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Why aren’t we more shocked that mentally ill people spend time in police cells because we lack beds?

Wanting to care about mental illness is not the same as caring.

A female dormitory at the Broadmoor Asylum in 1867. We haven’t moved on as far from this as we like to think. Photo: Hulton Archive/Getty Images

I supposed I should be horrified that a 16-year old girl suffering from severe mental illness was forced to spend two nights in a police cell while waiting for a hospital bed. I’ve tried to be but I’m not. The whole thing seems so fitting for a country in which the most painful aspects of mental illness remain behind closed doors. Stigma might be talked about in the vaguest of terms – we might even be familiar with the one-in-four statistic – but wanting to care about mental illness is not the same as actually caring.

The truth is, most of us don’t care about those suffering from severe mental illness, at least not when the latter are showing obvious symptoms. We want “the mentally ill” to be witty, insightful, inspired by their torment, or failing that, at least out on the other side (“I have good days and bad…”). That mental illness can be ugly, unremitting, embarrassing, hopeless, is not something for which our standard narrative allows. Is it any wonder, then, that we don’t have resources to cope with the kind of crises in which individuals require full, unconditional support? Is it at all surprising that, according to Mark Winstanley of Rethink, “each year thousands of people with severe mental illness are being held in police cells”? After all, they must be somewhere. We know they exist, if only because of the few occasions when their suffering holds our interest.

The Daily Mail reports on the “Fury as mentally ill girl, 16, is kept in police cells for two nights”. But it’s the same Daily Mail that delights in emphasising severe mental illness as a causal factor in violent crime, and which merrily lists new supposed “causes” for schizophrenia – soil, cat faeces, air pollution – without focusing on the needs of sufferers in the here and now (unless it’s in a foreign country, in which case disapproval of someone else’s brutal approach to treatment is de rigeur).

Last week Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg announced the formation of a new mental health taskforce. Buried in amongst the hopeful rhetoric on “turn[ing] a corner on outdated attitudes” and “the whole of society […] providing […] care and support” were some pretty clear expectations:

One in four people in the UK will experience a mental health problem and it costs the country more than £100 billion. This is too big an issue for the NHS to deal with alone.

The whole of Government needs to combine its efforts and pool its resources to help the millions of people whose mental health condition is preventing them from getting on in life.

You get the sense that people with mental illness are seen as a drain. We need to help them “get on in life”. Terrifying them with Work Capability Assessments isn’t working. How do we make them more productive? We’ll “fight stigma” (but in the meantime, let’s not allow those prison cell beds to get cold).

As a recovered anorexic who still suffers from mild depression, I have the kind of mental health background that is easy to sugar-coat. It is not without pain but I am functional. I could tell you all about My Road to Recovery or My Anorexic Hell. I still embarrass people when I mention the worst parts, but at least I now know how to edit the whole sorry tale. I know it’s not like that for everyone. The last time I was in hospital I discharged myself early because I didn’t want to be around “the really mad people”. I was both frightened and disgusted by them. I am ashamed of this – deeply ashamed – but not so much that I don’t forget about them most of the time. Other than for people who are very close to me, my concern for severely ill patients is fragile, easily destroyed by all the things I don’t understand.

Recently I’ve been reading Elaine Showalter’s The Female Malady, a study of madness and English culture between 1830 and 1980. It’s one of those books that allow the reader to look to the past and feel horror – and perhaps a little smugness – at how far we’ve come. Gone are the days of Victorian “moral management”.  Psychiatric Darwinism, with its obsessive focus on eugenics, is no more. We no longer send “difficult” relatives and recalcitrant women to waste away in institutions. It is tempting to think of ourselves as enlightened. But mental illness is still with us, and so too is prejudice and neglect.

What would someone from the future, writing about mental health care in one of the world’s wealthiest countries, say about us? Can you believe they used to lock people with severe mental illness in police cells? Can you believe they used to find a reduced life expectancy of 20 years perfectly okay? Can you believe that schizophrenia patients were characterised as violent and dangerous? Can you believe that politicians used to talk about combatting stigma while allowing anyone who couldn’t be a poster child for mental illness to waste away? If we cannot summon up the empathy to be shocked right now (not just at one news story, but at all the lives being written off every day), then I hope those who come after us will be shocked on our behalf. And I hope they are shocked not because, as ever, it’s easier to judge the past than the present. I hope they are shocked because they’re better people than we are managing to be.

Glosswitch is a feminist mother of three who works in publishing.

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Theresa May missed an easy opportunity on EU citizens' rights

If the UK had made a big, open and generous offer, the diplomatic picture would be very different.

It's been seven hours and 365 days...and nothing compares to EU, at least as far as negotiations go.

First David Davis abandoned "the row of the summer" by agreeing to the EU's preferred negotiating timetable. Has Theresa May done the same in guaranteeing the rights of EU citizens living here indefinitely?

Well, sort of. Although the PM has said that there have to be reciprocal arrangements for British citizens abroad, the difficulty is that because we don't have ID cards and most of our public services are paid for not out of an insurance system but out of general taxation, the issues around guaranteeing access to health, education, social security and residence are easier.

Our ability to enforce a "cut-off date" for new migrants from the European Union is also illusory, unless the government thinks it has the support in parliament and the logistical ability to roll out an ID card system by March 2019. (It doesn't.)

If you want to understand how badly the PM has managed Britain's Brexit negotiations, then the rights of the three million EU nationals living in Britain is the best place to start. The overwhelming support in the country at large for guaranteeing the rights of EU citizens, coupled with the deep unease among Conservative MPs about not doing so, meant that it was never a plausible bargaining chip. (That's before you remember that the bulk of the British diaspora in Europe lives in countries with small numbers of EU citizens living in the UK. You can't secure a good deal from Spain by upsetting the Polish government.) It just made three million people, their friends and their families nervous for a year and irritated our European partners, that's all.

If the United Kingdom had made a big, open and generous offer on citizens' rights a year ago, as Vote Leave recommended in the referendum, the diplomatic picture would be very different. (It would be better still if, again, as Vote Leave argued, we hadn't triggered Article 50, an exit mechanism designed to punish an emergent dictatorship that puts all the leverage on the EU27's side.)

As it happens, May's unforced errors in negotiations, the worsening economic picture and the tricky balancing act in the House of Commons means that Remainers can hope both for a softer exit and that they might yet convince voters that nothing compares to EU after all. (That a YouGov poll shows the number of people willing to accept EU rules in order to keep the economy going stretching to 58 per cent will only further embolden the soft Brexiteers.)

For Brexiteers, that means that if Brexit doesn't go well, they have a readymade scapegoat in the government. It means Remainers can credibly hope for a soft Brexit – or no Brexit at all. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to domestic and global politics.

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