the views and prejudices and over-weening habits of such individuals, those newspapers are not free and what they say is not free. They act in effect as fiefdoms for their owners and the words they publish are words enslaved. If we are to look in the editorials of the Sun for what Murdoch thinks, then we are reading there the words of a Murdoch creature, a dot orc from Murdor, not a free individual speaking his own truth based on what he finds or sees.

    The origins of the word “free” are interesting. Read the Franklin’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. The Franklin concludes with the question, who was the most “fre” of the three protagonists ? By “fre,” the Franklin meant something very different from our understanding of “free.”  He meant noble, large-souled, liberal, generous of spirit, self-sacrificing in the cause of some higher principle.   Our present  “free”  has been reduced to meaning merely unrestricted and egocentric and this in turn is seen as a pure good. But unrestricted and egocentric is not a pure good. To leave people “free” to let their dogs shit in the park is not a pure good and most of us recognise that, which is why the fairly recent law which results in dog owners following their pets around with little plastic bags in their hands, is a good law and is generally respected.

    Following that principle, I am all for very tight regulation of whatever of the press can be regulated, thereby restricting them from shitting in the park of the body politic, so that true free speech can thrive and be trusted, in its redoubts, and the oligarchs be held in check.

    And following the dog-shit image, I often find myself using it to assess other contemporary behaviours, associated with “freedom.” For instance, is the accumulation of extreme individual wealth, so that you have far more money than you need, a worthy aim, a worthy expression of freedom, or merely a nasty habit, an anti-social act ? Is the rich individual a human  “success” or merely someone who allows his dog to shit in the park, at the expense of his or her community ?

    Emily Bell has salutory things to say in the Guardian today. See : http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/nov/28/leveson-irrelevant-21st-century-journalism

     

     

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  • The Resignation of Denis MacShane

    Denis MacShane was Minister for Europe under Tony Blair.  He brought a wider and more cultured vision and experience to that role than many politicians and activists  ever get near, at least in this country. For instance, he  translated into English a Brecht poem for “Poems on the Underground”.  He also responded positively to a slightly grandiose letter from me  in 2003, suggesting that the project I run called “Poems for…” could play a role in connecting people and improving understanding across Europe. Ten poems-posters resulted, one from each of the countries joining the EU at the time. Each poem had a good English translation printed alongside. The Arts Council helped the FCO fund the venture and the poet Fiona Sampson helped me select the poems. At an FCO open day in 2004, enlargements of the posters were displayed along two sides of  Durbar Court at King Charles Street, and looked thoroughly at home there.  Weeks previously, Macshane had lost his daughter Clare Barnes. She was  sky diving over Melbourne in Australia when her parachute failed to open. As I understand it, MacShane was away for a week to attend to the funeral. Then he was back at his desk.  Ministers have to keep running. I believe there has been further family loss and grief since.

    Denis MacShane was recently found guilty of malpractice in the claiming of his expenses and has resigned from his job as MP.

    These are my thoughts :

    1/ He was wrong to act as he did with regard to the claims.

    2/ The good he has done across a wide spectrum of activity over a period of years  far far outweighs the ill  he did over the claims.

    3/ His daughter’s death, and other family travails which possibly resulted from that, could and should have been seen and taken into account as a mitigating circumstance. It is a cause of serious concern that they were not. What are we becoming ? At whose hands ? What are we allowing of ourselves ?

    4/ I forced myself to go through the string of reader comments that followed the online announcement of his resignation, either on guardianunlimited or in The Independent, I can’t remember which. I found those comments disgusting and repellant and a great deal more indicative of human failure than any fault MacShane committed. Old women knitting gleefully and malevolently as a good head rolled.  The lesser squealing with excitement as a greater was pulled down.

    Here is a poem I wrote, sooner after hearing of his daughter’s death. Suddenly – Cut…

    In Praise of Sky Diving

    dedicated to Clare Barnes and her family

    I have raced the Earth as it curves
    into the dark.
    I have made light

    of Eternity. Suddenly – Cut :
    and all the Earth can be
    now is breaker of my fall.

    So too the Greeks of saga
    died in their youth
    from marvellous height.

    Rogan Wolf
                    April 04

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  • Fable 5 – The Fisherman who Stopped Bailing

    I am adding Fable Five here to the pieces uploaded in previous posts (see below). Called “The Fisherman who Stopped Bailing,” it contrasts two different responses to life’s demands  – give yourself over to a life of bailing your own leaky boat until your energy runs out, or risk trusting others to co-operate with you in building a larger vessel, with better chance of weathering the storms.

    Fable Five belongs in a series called “Fables and Reflections” which consists of sixteen pieces in all.

    Each piece takes just a few minutes to read. I am uploading them one at a time, every three weeks or so. The idea behind this approach is that people running all day just to keep up, are more likely to read them in short doses and at intervals.

    But for those who prefer them all at once, here is a link to the sixteen together.

    The series is a set of essays written after a working life spent in the care services, primarily in the field of mental health. It thus records what I learned and saw during  all that time deployed at one of Society’s many fault-lines dividing Have from Have-not, Them from Us, I from Other. In a sense you can say that, in exploring the constituents of community here, and at this time of strain and fragmentation, frantic materialism and crude  zealotry,  the series asks and discusses what are the binding and redemptive skills of true human connection, the skills of love, the skills of being human.

    If anyone finds value or virtue in these Fables and Reflections, please send word of them to people you know who you think might want to read them. You could simply pass on this blog address, or, alternatively,  I am happy to e-mail them individually as attachments to people who would find that easier. I am already doing that for some people.  I would also be happy to send hard copy versions by surface mail.  If that is your preference, just send me your address.

    PS. Well done and thank-you, Mr President. Well done and thank-you, America.

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  • In fervent hope of the re-election of Barak Obama

    I wrote the poem below in 2008, in wonder, delight and trepidation at the election of Barack Obama. Was America ready for this wonderful development ? The answer would appear to be, barely. Four years later, he is still there, but has had to fight for every inch of movement into the light, restrained and restricted by blind, frantic and self-deceiving opposition. They are obstructing their own only hope. If he can bear it, he needs another four years, for all our sakes.

    The Election of Barak Obama

    We needed chance to support this wonder –
    not just the mechanics of evolution
    littered with sacrifice and the dead,
    nudging us on towards an edge –

    but the chance of two disgraceful terms
    and an opponent always too old, whose “maverick” heart
    stalled at the crunch on fear and hate
    wooing it in others and betraying himself ;

    and then a thirst across America –
    distraught in days of loss and fracture –   
    for something clean, fresh and remarkable
    to be proud of and to lift the spirit ;

    but then too we needed this man
    from nowhere and from everywhere
    who knew the time was his to claim
    and saw his line   

    and held it and stayed upright             
    through months of hurricane.
    Treasure him.
    Keep him safe.

                                                                                 Rogan Wolf
                                                                                 05.11.08

    And now here is the first part of another, much longer, poem, first begun in 1990. It features the Last Emperor of Byzantium. By the time he was crowned in Mystras, southern Greece, Byzantium was already largely a memory, no longer an empire, heir of Rome, just a patch of land in Greece ; and the great capital city of Constantinople was already encircled. a depleted relic of former times.  So what was this man being crowned to do ?  What defend ? What stand for ? These days, I think of this passage every time there is an American presidential election.

    The Last Emperor of Byzantium

    Who will be the last emperor ?
    Who will volunteer ?
    Who will wear, for us,
    the crown of our disaster,
    saying, this is worth my life
    and the lives
    of all who remain here with me,
    my neighbours. This.
    This flapping rag our banner.
    This rubble we call battlements
    which all night guards us
    and all night we guard.
    These dead hollow squares
    whose shattered paving stones
    now make room for thistles
    and the yellow grass
    lanes for shy lizards
    and hushed games
    for doomed children. This slow
    striding of ragged towers
    which do, despite all, constitute the lines
    of a great city, frontage and establishment
    of one way of being reasonably civilised.
    If to be human has been valid here,
    the long and terrible trail of our history
    may yet be vindicated. But now ?
    Have we anything here
    actual and worthy to defend ?
    Who will be the last emperor ?
    Who will volunteer ?

    Rogan Wolf

    1990

     

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