“The stigmatisation of mental illness is harmful particularly in that it renders mental illness and those living with mental illness invisible.” So says Ledet Muleta, a 37-year-old Ethiopian-born nurse who now lives in Washington, DC, the creator of the non-profit organisation Medixaa Health Services, which aims to fight against stigmatisation of mental illness across the African continent.
Her Huffington Post interview struck many chords with me but it’s this statement that got me out of my bed on a Sunday evening, already having chosen rest over writing. I read the interview with an anxiety I know quite well, pondering my own limitations and slow progress in broadening this message of hope in T&T and the wider Caribbean.
It is primarily hope that I want to inspire in the hearts and minds of those who live with mental illnesses and who embrace my journey.
My secondary motive is to move the cold, unenlightened hearts of the Government, trusting in my time at least one administration would listen intently enough to appreciate that they are doing this the wrong way—well in all fairness to them, they really are doing nothing.
Mental health is the biggest population health and public health issue that T&T faces and we are not facing it at all. One day, when it is too late, someone will come with a pompous speech to pronounce on policy. Already I have begun to pray the serenity prayer. Meanwhile, every country that’s worth its salt is invested and investing in public mental health and consequently mental illness.
So when Muleta hit on the phrase “renders invisible” you cannot imagine the jolt of pain, a bolt like none other, on an Olympics 100-metres-final Sunday evening, which left me in a murky place emotionally. I’ve been dejected since Sunday considering the pain that I am made to bear privately because I live and write in a society that pretends I do not exist.
Today I intended to talk about tolerance among family members but as I “listened” to Muleta’s interview, I saw so much of me and my country, it prompted another national tolerance appeal.
Muleta says, “My African heritage has always taught me to show sympathy to those who are elderly, sick, and those who need assistance” and I can relate to that. The deep grief I experience looking at the elderly who are without care, the pain of the matured lady by the traffic lights by the Port-of-Spain Central Market, looking dishevelled, hands outstretched, begging; the anguish every time I see someone with visible signs of a mental disorder on the street, living in neglect.
And the hurt of knowing that my country, for all its economic wealth, has not as yet showed its caring hand, unfortunately. We pride ourselves on all manner of so-called social interventions—food cards, CDAP programme, and such, but not on caring for the elderly, indigent, and mentally ill. We work overtime to keep some people invisible even, excluding them from our planning and development.
For many years I would pass our cemeteries and think the rundown manner in which we “house” our ancestors on whose work we thrive must be a reflection of who we are deep inside. In more recent times, I have reflected on the destitute, the displaced, and the mentally ill in society and realise our non-response or cursory attitude of “here doggie look a bone” (now and then) to those groups is what really defines our deeper selves.
Muleta continues, “My culture has also taught me to discriminate against those affected by mental illness”, another dilemma we share. And—like her, similarly for me—“Luckily that is a notion I have unlearned.”
A lot of responsibility for the continuation of the stigmatisation of mental illness and the lack of investiture or as I prefer to label it, the State’s intolerance of a community within its population, lies with the individuals who accede to the invisible status. Those of us who live with diagnosed mental disorders and illnesses somehow think that being invisible is a better position.
They may well be right because in the short-term, remaining invisible can work to see people maintain their jobs and social standing. But I wonder if those of us who are diagnosed ill and hide behind that excuse, have children or relatives who will live and grow up here. I wonder if we realise that if we do not stem the tide of bigotry now, it will only get worse for those after us.
I cannot afford that luxury. I look into the beautiful, innocent faces of my grandchildren and I ask God every night for one more day to advocate for the nation of T&T to make visible the people who live here with mental illnesses/disorders. I would hate my offspring to ever experience my diagnosis or the abandonment I am made to feel by my country.
Living without appropriate interventions is like having refugee (or is it refuge?) status in your own country.
• MORE INFO:http://www.huffingtonpost.com
/entry/new-film-by-ethiopian-nurse-combats-mental-health-stigmas-in-africa