Noteworthy News Articles on Mental Health Topics, August 27-28,
20
Mentally Ill Endure Racial Bias
Erica Goode, New York Times- 8/27/2001
The United States' ethnic and racial minorities face large and troubling disparities in
mental health care, the surgeon general said yesterday in a broad and comprehensive report
that offered a rare look at the mental health needs and obstacles to treatment of four
minority groups. Minorities in the United States, the surgeon general, Dr. David Satcher,
said, "suffer a disproportionate burden of mental illness" because people in
those groups often have less access to services than other Americans, receive
lower-quality care and are less likely to seek help when they are in distress.
Although serious mental disorders such as depression, schizophrenia,
panic disorder, manic depression and substance abuse occur in all races, ethnicities and
socioeconomic classes, Satcher said, members of minority groups tend to be overrepresented
among those most vulnerable and in need of mental health treatment, including the poor,
the homeless, the institutionalized, the incarcerated and the survivors of traumatic
experiences. And because of the stigma attached to mental illness in some minority
cultures, he said, members of those groups are often reluctant to use services, even when
they are available. "We have got to find a way to bridge the gap between the need and
the access to services," Satcher said yesterday in a telephone interview before the
release of the report at a news conference at the American Psychological Association's
annual meeting in San Francisco.
He called for more research in an area that is little studied and for
more cultural awareness on the part of mental health professionals. He also recommended
increased efforts to address the needs of minority groups in shaping the delivery of
services, educating the public and integrating mental health treatment with general
medical care. As he has done in the past, Satcher endorsed insurance coverage for mental
illness comparable to that for physical ills.
The 200-page report, "Mental Health: Culture, Race and
Ethnicity," is based on peer-reviewed research from disciplines as varied as mental
health, history, sociology and anthropology. It examines virtually every aspect of mental
health and illness, including the prevalence and diagnosis of disorders, the services that
are available, insurance issues and the cultures of both practitioners and patients.
Individual chapters are devoted to the mental health concerns of African Americans,
Hispanic Americans, Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, and American Indians and Alaska
natives. The report is a supplement to the "Surgeon General's Report on Mental
Health," which Satcher issued in 1999.
Dr. Renato Alarcon, the vice chairman of psychiatry at Emory University
and the president of the American Society of Hispanic Psychiatrists, called the report
"one more step, a big step." "Ethnic minorities benefit the least from the
existing services," Alarcon said, "and when they need them, they might not have
access to those services." The report found the disparities in care were, in part, a
result of fragmented, costly and inadequate mental health services and a lack of health
insurance coverage among minorities.
Comprehensive funding reports have not been done on this specific
subject. But Eleanor Owen of the Washington Advocates for the Mentally Ill said that she
believes that Washington would be among the top states in funding community health groups.
For example, although blacks represent 5 percent of King County's population, King County
Mental Health reported that 14 percent of the people they served last year were African
American. Of those treated for substance abuse, 22 percent were African American.
"Simply put, the nation's health systems must work to bring mental health services to
where the people are," the report said in its summary. But the problems for
minorities, the report found, were also closely tied to cultural differences that created
barriers to treatment.
Providers of mental health services, for example, often know little
about the cultural values and backgrounds of their patients, or about the traditions of
healing and the meaning of illness within their cultures, the report said. Language
differences may create further obstacles to effective communication. There are few
Spanish-speaking mental health practitioners, the report noted, but up to 40 percent of
Hispanics say their English proficiency is limited.
In addition, the report found, racism and discrimination can lead to
errors in diagnosis or to inappropriate treatment. African Americans, for example, are
more likely to receive misdiagnoses of schizophrenia and less likely to receive accurate
diagnoses of depression or other mood disorders. And while the rates of mental illness in
Asian Americans do not differ significantly from those found in other groups, health
professionals may hold the stereotype that they are "mentally healthier," a bias
that contributes to inadequate treatment and prevention. Among some minorities, the report
said, distrust and fear of the mental health system and practitioners are common. Satcher
urged members of minority groups to seek out help when they suffered from "depression
or anxiety or anything that interferes with one's ability to function." He
recommended the development of more mental health services tailored for members of
minority groups and for training and support to increase the representation of minority
groups in the mental health professions.
Vermont Hospital Cancels Psychology Internships
Associated Press, 8/27/2001
BURLINGTON, Vt. -- Vermont's largest health care provider is cutting back its training
programs for mental health professionals. Fletcher Allen Health Care has canceled a
popular psychology internship program and is trimming its psychiatric residency program
from 20 to 16 participants. The psychology-intern program, the only one of it kind in
Vermont, was accredited five years ago and annually provided seven psychology doctorate
candidates with training in a variety of clinic and hospital settings.
Interns offered counseling for trauma victims, cancer patients and
substance abusers. They focused on those admitted for medical problems who were also in
need of psychological counseling -- for example, an accident survivor suddenly paralyzed
or recovering from disfiguring burns. Fletcher Allen officials say the internship program
is a budget-trimming and reorganization casualty.
Critics of the cancellation say the program was an important piece of
the hospital's health care and reputation as an academic institution. ''It is hard to
imagine comprehensive care in the ... (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) or for a head-injured
patient without the psychology interns,'' wrote Dr. Richard A. Bernstein, director of the
psychiatry residency program, in a July letter to Fletcher Allen's chief medical officer,
Dr. John Brumsted. The new cuts fuel a fresh wave of criticism for the way Fletcher Allen
addresses mental health needs. The hospital has been criticized this summer for plans to
move its psychiatric ward from Burlington to Colchester.
Fletcher Allen saves about $250,000 by cutting the psychiatric program,
according to the hospital. Each of the seven interns received $16,000 a year. The last
class of seven psychology interns will be arriving at the end of September. Their program
will not be affected. Psychology, by the hospital's admission, is not a money-maker. All
of medical psychology was losing money, and the hospital is focused on savings, said Dr.
Robert Pierattini, interim head of mental health. ''Teaching programs would always be of
secondary importance to providing high-quality clinical care,'' Fletcher Allen Chief
Executive Officer Bill Boettcher said of all the hospital's departments. ''We're always
under tremendous pressure to keep costs as low as possible while ... keeping quality high
and keeping access high.''
Mentally Ill Swamp Colorado ER Staffs
Allison Sherry, Denver Post- 8/27/2001
The city's emergency rooms have become giant repositories for the mentally ill,
overwhelming medical staffs and prompting doctors to worry about the jeopardized beds for
medical patients. Doctors say that up to 40 percent of psychiatric patients entering an ER
don't need to be there, and 90 percent aren't admitted. Federal law, however, prohibits
hospitals from turning them away.
Emergency room officials say the problem has grown into a monster in
the past year. At Denver Health Medical Center, for instance, 700 more people came through
the ER with psychiatric conditions in 2000 than in 1999, an increase of almost 18 percent.
And 28 percent more people were admitted in 2000 than in the previous year. University of
Colorado Hospital officials say they, too, have been hit. "It has gotten harder, and
I've only been here since January," said Christine Cullen, a licensed clinical social
worker in University's emergency services. Medical patients usually have little, if any,
separation from the mentally ill patients.
On a recent night at University, a curtain separated a suicidal man who
had taken heroin and a little boy who hit his head. Across the hall, an elderly stroke
victim and a young man who took too many opiates lay side by side. In the hall, a man
bloodied from a bar brawl lay on a stretcher waiting for a room.
Two issues have fed the problem. Community clinics are dealing with $7
million less in state funding than they were in 1999, forcing them to turn away the
estimated 42,000 uninsured Coloradans with a serious mental illness. And the number of
psychiatric beds in Colorado has actually decreased while the population has swelled. The
number of such beds statewide has dropped by 1,000 since 1995, partly because of funding
cuts and partly because hospitals converted psychiatric beds to medical beds, according to
state and Colorado Hospital Association officials.
Dr. Norman Paradis, director of the University of Colorado Hospital
emergency department, states that Denver's problem is just taking root, and although he
empathizes with the lack of resources for the mentally ill, he worries that the ER's
limited capabilities are not helping them at all. "Psychiatric illness is rarely
treated in a single encounter," Paradis said. "They tax the system incredibly.
... We just put Band-Aids on the problems. The part we do (as emergency workers) doesn't
work for them." And it puts extra pressure on emergency room staffs because there
simply aren't enough beds - or rooms. Trauma patients being the exception, a typical wait
in the ER is eight to 12 hours, according to metro area hospital officials. Medical
patients often will lie in the halls until more space becomes available. "The system
only has so much capacity," Paradis said. "So each area does affect the
others."
Psychiatric workers say they are fully aware of the problem. "You
don't have a fully stable discharge system because the community mental health system is
backed up for six weeks or more," said Joyce Kobayashi, director of HIV psychiatric
services at Denver Health. "We can't get the patients into appointments there. ...
And we will see them again" in the ER. Possible solutions are not simple. Kyle
Sargent, director of public policy for the Mental Health Association of Colorado, said
that attention - and money - should be given to preventive programs. People are getting
sicker; adding hospital beds isn't going to help the problem. "Mental disorders are
usually more treatable than heart disease," Sargent said. "Picture someone going
in (an ER) with depression. They probably won't even get seen. ... We need to start
heading the other way."
Hustling For Souls
Peter Perl, Washington Post- 8/27/2001
The church ladies cooked up a particularly fine Saturday supper for the drug dealers.
Reverend Anthony Motley had told them he wanted things fixed up especially nice at
Redemption Ministry, so they put out clean white tablecloths and now the ladies were
parading out from the kitchen with paper plates piled high with barbecued chicken wings,
macaroni and tuna, green beans, salad, sweet iced tea and cakes. Four young gang members,
part of the South Capitol Street Crew, took seats along with five church men at the large
rectangular table. They sat silent, expressionless; cornrowed hair, a shaved head, baggy
pants, a gold chain here, a gold watch there, black T-shirts with the arms cut off. Terry,
Anthony, Terronce and Snoop. Ages 23 to 27. The South Cap Crew looked like many other
young men in the Congress Heights neighborhood of Southeast Washington, except they were
the ones responsible for much of its persistent traffic in marijuana, PCP, crack cocaine
and, occasionally, heroin.
After a prayer, Motley stood and opened his Bible, choosing an obscure
Old Testament passage from the Book of Nahum: "Ah, city of bloodshed, all full of
lies and booty -- no end to the plunder!" Motley interrupted himself. "When he
says 'booty,' he doesn't mean 'booty' like you do," he said, with a mischievous
smile, " 'Booty' meant jewels and money back then. Y'all know I had to break that
down for you." The crew members snickered. Prostitutes, bloody swords and naked
corpses littered the landscape in the Bible's vision of the ancient city of Nineveh.
"A bloody city. Reminds me of today," Motley said. "I watch the violence on
the news today and I get depressed. When are they gonna tell the stories about real-life
struggles of people? What about people not being able to get jobs, because you have a
record? . . . What about our struggles?"
The South Cap Crew knew that the man they call "Rev" was
speaking from experience. Years ago, before he became a preacher, Motley was a street
hustler, selling marijuana, hashish and amphetamines, and then using and selling
increasing amounts of cocaine. Rev knew their life. He knew how to talk to them, and how
to listen, which was why they agreed to come to dinner. They also came because they knew
that Rev was not just trying to sell them Jesus. He was talking about jobs, too -- if they
took the first step toward faith, Redemption Ministry could help steer them to find the
skills, the tools, the education, the connections to change their lives.
Motley introduced his main speaker, Kennard Coleman. The South Cap Crew
already knew him by his street name, Bark, because of his resemblance to burly, bruising
NBA basketball star Charles Barkley. Coleman is powerfully built, his thick arms covered
with tattoos from his street life -- a fierce lion's head on his left biceps and, on his
right, "BARK" beneath the skeletal face of the Grim Reaper, smoking a joint.
With his pastor's prompting, Coleman haltingly described 15 years hustling, living off the
street, dealing drugs, getting locked up; a downward spiral that turned around three years
ago at Redemption. Now, at age 29, "I have my first real job. It's a blessing. It's
the ultimate blessing," he said. He's only earning a fraction of what he made as a
drug dealer -- $21,000 a year as a D.C. Recreation Department youth mentor -- but said he
is much happier now, with feelings he's never experienced. "I feel love. I feel
compassion," he said, in a deep voice. "I feel hurt, too, but it's a good hurt.
The hurt feels good, man." Coleman shook his head. "Back when I was on the
street, nobody cared if I lived or died. God shows me people care. People care about me.
It's a blessing, and now it's a blessing for me to care about other people."
"Amen! Amen! Amen!" Motley shouted, as he and the men of Redemption whooped and
applauded. The South Cap Crew remained silent, though one or two nodded. The pastor raised
his voice: "We're either gonna die, or we're gonna go to jail. Everyone in this room
has to make that decision, whether they want to live or die -- or get locked up." His
eyes swept the South Cap Crew, "It's better to be free than caged. It's better to get
old than die young. You don't have to go that route. What is really keeping you from
getting a job? Is your life so good now?"
The South Cap guys shifted in their seats, glancing at one another.
They were not comfortable. But slowly, a conversation happened. Anthony, in gold chains
and a black kung-fu shirt, spoke first: "In today's society, you got people going
home to a roach-infested house; your mother is on crack, your father is gone. How you
gonna feed your family? If you don't have no type of training, and you don't get a college
degree?" Terry, his head wrapped in a black bandanna, said, "If I was from
Montgomery County, I graduate and go to college. From Ballou, you graduate and you are
back here on the street." Then he added, "You also gotta have training. But even
if you have training, then they say, 'Sorry, you gotta have experience. You don't have no
experience.' "
Motley asked if they had kids. Three said they did, the fourth had one
on the way. The South Cap Crew said they worried about raising kids in a violent
neighborhood that lacked good schools and didn't have enough decent parks and playgrounds.
"Young'uns don't have any place to hang out. They are taking away kids'
alternatives," Anthony said. "If you have alternatives, you might do something
else." "Yeah, some of us, as kids, we were just playing ball," Terry said.
"Kids don't play no more. These kids are walking to school and smokin' a blunt!"
Terronce, big, bearded and the oldest at 27, had his own lament:
"When we was young, people looked out for each other . . . Older kids kept us in
line. Smacked you in the head . . . Now if you smack a kid in the head, he may pull out a
nine." After a silence, Coleman spoke up, pointing at Terronce: "I love him with
all my heart. I know him all my life, since we were in Pampers." The ex-gang member
turned to face his friend: "Sooner or later, it's gonna click for you, man. Sooner or
later . . . I am guaranteeing, man, give God your life, and He will show you better
things. You dare God to do it. That is what I did. I dared God."
"I dare you to try," Coleman said, his voice rising and his
eyes glistening. "Stop acting like a baby and try. Keep trying . . ." Terronce
was silent. The others looked at him, and then Motley made his pitch: "One big thing
Kennard looked at was his son, and the future he wanted for his son. When Kennard made
that decision to change his life, he became my responsibility, and I had to help
him." The South Cap Crew had several options, he said. If they wanted to change their
lives, Redemption could hook them up with job training at CVS pharmacies, or mentoring,
like Kennard Coleman, or a high school degree program, or coaching in how to handle job
interviews and write a resume. Redemption had even helped seven church members start small
businesses: a beauty salon, a cleaning company, a copy center, a T-shirt shop and others.
Maybe, Motley asked, they wanted to turn their business skills to the "legit."
"I'm willing to be involved and be a mentor, and get paid for that, too," Terry
began. "You can't get paid for that, too," Motley cut in. "You gotta give
up your other job." The South Cap Crew laughed at Terry. The Rev. Motley was not
smiling as he firmly delivered the message he repeats almost daily, "You gotta give
up your old life."
Anthony Motley's unusual street ministry was essentially created by
crack cocaine. The District's late-1980s drug epidemic ruined countless lives, broke apart
families and unleashed a fearsome wave of violence. The unprecedented plague of homicides
-- rising to nearly 500 a year by the early 1990s -- hit home for Motley when a
17-year-old he mentored for several years was shot to death in an alley. The death of this
playful teenager known as "G.D." was the final blow for Motley, then a history
teacher at Ballou Senior High School. He felt powerless to change young lives within the
confines of classrooms. Surveying the mayhem in his native Southeast, "I wondered,
'Where are our people? Who's taking responsibility? Where is everyone?' " he
recalled. "Most of the people I knew were dead, locked up, or moved to Maryland. So
who's going to take responsibility?"
Motley, who had spent almost his entire 52 years here in the city's
poorest and most crime-ridden quadrant, somehow could see hope where others could not. He
could envision a ministry that would reach out into the streets in unorthodox ways,
offering healthy alternatives to young people, evangelizing door-to-door in housing
projects, and using pickup basketball and football games and sports tournaments as a
back-door way to draw in even the most hard-core cases, like Kennard Coleman. Motley took
to those streets, day and night, counseling young hustlers like the South Cap Crew, while
also ministering to their parents and grandparents. He spoke up for them in school and in
court, intervened with their parole officers, helped them get jobs, coaxed and cajoled
them to straighten out their lives. He has welcomed about 15 former drug dealers among the
hundreds of young and old who have joined Redemption. A few joined but fell away. Others,
he has visited in jail. And, for too many, he has performed funerals.
On the streets of Southeast, Motley rarely encounters danger because
almost everyone knows him and because he always travels with several of Redemption's
bigger male evangelists, who also are products of these streets. Not long ago, though, one
drug dealer warned the pastor such travels could get him killed. Without hesitating,
Motley replied, "I am ready to die. Are you?" Out on those streets, Motley, at
about 5-foot-8, is not at all physically imposing. In middle age, his short hair is
thinning and his waist is thickening. The dark olive skin of his mustachioed face bears a
few telltale scars of his Southeast childhood. He has warm eyes and a calm air about him.
He speaks quite softly -- except when he is preaching. Then, his voice soars, as when he
recently preached at Redemption about his personal deliverance from the perils of the city
and of his own behavior: ". . . Taking drugs day in and day out, but Jesus kept me! .
. . Bullet whizzed by, but Jesus kept me! . . . Car accident -- could've been me -- but
Jesus kept me! . . . Stabbed in the side, and it could've hit an artery, but Jesus kept
me! . . ."
The parable, drawn from events in Motley's life, conveyed a central
message of his ministry: No matter what you have done in the past, no matter how many
times you go astray, and no matter how worthless your life may seem to you, it is never
too late. There is always hope. It took Motley himself a long time to learn that. He was
raised in a solid, two-parent working-class family, although like many teenagers in 1960s
Southeast, he'd already taken a taste of street life. After graduating from Anacostia High
School and serving as a paratrooper in the U.S. Army in Panama, Motley came back to
Washington in 1974 and let himself be lured by the fast money available on the streets.
Soon, the young hustler thought he was living large -- a big 10th-floor apartment in
Prince George's County with a view of the Washington Monument, a succession of women, a
pair of sports cars, a pile of cash, and a gun strapped under his arm.
The life lasted three years, but he could sense it crashing. Between
the cops and the competitors, business got really tight. His closest drug buddy got busted
by the feds. Fear penetrated his nights; fear of arrest, fear of violence from other
dealers. A growing sense of dread. Then a bigger dealer ripped him off on a big coke sale
in Takoma Park and Motley pulled his gun, threatening to blow the guy's head off, just as
the dealer stuck his gun in Motley's face. Eventually, they backed down, but he was
shaken. "I don't think I really woulda shot him," Motley recalled, "but I
don't know." He soon got an urgent phone call from his grandmother in Detroit, saying
she'd been worrying and praying about him, imploring him to leave D.C. and come to her. He
was ready to listen. "I'd had my hands on so much money, the money didn't excite me
no more," he said. "And I was afraid." At age 28, sensing his high life
sinking, he left the city. Motley used his Veterans Administration benefits to enroll in
1977 at the University of Detroit. He ended up graduating with honors in communications
and Afro-American studies.
He also returned to church there, attending the Shrine of the Black
Madonna, whose black nationalist message instilled in him the idea that churches had to
become more deeply involved in the community, reaching out to establish neighborhood
institutions that could help people heal and sustain themselves -- especially those people
everyone else had given up on. They started the ministry in their living room. Eight years
ago, Motley and his wife, Felecia, a veteran D.C. schoolteacher, invited a handful of
neighbors and children to join in prayer at their comfortable home on Halley Terrace,
overlooking South Capitol Street. Soon, the word spread about these spirited worship
services, and before long the Sunday prayer crowd spilled downstairs. Motley used his
communications training to hook up a closed-circuit TV in the basement so people could
worship in two rooms. Since returning to Washington in 1980, he had been working in cable
TV, community development, public health and teaching. Through those years, religion was
assuming a larger role, as was Motley's nagging sense -- fueled by the epidemic of
homicides -- that he could be doing more for the community in full-time ministry.
Redemption quickly outgrew the Motleys' home and spread out to a school auditorium, then a
larger one. Three years ago, the ministry took over its current home -- a large storefront
on South Capitol Street that used to be a Safeway, then a Trak Auto, then a Payless Shoe
Source that was looking for someone to take over its long-term lease at a bargain price.
Ordained a Baptist minister, with a master's degree in divinity from
Howard University, Motley decided that the church he would launch would be different.
Actually, it would not be a church, because the Motleys sought to take away the formality,
the rigidity and even the physical boundaries that people associated with that word.
Instead it would be a ministry, a "nondenominational, evangelical, outreach
ministry" whose inclusiveness would be summed up in the banner on the front wall:
"At Redemption, You Can Come As You Are, and God Will Do The Rest." Redemption
would also work in tandem with a faith-based nonprofit offshoot created by the Motleys,
called Inner Thoughts Inc., to obtain private and government funds to steer people to
social services -- after-school day care, summer camp, tutoring, job training, high school
equivalency degrees, drug and alcohol treatment, even entrepreneur training to launch
small businesses.
But what would give the ministry special energy was Motley, who
relentlessly involved himself in the pain of his community -- midnight phone calls from
police to deal with grief-stricken families; late-night trips to housing projects to try
to head off gang shootings; nightly forays into the toughest neighborhoods, just to spread
the word of God. Ride with him down a Southeast street, and he slams his car into reverse,
intervening when he spots in his rearview mirror a curbside domestic dispute turning
violent. Although he's running late, Motley stops and patiently mediates for 10 minutes to
make sure the young woman, whom he doesn't even know, is safe. "Some people think
what I'm doing is abnormal. Not many ministers do on-street intervention . . . and all the
rest," Motley said. "People say we are a ghetto church, a hoodlum church. That
we don't have a real church, that we don't follow the Bible. These are people that don't
even come in and see what we are doing."
D.C. Police Chief Charles Ramsey, though not a member, is among the
believers. Ramsey, who has walked dangerous streets in plain clothes with Motley at night,
said he was particularly impressed at his ability to talk to the very toughest cases.
"It's remarkable. They know him by name, and he knows them. They're glad to see
him," Ramsey said. "Reverend Motley is not a one-day-a-week evangelist. He is
out there all the time, really living what he talks about."
Long before President Bush promoted his "faith-based
initiative," Motley and other city churches were already using government programs to
help needy neighborhoods. Ramsey recruited Motley in an antiviolence campaign two years
ago and they formed the Clergy Police Community Partnership, which signed up 20 churches
and obtained $250,000 in Justice Department and foundation grants. Motley also worked with
police to obtain a $175,000 Justice Department grant as a "Weed and Seed" site,
to help weed out crime and plant seeds in the form of positive programs for young people
such as computer classes, tutoring, mentoring, athletic programs and summer camp.
In Redemption's back yard, nine students at Ballou High School were
killed in street violence in the 1999-2000 school year. In the past school year, only two
died, a change that Ballou Principal Arthur Bridges credited in part to Motley's work,
along with better policing and improved economic development. Bridges said he has used
Motley frequently as a peacemaker among warring crews of "gangbangers."
"It's this tranquil aura he gives off," said Bridges. "He has an unusual
relationship with these kids. They would treat him like one of their peers. Hug him and
greet him . . . I don't have the patience he has, to let kids vent to the extent he does.
Once a child vents his anger, he's willing to listen. Then Rev says, 'Okay, you did this
right, but you did this wrong.' And the kid will listen . . . and he gets them to
apologize."
Pastor Motley was hoping that one street kid in particular would come
through the door at Redemption. At Sunday services on July 1, he was hoping to see Albert,
a 21-year-old Ballou graduate facing drug charges. Albert favored gold chains, gold
earrings, and a busy cell phone and beeper. Motley knew Albert's mother, who had recently
died of cancer, and he had pledged to her that he'd try to save her son from his downward
path. Baby-faced with crooked teeth and a trace of a mustache, Albert had followed the
pastor's request to come to his office six months earlier for an intense lecture from
Coleman and Motley -- after which Albert vowed to change his ways. But Albert had only
shown up at services once, and he wasn't coming to a training course affiliated with
Redemption, even though a government grant would have paid him $100 a week. Albert did not
show up again that Sunday. But Motley was pleasantly surprised to see a new face and a new
reason for hope: It was Joseph Williams, who had flagged the preacher down at a car wash a
week earlier and told him, "Rev, I'm tired of the street . . . I want to come
in." At 22, Joe Williams, a Ballou dropout, had already served time in D.C. Jail and
in Lorton Reformatory, had fathered two children by two past girlfriends. Now, facing an
assault charge in connection with a 1998 drug-related murder, he told Motley his life was
not working.
Williams's words resonated with the pastor. As Coleman and Motley
himself had learned, the lure of drug dealing was always overrated and it always faded;
whatever money, cars and women it promised, it eventually wasn't enough to outweigh the
constant fear of getting nailed by the cops or, even worse, by the stickup boys. It still
left you with a sense of emptiness and dread. Motley had heard countless laments like this
from young men in the drug trade, though most often they still never came in. Yet here was
Joe Williams, wearing blue jeans and a clean white shirt, his cornrows wrapped in a white
bandanna, quietly taking a seat in a back row.
People like Eric Tripp, who was once known as one of the biggest and
baddest drug dealers in Southeast, the kind who are usually dead or jailed by 25. Instead,
Tripp, at 40, is the senior deacon of Redemption, lives with his wife and five children,
works installing telephones, and owns a house and two cars. Or like Kani Shorter, who is
24, works construction with his wife, and has two children: "I'd been carrying a gun
since age 14, 15, selling weed, then heroin, loveboat and crack . . . Jailed, kicked out
of school, in trouble all my life. I came to church but I'd go back to the street. At
Redemption, I saw young people, just like me, guys from the 'hood, and I said, 'Okay, this
place must have something special,' and I started coming more and more. But I still had
crack in my pocket. I came with hangovers. I came drunk. But Rev, he said, 'Keep on
coming,' and I did. "One time, I was playing conga drums at a Saturday service and I
started feeling real bad and they took me in back and I puked on the floor and passed out.
Out for the count. I woke up hours later and nobody was there but the Rev, and he said, 'I
got you man, you aw'right.' And after that, I prayed to God, I prayed and prayed to please
take the taste away from me so I would stop drinking . . . and later I told God, 'If I
give You this crack, if I flush it down the toilet, will You take care of my family?' And
I flushed it, and I said, 'God, will You take care of me?' . . . And He did."
Or like Shelly Thomas, who is 32, whose already troubled life collapsed
after she was raped as a teenager: "I lost all respect. I lost all my dreams. Ran
away, came back. Used alcohol, marijuana, PCP, crack, LSD, pills, heroin . . . started
working at a strip club, gettin' high, sellin' PCP and crack. My street name was 'Money.'
Before I knew it, I went from being a stripper to being a prostitute. "I been hung
out windows. I was raped again. I've had knives stuck up in me. I've OD'd three times.
I've been set on fire and pistol-whipped, tied up, and duct-taped in an abandoned building
and left to die. My life has been a seesaw . . . And Rev has come to get me in strip
clubs, at pimps' houses, crack houses, at the police, at shelters, hospitals, oil joints,
alleys and park benches . . . He has rocked me and held me in his arms. I lived with the
Motleys between my bouts." She said she has been clean for the past year, and
involved in her first healthy relationship with a man. "Jesus has won my heart,"
she said, but added, "God is still working on me."
Through his many years selling crack cocaine and carrying a gun,
Kennard Coleman often promised himself that he would give up drug dealing by the time he
turned 30, but it was a vow he doubted. So it was with a particular joy that he and his
fiancee, Armenta Shields, had chosen to marry on July 28, the date of his 30th birthday.
They met at Redemption two years earlier in a job-readiness class offered by the Motleys'
nonprofit Inner Thoughts. Coleman was learning how to seek his first legitimate job and
Shields, then 24, was expecting her fourth child, rebounding from her third failed
relationship, and definitely not seeking another man. "I was always aggressive with
men, before I was saved," she said. "Previously, I went to clubs all the time. I
drank and I smoked weed."
The Shields family for many years lived next door to the Motleys, and
Shields's brother and mother were longtime Redemption leaders before she joined in 1998
and later took a job as Motley's office assistant. Initially, she said, she liked Coleman
but did not pay him much attention, "because God was telling me to concentrate on Him
and not meet another man." "I had said to God that I wanted a man to come to me
this time, that I was not going to be looking," she said, "and then Kennard came
to me, with a letter and a poem" about his feelings for her and his search for God.
They became good friends, they worshiped together, and eventually declared their love,
though pledging chastity until marriage.
Initially, Coleman had been drawn to Redemption by a basketball
tournament. He later stopped in to say hello to Motley and unexpectedly burst into tears
in his office. "I cried for about an hour. We prayed and I cried and we prayed and I
cried and I got saved," he said, but the next day, he got high and started hustling
again. It took months of struggle, he said, until "Rev came with me and we prayed,
and flushed all the rocks down the toilet and flushed all the weed. I didn't know how I
would survive and I didn't have a job -- and at that Sunday service, I got a $1,000 check
to pay my rent" from Redemption's emergency fund. Now, two years later, Coleman said,
"I don't worry about backsliding anymore. I have the love of my parents. I have the
love of my fiancee. I have the love of my pastor. I can't think of why I would want to go
back."
In late July, Joe Williams cut off his cornrows because they reminded
him too much of his past life on the streets, and he came with his hair shaved short on
the night of his baptism. Williams had missed a baptism-training class at Redemption that
week, but Motley had predicted confidently that he would show up for the ceremony. "I
have a solid feeling about Joseph now," he said. "He has shown over the last two
months that he's willing to do what it takes." Williams himself was not feeling all
that solid. "You didn't think I'd show up, did you?" he said when he saw Motley
in the ministry parking lot. "Sure I did," Motley said, embracing him. Williams
took Motley aside and told him he felt troubled. He'd landed a job restocking shelves at
night at a discount store, but his employer went bust. He'd signed up through Redemption
for high school equivalency exam training, but he badly needed a paying job -- right now.
"I just found out I got a baby on the way," he said as they stood at the
ministry door. His girlfriend of six years, Danielle Johnson, stood nearby with a camera
to capture the ceremony.
Williams squinted as if in pain. "I know I can't live my old life
no more. But I gotta take care of my family," he said. "My first instinct was to
get out there, get some money and get some stones, and go back to the street long enough
to pay my bills. . . But that's a direction I don't want to take my life." Williams
had signed up to earn $100 a week to train for his GED exam, a deal similar to the one
that Albert had passed up. But Williams would see no money for at least two weeks. Motley
urged him to be patient and keep his faith. Williams said, "I know I gotta take my
burdens and give them to God and let Him handle it. That worked for me last month, but now
it has to work for me this month, right now."
After their talk, Motley walked off, mingling with a throng of people
gathered beneath the brightly lit South Capitol Shopping Center sign that listed the names
of a liquor store, pawnshop, pizza place -- and Redemption. A few minutes later, Motley
returned and handed Williams a business card from a federal court agency, with a name and
phone number written on the back. "Call this person and talk to them about gettin' a
job," Motley said. Williams looked stunned, shaking his head. "Okay." It
was the card of a retired D.C. cop who'd known the Motleys for years and had stopped by
just to say hello. Motley had seized the chance to ask about a job for Williams and was
assured that one was available. "The Lord does work in all kinds of ways,"
Motley said, smiling.
Then everyone squeezed into Redemption's big blue van for the trip to a
joint service with congregants at First Rising Mount Zion Baptist Church in Shaw, Motley's
old church, which has a baptismal pool. There, Motley took to the pulpit to welcome three
new Redemption members into the faith: Williams, an 8-year-old girl and her 6-year-old
brother. Invoking the resurrection of Jesus, the preacher delivered a message aimed
squarely at Williams: "Going into this pool of water is like going into a grave. What
you are taking into this water is the old you. All the sins. All the transgressions. All
the misgivings. All the miseries. All the things you've done, and gone through . . .
Christ emerged from the grave as a new creature, and so we go down in the water and we
come up new."
But Motley also issued a warning about what comes afterward. "When
we come out of this water, we have to walk a new walk, talk a new talk. The places we used
to go, we can't go. The things we used to do, we can't do. The people we used to hang
around with, we can't do that no more . . ." And then the congregation started to
sing the soulful hymn "Wade in the Water," and Joe Williams and the children,
all in long white robes, climbed the stairs that raised them high above the altar to the
highest point in the church. Motley was waiting for them there, standing in the water in
his long white robe. Williams climbed into the pool and Motley took him in his arms. As he
held him, he folded the young man's arms over his chest, and then the pastor lowered him
backward into the water.
Men Not ‘Emotional Mummies,’ Suggests New
Research
Jacqueline Stenson, NBC News- 8/27/2001
SAN FRANCISCO— Most men are not as emotionally shut off as many people think they
are, according to researchers who say that guys have long gotten a bad rap in the feelings
department. In a presentation here Monday at the annual meeting of the American
Psychological Association, Mark S. Kiselica, a psychologist at the College of New Jersey
in Ewing, argued against the popular notion that men are "emotional mummies" who
tend to distance themselves from others, especially female partners.
"Most men are positively well-adjusted … they are not
emotional mummies," he said. Martin Heesacker, a psychologist at the University of
Florida in Gainesville, agreed. "People fervently believe that men are from Mars and
women are from Venus, but the data consistently suggest that this is either inaccurate or
grossly overstated," Heesacker said. Kiselica reported on a review of studies to date
on the ability of men to express emotions and on the impact of mother-son relationships.
It’s long been thought that as part of the socialization process in this country,
mothers become less emotionally attached to their sons as they grow up than to their
daughters, he said. And this is a common explanation cited for the claim that many men
grow up emotionally distant and later have trouble forming strong relationships with
female partners, he noted.
But in examining literature in this area, Kiselica found that men are
just as likely to have strong relationships with their mothers as women are. In addition,
men were no more likely than women to have alexithymia, a condition characterized by
impairments in the ability to identify, recognize and express emotions, according to the
report. "Most men are not alexithymic," he said. "It’s not the
norm." Overall, about one in 10 people of either gender are alexithymic,
Kiselica said. The results reject the notion that men are vastly out of touch with their
emotions, he said. That’s not to say that some men don’t have some trouble
expressing emotions, he said. In fact, research suggests that men may be somewhat less
expressive than women due to how they were raised.
Ronald Levant, dean of the Center for Psychological Studies at
Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale, Fla., said boys too often are reared to avoid
all things feminine, restrict their expression of emotions and be tough and aggressive.
"Socialization into traditional gender roles does not serve us well in
today’s world — men or women," he said. At birth, boys are more emotionally
expressive than girls; they cry more often and have a lower tolerance for stress, Levant
said. By age 6, most boys are already less expressive than girls. "There’s a
broad range of human emotion and boys are steered away from a large segment — the
‘feminine’ ones," he said.
Psychiatrist Testifies on Texas Seven Leader
Jim Henderson, Houston Chronicle- 8/27/2001
DALLAS -- Prolific criminal. Manipulator. Mastermind. Bright. Creative. Antisocial. Con
artist. Devoid of conscience. Those were some of the terms used by an Austin psychiatrist
Monday to describe George Rivas, the ringleader of a gang of convicts who killed a police
officer two weeks after they escaped from prison last December. Testifying in the
punishment phase of Rivas' capital murder trial, Dr. Richard E. Coons said the 31-year-old
convicted robber, kidnapper and murderer has "a criminal mind, criminal intent and
criminal behavior, and he has no intention of changing that." "Can he be
rehabilitated?" asked lead prosecutor Toby Shook. "No, you don't get a
conscience at this age," Coons said.
Rivas was convicted last week of capital murder in the Christmas Eve
shooting death of Irving police officer Aubrey Hawkins during the robbery of an Oshman's
sporting goods store. Prosecutors are asking the jury to assess the death penalty. Coons
was the last witness called by the state and his testimony echoed the assessment he gave
in 1994 when Rivas was being tried for a string of aggravated robberies and kidnappings in
the El Paso area. Although he never personally examined Rivas, Coons said his opinion was
based on the defendant's "very substantial history of violence," his willingness
to use violence and his apparent "lack of conscience." After hearing a lengthy
recitation of Rivas' criminal history, which included the sexual abuse of his half-sister
that began when he was 11 and she was 6, Coons told the jury that Rivas would continue to
be a threat even behind bars. "The person described probably would commit acts of
criminal violence in the future," he said.
Defense attorneys have tried to portray Rivas as an armed robber who
never intended to kill Hawkins or anyone else. Among the witnesses called in Rivas'
defense was Patrick Marshall, an employee of a Radio Shack in Las Cruces, N.M., which
Rivas robbed in the summer of 1993. Marshall said he became frustrated during the robbery
and told Rivas, "Shoot me. Go ahead and shoot me." "I don't want to
shoot you," Rivas responded. "Just do what you're told and everything will be
fine." George Rivas Sr. also testified, telling the jury he had a close relationship
with his son and spent a lot of time playing football with him and his friends. He
said he remains "friends" with his son and the two communicate by mail.
Rivas' parents divorced when he was about 5 and he was reared mostly by
his father and maternal grandmother, whom he called "mom," the elder Rivas
testified. "They had a loving relationship," he said. "He was raised in a
loving home," Shook said. "Yes," Rivas replied. "He was raised in a
home where he was taught right from wrong." "Yes." Still, Rivas turned to
crime at an early age. At 15, he stole a teacher's checkbook. At 17, he was arrested for
shoplifting and for unlawfully carrying a weapon. About the same age, he was fired from
Sears for stealing a VCR. Shortly after that, he began the series of armed robberies that
would net him 17 life sentences, which he was serving when he led the group of six other
inmates in the escape from the Connally Unit south of San Antonio.
National Groups Support Women Suffering Postpartum
Depression
Pam Easton, Associated Press- 8/27/2001
HOUSTON -- The National Organization for Women and other groups said Monday they are
helping to raise money to defend Andrea Yates the mother accused of drowning her five
children in the bathtub in part to help other women suffering from postpartum depression.
''It gives us a platform for something that obviously needs education,'' said Deborah
Bell, president of Texas NOW. ''One of our feminist beliefs is to be there for other
women. Some good may come out of this tragedy.'' The groups also oppose the death penalty
for Yates, saying her depression should be taken into account in any punishment.
Yates, 37, called police on June 20 and admitted drowning her children
in the tub. Her husband, Russell Yates, told police his wife was depressed and had been
treated for postpartum depression. She is under suicide watch in a jail psychiatric unit.
NOW was joined on Monday by the American Civil Liberties Union, other women's and health
groups and several anti-death penalty organizations. ''Addressing violence
with more violence creates more suffering, grief and victims,'' said Gary Norman of the
Murder Victims Families for Reconciliation. ''Let us end this suffering and treat Mrs.
Yates' illness and not allow ourselves to continue the perpetuation of pain.''
Harris County District Attorney Chuck Rosenthal has said he will seek
the death penalty. NOW and the other groups in the Andrea Pia Yates Support Coalition plan
a candlelight vigil on Sept. 11, a day before a hearing is scheduled to determine if Yates
is fit to stand trial. The defense fund was previously established by Yates' lawyers, but
they cannot publicize it because of a court-imposed gag order. Any money raised on Yates'
behalf but not needed for her defense will go to groups working to educate and help others
suffering from postpartum depression, coalition members said.
Iowa City Finds Workable Alternatives to Prison for Addicts
Flynn McRoberts, Chicago Tribune- 8/27/2001
MASON CITY, Iowa -- The judges ate goulash. They nibbled on garlic bread as they leafed
through probation reports. They finished their salads in time to hear a teary-eyed drug
addict confess how, despite the threat of prison, she had taken a hit off a crack pipe.
"I'm just really scared," she said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue offered by
the probation officer sitting beside her. "We're here to support you, to help you
beat your addiction,' judge Alan Love told her. More precisely, that would be Alan Love,
police dispatcher. He was sitting next to another "judge," Don True, butcher at
a local grocery store. Rounding out the four-person panel were a community planner and a
social worker.
So goes another typical session of drug court in this north-central
Iowa factory town. Since their creation in South Florida more than a decade ago, drug
courts have spread across the country, from the Criminal Courts building at 26th and
California on Chicago's Southwest Side to the prairie towns of Iowa. Now the essence of
drug courts--offering offenders treatment instead of prison--is being credited with
helping to cut the number of inmates in state prisons for the first time in nearly three
decades.
Usually, black-robed judges run drug courts. But one of the most
innovative approaches to this softer strategy in America's war on drugs is on display in a
halfway house in Mason City. It is here, every Wednesday, that citizen volunteers such as
Love and True take time off from their regular jobs to sit on community drug panels. They
are the front line in a nationwide push to address America's drug problem as a public
health issue, not just a criminal one.
Mason City, whose drug court started in April, and other Iowa courts
have taken the idea a step further: harnessing the street smarts and varied perspectives
of community residents to reduce drug usage and crime. Love, True and their fellow
volunteers help lighten the caseload of a local court calendar that otherwise would be
clogged by methamphetamine addicts and other drug users. At no cost, they also provide a
mix of discipline and encouragement--from a kind word to a job tip--that organizers hope
will motivate repeat offenders to stay clean. A mix of state and federal funding pays for
the frequent drug testing and probation visits that most experts say are crucial to the
success of such courts.
"The bottom line is, we don't have the prison space to put every
one of these people behind bars," said James Drew, the Iowa District Court judge in
Mason City who holds the threat of jail or prison for any drug court failures. "This
is high intensity. It's not easy. It's done with the understanding that if you screw up,
you're going down." Treatment experts call it "coerced abstinence," as did
President Bush earlier this year when he announced John Walters as his nominee to be
America's new drug czar. Walters, who has yet to be confirmed by the Senate, is a veteran
of the drug czar's office and has a reputation for focusing on interdiction and
incarceration rather than treatment.
But at Walter's nomination ceremony Bush also asked Atty. Gen. John
Ashcroft to draft a plan by mid-September to expand drug testing for probationers and
parolees "and to strengthen our system of drug courts around the nation." State
lawmakers are doing so already. About 30 legislatures have enacted laws meant to promote
drug courts. In Texas, for instance, a new statute takes effect Saturday that requires
heavily populated counties to create drug courts or lose certain state funds. Such moves
reflect a growing consensus that treating people while they are under criminal justice
control can reduce by as much as 70 percent the likelihood that an offender will return to
drug use and crime, according to Dr. Alan Leshner, director of the National Institute on
Drug Abuse.
With such figures in mind, drug courts are growing nationwide at the
rate of about 100 a year, with 710 established and another 521 planned, according to U.S.
Department of Justice figures. Even with that explosive growth, however, most estimates
indicate that only about 5 percent of the nation's drug offenders are involved in drug
courts; that limited reach has led some treatment proponents to push other approaches.
"It's not that what they do is bad, it's that they can't serve
enough people," said Bill Zimmerman, executive director of the Campaign for New Drug
Policies. Zimmerman's group led the fight in California last fall to pass Proposition 36,
a ballot measure that is expected to send 24,000 drug offenders a year to treatment
instead of prison. Though Prop 36 took effect July 1, California's 100 drug courts
continue to cover people not eligible under the new measure, such as offenders arrested on
charges that involve more than just drug possession. The drug courts also continue to hold
out a bigger threat of jail time than the Prop 36 program, which allows offenders up to
three violations before facing mandatory incarceration.
Threat keeps many in line
Many repeat offenders say it is the drug courts' threat of prison that keeps them
motivated. Lori Awe, a 38-year-old mother of three and longtime methamphetamine addict,
entered drug court in Mason City after testing positive for marijuana the week she was
graduating from a local treatment center. She already was on probation for forgery, a
crime she had committed to get money to buy drugs; failing the urinalysis could have sent
her to prison for five years. She chose drug court instead, which typically takes at least
a year to complete. After more than four months in the program, Awe said she has her
family and church praying for her. "But if I didn't have the drug courts and my
[urinalysis], I can't say I would stay straight," she said after another visit with
her probation officer.
Those who volunteer to sit on Iowa's community drug panels often have
equally personal reasons for doing so. For True, the Mason City butcher, it was the
neighbor who has been dealing methamphetamine next door. True, the father of two
teenagers, put up a fence. But as he said, "You can put your fence up [only] so
high." So he volunteered for Mason City's drug court. "Who knows, I may see him
in here one day and I can say, `I'm not with the police. I can help if you just want to
talk.' When he needs help to get straight, maybe I can help get him a job." But like
others involved in drug courts around the country, True is under no illusion that his town
has found a panacea. "There is a war out there against drugs. We're not going to win
it overnight," he said. "I just wanted to do my part as a citizen."
While cautioning that more research needs to be done to determine which
types of drug courts work best, Leshner and other experts applaud the philosophy behind
experiments such as Mason City's. "The more we make the recovery of the offender a
community priority, the better off we are because, obviously, if you get them recovered
they'll stop committing crimes," he said.
Lab seizures soar
Iowa officials added Mason City to the state's system of drug courts after watching
methamphetamine lab seizures jump statewide from 320 in 1998 to 660 last year. Through
mid-August, the state already had completed 415 seizures, according to Logan Wernet, a
Mason City police investigator assigned to the North Central Iowa Narcotic Task Force. As
elsewhere, methamphetamine hasn't discriminated much in cutting a swath through Mason
City: Offenders range in age from 18 to 45, they are men and women, single and married,
some of them parents, Wernet said. By the time they are offered a chance at drug court,
many of these offenders have committed forgeries, burglaries and other crimes to support
their habits. So if drug court can keep them clean, the offenders aren't the only ones to
benefit. "They keep their families intact. They hold down jobs. And they pay
taxes," said Mike McGuire, who heads the drug court in Mason City, which has 10
offenders enrolled. "They become productive members of society." How long they
will remain so is a question. Steven Belenko, a fellow at the National Center on Addiction
and Substance Abuse who has reviewed studies of drug courts nationwide, said drug courts
appear to reduce offenders' return to crime "for at least a year" after leaving
the program. "But beyond that we don't know," he said.
OCD Patients Needed for U of M Pilot Study
Raihan Akther, Detroit Free Press- 8/28/2001
People with severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder who have not responded to all other
treatments can take part in a pilot research treatment at the University of Michigan's
Anxiety Disorders Clinic. OCD affects about 3.3 million U.S. adults. It is an
anxiety-based neurological disorder consisting of obsessions and compulsions. Obsessions
are recurrent, disturbing thoughts and images, like an intense fear of germs, or a
persistent fear of hurting others. Compulsions are repetitive behaviors or actions
performed to make obsessive thoughts go away, like washing hands. When people with OCD are
prevented from performing compulsions, they experience a significant increase in anxiety.
Research done in this country and abroad has helped to develop
treatments for OCD patients, like behavioral psychotherapy and serotonin re-uptake
inhibitors, a family of antidepressants. But a large number of patients do not respond to
these treatments. U-M is one of the few centers in the world that offers this new approach
called Deep Brain Stimulation. The procedure includes psychiatric, medical and
neurological exams. Patients are given an MRI to measure their brains and then undergo
surgery to have two small electronic stimulators inserted into their brains. After the
surgery, the stimulators will be tested at different frequencies and intensities to
measure the calming effect of electrical stimulation on the patients. The approach is
similar to electroshock treatment, but more precise. Patients can choose to keep the
stimulators in if the treatment proves helpful, or have them removed.
Patients must be over age 18 and have failed three antidepressant
trials and a behavioral therapy trial. They also must be in treatment with a psychiatrist
and follow up in that treatment after the procedure. The U-M Research Center and
Medtronics Corp., which makes the stimulators, are covering the research costs for up to
five patients. For more information, call the U-M Anxiety Disorders Clinic at
734-764-5348.
Lawsuit Claims Paxil Is Addictive
Associated Press- 8/28/2001
LOS ANGELES -- A lawsuit contends the manufacturer of the popular anti-depressant Paxil
concealed evidence that the drug can be addictive. The lawsuit was filed Friday on behalf
of 35 people from across the country who say they suffered symptoms ranging from
electric-like shocks to suicidal thoughts after discontinuing use of the drug. The
lawsuit, which seeks class-action status and unspecified damages, says GlaxoSmithkline PLC
concealed the possibility of physical and psychological withdrawal symptoms from the drug.
It alleges fraud, deceit, negligence, liability and breach of warranty. There was no
immediate comment from the British-based company. Calls to its U.S. offices after business
hours Friday were not returned.
Introduced on the U.S. market in 1992, Paxil is the country's
second-largest selling anti-depressant.
Paul Domb, 42, of Miami said that after he stopped taking Paxil last year, he suffered
from convulsions, night sweats, and suicidal thoughts for about six weeks. "I stopped
taking this drug ... and it destroyed me. It almost killed me," he said.
Alcohol Gets Mixed Reviews as a Tonic
Connie Lauerman, Chicago Tribune- 8/28/2001
Along with caffeine, alcohol is the most socially acceptable, widely available legal
drug. And in recent years, it has begun to take on the mantle of a health tonic as the
news media trumpets stories of medical studies about the possibility that red wine may
help ward off heart disease or that people who regularly imbibe a bit may live longer.
It's the sort of news that's easy to take, much more palatable than the conventional
advice to lose weight, follow a low-fat diet with lots of fruits and vegetables and
exercise regularly. And it puts physicians in an unusual position. Some research indicates
benefits from alcohol, but most doctors are leery of recommending it as preventive
medicine.
"There are some potential benefits of alcohol, . . . said Dr. Marc
Silver, chairman of internal medicine at Advocate Christ Medical Center in Oak Lawn and a
cardiologist who directs its Heart Failure Institute. "It seems like part of red
wine, or actually all wines, do contain substances that are antioxidants that seem to
protect the heart and some blood vessels from injury. "There's also some evidence
that in light doses there might be an anti-thrombotic effect, preventing blood clots. . .
. According to a 1996 scientific report from the Nutrition Committee of the American Heart
Association, analyses have suggested that the protective effect of alcohol occurs as a
result of increased levels of HDL (high-density lipoproteins, or "good . . .
cholesterol), which sweep fatty deposits from arteries. On the other hand, Silver said,
"people have neglected the tremendous downside. Alcohol is a toxin that damages the
heart muscle. It damages the DNA inside the heart. "It's responsible for so much
medical disease starting with fetal alcohol syndrome all the way to raising blood
pressure, increasing stroke and causing cardiomyopathy, or heart failure. . . .
Earlier this year, an American Heart Association advisory, published in
its journal Circulation, urged physicians to emphasize heart-protective measures that are
firmly supported by scientific research. Although the advisory was directed to physicians,
Dr. Ira Goldberg, a professor of medicine at Columbia University, said, "Our advice:
If you want to reduce your risk of heart disease, talk to your doctor about lowering your
cholesterol and blood pressure, controlling your weight, getting enough exercise and
following a healthy diet. . . .
The hypothesis that drinking red wine helps counteract the effect of
dietary cholesterol and saturated fat gained momentum when foreign-population surveys
showed lower risks of heart disease than in the United States despite the prevalence of
high-fat diets in some parts of Europe, such as France, where wine regularly is consumed.
Goldberg cautioned that "a number of dietary factors, such as eating fresh fruits,
vegetables and fish, and reduced intake of milk products, differ between American and
European populations and are associated with reduced heart-disease risk. . . . The
advisory also noted that although test-tube and animal studies have suggested that
antioxidants decrease plaque formation on artery walls, the research is inconclusive.
Linda Van Horn, professor of preventive medicine and research
nutritionist at Northwestern University Medical School, said that a few studies have
evaluated grape juice and found that "grape juice has had a similarly beneficial
impact on cardiovascular disease, that alcohol is not the active ingredient. It's in the
grapes, specifically the grape skins."
In an article published in a recent edition of the American Journal of
Clinical Nutrition, Tufts University researcher Dr. Jose Ordovas reported that alcohol has
a cholesterol-lowering effect but that it varies according to genetic make-up, meaning
alcohol can be dangerous for some people at high risk for heart disease. The
apolipoprotein (APOE) gene is an important determinant of LDL ("bad")
cholesterol in the blood. Tufts scientists found the men with the APOE gene Type 2 who had
moderate alcohol intake received the most cholesterol-lowering benefit.
Dr. Michael J. Thun heads epidemiological research for the American
Cancer Society in Atlanta. He called alcohol "a difficult double-edged sword."
Heavy drinking is associated with cirrhosis, alcoholism and various cancers, especially
breast cancer in women, he said. The first studies linking moderate alcohol consumption
and breast cancer were published in the late 1970s. Most prominent was the Nurses' Health
Study, which followed about 100,000 nurses for several years. By 1993, there were 56
epidemiological studies on the link between alcohol and breast cancer, Thun said.
"There's always contradictory evidence, but the weight of the evidence [shows that]
alcohol is closely involved in increasing breast cancer risk," Thun said. "I
don't believe there's any serious scientific controversy at this point."
A study published in the New England Journal of Medicine in 1997 about
alcohol and mortality among middle-age and elderly Americans took on a sensational cast
when headline writers got a hold of it. "One Drink A Day Cuts Death Rates, Large
Study Finds," blared one. "It was my study, and we didn't report it as `one
drink a day cuts death rates,'" Thun said. In reality, the lengthy statistical
analysis was more complicated, showing:
- No relation between alcohol consumption and death rates from colorectal cancer, colon or
rectal cancer separately, hemorrhagic stroke, pneumonia or any respiratory diseases.
- Drinking was associated with cirrhosis and alcoholism; cancers of the mouth, esophagus,
pharynx, larynx and liver combined; breast cancer in women (30 percent higher among women
reporting at least one drink a day compared with non-drinkers) and injuries and other
external causes in men.
- With little relation to the level of consumption, death rates from cardiovascular
diseases were 30 percent to 40 percent lower in men reporting at least one drink daily
than among non-drinkers.
- The overall death rates were lowest among men and women reporting about one drink daily.
- Mortality from all causes increased with heavier drinking, particularly among adults
under age 60 with lower risk of cardiovascular disease.
- Alcohol consumption was associated with a small reduction in overall risk of death in
middle age (ages 35 to 69), whereas smoking approximately doubled this risk.
The report concluded that moderate alcohol consumption "slightly" reduced
overall mortality and that the benefit "depended in part on age and background
cardiovascular risk and was far smaller than the large increase in risk produced by
tobacco."
Findings from a recent Danish cross-sectional study of 693 adults ages
29 to 34 suggested that wine drinkers are healthier than those who drink other alcoholic
beverages or those who abstain. But the researchers attributed the apparent health benefit
to the fact that wine drinkers tend to be wealthier and better educated. Of course, there
are no randomized clinical trials--the gold standard of scientific research--demonstrating
the benefits of alcohol. All the studies are epidemiological, meaning they look at the
existing health results within certain groups. Another complication is that the definition
of "moderate drinking" can be rather fluid, as can the size of a drink. The
federal government defines a drink as 12 ounces of regular beer, 5 ounces of wine and 1.5
ounces of 80-proof distilled spirits.
In his practice, University of Chicago neuropsychologist Neil Pliskin
said he commonly observes changes in "somebody who's having three to five drinks a
night over the course of 15 or 20 years. The changes [include] diminished memory capacity
and especially the capacity to learn new information quickly and effectively. Eye-hand
coordination and speed of thinking are commonly diminished in people who are chronic
alcohol users. You have only so much reserve capacity."
Northwestern's Van Horn, who recently was part of a panel that
developed national guidelines on the detection and treatment of cardiovascular disease,
noted that "the discussion among the experts clearly pointed to the fact that no
physician would recommend that a non-drinking patient start drinking. "As a guideline
for patients who are already ingesting alcohol, the recommendation is no more than two
drinks a day for a male and one drink a day for a female. Those recommendations are
provided as an upper limit, not as a prescribed limit." Advocate Christ's Silver
said, "An occasional alcoholic beverage blends in with our culture and the social
aspects of our lives and is probably not harmful. But the problem is the cumulative
effect, and eventually then it becomes dangerous.
Web Site Rates E-Therapists
Knight Ridder- 8/28/2001
Thanks to Web sites such as ABCs of Internet Therapy and www.Find-A-Therapist.com, some of the guesswork
about choosing a therapist online is eliminated. The former offers a directory that rates
e-therapists by credentials, fees and services, while the latter suggests you do your
homework before revealing your life story to a screen name. If you can't meet face-to-face
for at least the first visit, request an initial phone conversation. Among the questions
you should ask are:
· Where is your home office? Legitimate therapists will not hesitate to reveal this
information.
· Do you work in private practice? How long have you practiced?
· Do you have a license to practice in my state? Contact your secretary of state's office
or state board of licensing to find out.
· Has anyone ever made a complaint against you? If so, how was it resolved?
· Are you affiliated with any professional organizations that have strong criteria for
training and education?
· What's your style of therapy?
· What is the fee structure? Am I charged per minute, per e-mail, per week, per month?
· What modes of communication are available to me? Chat rooms? E-mails?
Videoconferencing?
· Will anyone other than the therapist have access to my files?
· Do you have experience with issues that are similar to mine?
· How long will I have to wait for a response to my e-mails?
· What do you expect from me during and between sessions?
· Can I call you in an emergency?
Study Finds Hypnosis Can Trigger False Memories
Jeff Carpenter, ABC News- 8/28/2001
Hypnosis that attempts to retrieve the truth may actually help convince you of
something false, a new study says. The study, presented Sunday at the meeting of the
American Psychological Association, shows what many doctors already believe: Hypnosis
can't help you recover "lost" memories. In fact, it tends to make people more
confident in false memories.
The study, by Joseph Green of Ohio State University, questioned 96
college students about the day, month and year of certain historical events. Roughly half
the students answered the questions under hypnosis, while the other half performed a
muscle relaxation exercise before the questions. Once finished with the questions, the
students rated how confident they were in their answers. Their answers were checked, and
all the subjects were told they had at least one wrong answer. They were then given a
chance to change their answers, and rank how confident they were in the revised version.
The study found there was no difference in the accuracy of the
hypnotized vs. the relaxation group. Nor were there differences in the groups' confidence
levels, but at the same time the hypnotized group changed fewer responses when given the
chance. "While hypnosis does not enhance the reliability of memory, there is some
evidence that hypnosis leads to increased confidence in memories," said Green.
The author attributes the finding to what he called the myths
surrounding hypnosis. In one of his previous studies, Green found that nearly nine out of
10 people in four countries thought hypnosis could help people recover lost memories.
"It's widely believed that hypnosis somehow acts as a truth serum, that it unlocks
memory and permits people to perform mental operations that they otherwise couldn't
do," said Green. That idea — no doubt launched by fictional portrayals of
hypnosis — took hold in earnest in the 1970s when hundreds of police departments
hired hypnotists to enhance eyewitness testimony. The results showed that hypnosis
increased the amount of information recalled — but the information was not always
accurate.
Again, in the early to mid-1990s there were thousands of cases clogging
courts based on recovered memories. Eventually it became apparent that many of these cases
were actually false memories created during hypnosis. "There are no reliable ways to
recover memory," said Michael Yapko, a clinical psychologist. "Hypnosis is not
some kind of truth detector."
Although hypnosis can't recover the truth reliably, it still has many
useful applications, including psychological and behavioral (such as conquering phobias),
medical (such as pain control), and self-improvement, notes Carol Ginandes, a clinical
instructor at Harvard Medical School. Doctors use hypnosis in psychological applications
to recover memories in the hope they can be used to treat whatever problems a patient has.
"Hypnosis enhances therapy. It facilitates access to the mind," said Claire
Frederick of the Cambridge Hospital in Cambridge, Mass. The memories recovered may or may
not be true, but can be very helpful in therapy, she said.
People with Autism Shine in Art Exhibit
Dawn Borman, Kansas City Star- 8/28/2001
KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- When onlookers stare at the acrylics that Matt Gauer paints, they
glimpse his personal retreat from the world. Long before the 15-year-old Parkville,
Mo., boy was diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder, he learned to channel his
thoughts and emotions into images. As a 2-year-old, he sketched cartoon characters from
memory. As a teen-ager, he paints wolves, foxes and other wild animals with precision. The
timid, blond youth feels an emotional kinship with wild animals. Where many might view
wolves and foxes as threatening, he sees them differently. "There are a lot of
animals that I'm a huge fan of that get misunderstood," he said. "In my own
thoughts, in my own eyes, in my own mind, I see wild animals and they seem so
graceful."
Recently -- for the first time -- his artwork went on public display at
KU Med Center's Institute for Child Development. The exhibit, titled "ARTiculation:
Two Views," presents Gauer's work and that of Laura McNellis, a 43-year-old North
Carolina woman with severe autism. Both artists have autism spectrum disorders, and both
use art as an outlet. Yet their work and illness offer striking contrasts, said Travis
Thompson, director of the Institute for Child Development. While Gauer has a high
comprehension level and paints representational images, McNellis cannot speak and creates
primitive, abstract pieces.
For Gauer, art was one of the few ways to seek comfort after a
frustrating day. "He would go off into a room with a pad and pencil, and that seemed
to comfort him," said his mother, Mona Gauer. McNellis' designs are large with
bright, basic colors and almost always feature a sun in the right corner and boxy letters
on the bottom, as if to create a signature, Thompson said. McNellis' work has been
nationally recognized and is sold at a New York gallery, Thompson said.
One of the purposes behind the exhibit is to help people understand
autistic disorders and to humanize those disorders for scientists who spend most of their
time in laboratories. "One of the great levelers of people is art because it puts
people from different walks of life on the same playing field," Thompson said.
"It's a real eye-opener for people who don't know a lot about those with
disabilities." |