In my 36 years in criminal defense you probably aren’t surprised to learn that I’ve seen a great many mentally ill people in jail and prison, as well as on the street. Many of them committed petty offenses, repeatedly, and were in and out of the revolving door of the “criminal justice” system over and over again.
The fact of the matter is, for the most part, if a person is severely mentally ill they are utterly incapable of comporting themselves in such a way as to avoid a parole or probation violation. Commonly they will refuse residential programs or get thrown out of them for not conforming to the rules. Also very commonly they will not comply with medication schedules.
If the person is flagrantly paranoid schizophrenic there is little to be done other than putting them in a locked facility where, hopefully, they can be appropriately medicated and maybe, eventually, can live in a setting where they don’t feel fearful.
Otherwise there is a very high likelihood that they will end up committing a violent act in what they perceive as self defense, or they will attempt to take their own lives, often successfully.
Obvious, right?
Well, a couple of weeks ago a man in his early 50’s with a 35+ year record of cycling thru the system was released on parole. They sent him to a residential program where he, a paranoid schizophrenic, was expected to share a room with another parolee. As you might imagine, this was never going to work out. And, of course, it didn’t.
I got a call at 5pm on Monday afternoon from him, begging me to come get him. I had not seen him in probably 15-20 years, and had never been to the place they had dropped him off, but I found it somehow. He has no friends, and no relatives he’s been in touch with for at least 12 years. Somehow, he still had my phone number.
He had brought with him from the prison an enormous amount of paperwork from various lawsuits and miscellaneous litigation he had been pursuing over the years in an effort to get fair and proper treatment within the prison system. A self-taught jailhouse lawyer who never really graduated high school, he had decided he could perhaps make a little money through these lawsuits to buy a tv and a fan for his cell and such, as well as get the medical and other help he so desperately needed.
From the beginning he said he knew he wouldn’t last more than a month on the streets of LA, that he would likely get re-arrested, get in a fight, be violated on his parole for something.
I found a place for him to stay for a few nights, but he immediately began to believe people were spying on him, going into his room when he left it, that the tv was watching him, that his phone calls were tapped, that people could see him through the mirror on the wall. He completely refused to take his medications, saying they would make him a zombie.
We went to the parole office to check in within the required 24 hours from his release. COVID meant we had to wait outside in the chilly wind for a total of about 4 hours as no one was allowed inside. They gave him lists of shelters and such, like that was going to do anything with all the shelters jammed to capacity every damned night. His eyesight is so poor and he was in desperate need of new glasses, so he couldn’t read much of it anyhow, even if he had a phone to call them, which he didn’t.
He had nothing but a prison ID, no medical card although he was approved, and only the cash he had, in fact, made from his litigation. Most of that he had spent over the years since his successful lawsuit, but he still had enough for some food, a few new clothes he very much needed (he was released wearing a pair of long shorts and a long sleeved shirt, with very little else as somehow his attempt to buy “parole clothes” didn’t work) and some room rent.
He of course, had no idea how to navigate the “social services” system that often requires being on hold for hours, or using a computer that most don’t have access to— all the libraries are still closed, of course, so there’s not even that— assuming they know how to use a computer for that in the first place.
Well, that was not quite two and a half weeks ago. Tonight I had to call 911 because he called me to say he couldn’t deal with being out of prison and that he was going to commit suicide.
A little while later I got a call from an officer who said the emergency mental health unit had picked him up and they would let me know where he was to be housed. A court proceeding will be held to determine where things go from here.
All I can say is, the “system” has been failing him at least since he was in juvenile court back when he was 13. Now what?
To say I am angry, frustrated, distraught— there are no words and there is no “system” in existence that’s going to work for this man. Or for all the thousands of other mentally ill men and women on the streets of Los Angeles, throughout California, and all over this country.
You want to call this a “civilized” country? A “great” country?
No, whatever you do for the least of these— that’s what counts. And so far as I have seen in my professional life, we are an abject failure!
{Update: The officer called at 2:19 a.m. to confirm there’s a mental health hold on him, and details of where he’s being housed. Of course I was not awake and it went straight to voicemail, but at least he is not on the street. For now.]