Demanding ‘more and better’ psychiatry: Potentially liberatory or worse than the disease? morePresented at ALTERNATIVE FUTURES and POPULAR PROTEST, 16th International Conference, Manchester Metropolitan University, 18-20 April 2011 |
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Demanding
‘more
and
better’
psychiatry:
Potentially
liberatory
or
worse
than
the
disease?
By
Tad
Tietze
MBBS
(Hons),
FRANZCP
Conjoint
Lecturer,
School
of
Psychiatry,
University
of
New
South
Wales
Abstract
This
paper
takes
as
its
starting
point
Peter
Sedgwick’s
Psycho
Politics
(1982)
in
which
he
called
for
“more
and
better”
psychiatric
treatment
in
response
to
significant
“anti-psychiatry”
movements
by
patients,
carers
and
clinicians.
In
the
30
years
since
he
wrote,
mental
health
services
have
been
dramatically
reshaped
by
neoliberalism
—
where
patients
are
“consumers”,
the
state
demands
greater
coercion
to
control
“risk”,
and
Big
Pharma
has
created
massive
new
markets
for
drug
treatments
—
while
public
resources
have
been
eroded.
Equally,
campaigns
around
psychiatric
treatment
have
often
been
delimited
by
and
adapted
to
hegemonic
neoliberal
frameworks.
Does
Sedgwick
offer
us
the
basis
for
challenging
these
reverses
and
building
resistance
that
can
provide
renewed
hope?
And
how
does
his
approach
square
with
arguments
that,
if
done
right,
modern,
scientific
psychiatry
can
itself
promise
liberation?
Introduction
Over
the
last
30
years,
mental
health
and
illness
have
been
dramatically
reshaped
by
neoliberalism.
Patients
have
become
“consumers”,
the
state
demands
greater
coercion
to
control
“risk”,
and
pharmaceutical
companies
have
created
massive
new
markets
for
their
drugs.
Publicly
funded
services
have
withered,
with
market
principles
introduced
to
drive
down
costs.
At
the
same
time,
patient
campaigns
around
psychiatric
treatment
have
often
been
delimited
by
and
adapted
to
hegemonic
neoliberal
frameworks
under
the
rubric
of
“consumer
empowerment”.
Within
psychiatric
science
itself,
the
biomedical
model
is
more
dominant
than
ever.
It
is
a
far
cry
from
the
1960s
and
1970s,
when
anti-‐psychiatric
critiques
and
movements
seemed
to
have
mainstream
psychiatry
on
the
ropes,
attacked
for
its
bad
science,
ineffective
treatments
and
repressive
powers.
Yet,
despite
the
renewed
rise
of
critical
voices
both
within
and
outside
its
ranks,
the
psychiatric
establishment
prevails,
having
successfully
seen
off
those
powerful
challenges.
This
paper
will
trace
these
developments
by
examining
the
nature,
strengths
and
weaknesses
of
the
anti-‐psychiatry
movements
of
the
past
through
the
theoretical
framework
developed
by
Peter
Sedgwick
in
his
book
Psycho
Politics
(1982)
and
elsewhere,
in
which
he
demanded
“more
and
better
mental
hospitals,
more
and
better
doctors
and
nurses”.
It
will
use
Sedgwick’s
insights
to
show
how
anti-‐psychiatric
politics
were
vulnerable
to
neutralisation
or
co-‐option
in
the
turn
to
neoliberal
capitalism,
in
particular
in
its
effects
on
mental
health
treatments.
Finally,
it
will
suggest
that
his
anti-‐ capitalist
critique
is
a
necessary
basis
for
any
new
critical
praxis
that
challenges
not
just
mainstream
psychiatry’s
flaws
but
the
social
order
from
which
they
emerge.
Anti-‐psychiatric
critiques
&
movements
Anti-‐psychiatric
critiques
and
movements,
while
often
seen
by
mainstream
psychiatrists
as
a
monolithic
threat,
were
always
marked
by
considerable
heterogeneity.
Nevertheless,
it
is
possible
to
outline
three
basic
themes
that
cohered
them:
1. The
quality
of
the
“science”
of
psychiatry
when
compared
with
medicine
in
general
2. The
repressive
nature
of
psychiatric
practice,
with
its
ability
to
rob
patients
of
their
individual
rights
through
mechanisms
such
as
detention
and
forcible
treatment
3. The
value-‐laden
nature
of
psychiatric
diagnosis
that
turned
deviancy
from
mainstream
norms
into
an
undefinable
entity
called
“mental
illness”.
1
These
themes
can
be
seen
in
the
work
of
four
key
thinkers,
whose
work
remains
a
touchstone
for
anti-‐psychiatric
critiques
today.
Firstly,
writing
from
the
late
1950s,
North
American
sociologist
Erving
Goffman
developed
a
trenchant
ethnographic
examination
of
psychiatric
hospitals,
with
their
often
brutal
and
ineffective
treatments
and
tendency
to
render
patients
“dull
and
inconspicuous”
(Goffman
1961).
Secondly,
in
the
1960s
Scottish
psychiatrist
and
psychotherapist
R.D.
Laing
argued
that
schizophrenia
resulted
from
impossible
“binds”
people
were
put
in
by
their
families
and
society,
and
therefore
it
was
really
society
and
not
the
patient
that
was
pathological
(Laing
1964).
Also
writing
in
the
1960s,
Hungarian-‐American
psychiatrist
Thomas
Szasz
claimed
that
mental
illness
was
a
“myth”
because
unlike
physical
illness
there
were
no
“anatomical
and
genetic”
contexts
to
judging
someone
mentally
ill,
only
“social
and
ethical”
ones.
He
hit
out
at
how
psychiatrists
could
deprive
people
of
their
liberties
simply
by
bestowing
a
spurious
diagnosis
(Szasz
1960).
And
finally,
French
philosophe
Michel
Foucault,
in
a
more
complex
line
of
reasoning,
posited
that
concepts
of
mental
health
and
illness
were
purely
social-‐historical
constructs
that
shifted
and
changed
over
time
but
always
played
the
same
role
in
upholding
power
relations.
That
is,
the
asylum
and
the
psychoanalyst’s
couch
were
equally
just
parts
of
systems
of
repression
and
control
(Foucault
2001).
Anti-‐psychiatric
ideas
were
often
seen
as
a
radical,
liberatory
antidote
to
a
reactionary
mental
health
system.
Their
popularity
was
tied
up
with
counter-‐cultural
and
social
movement
activity
erupting
across
Western
nations
at
the
time.
These
movements’
calls
for
personal
and
social
liberation
within
a
nascent
anti-‐systemic
outlook
meant
that
society’s
treatment
of
deviant
behaviour
soon
attracted
their
attention.
New
Left
Review
ran
some
of
Laing’s
(1964)
writings
and
its
editors
waxed
lyrical
about
his
revolutionary
import.
Moreover,
anti-‐psychiatry
ideas
were
not
just
disembodied
phenomena
but
were
taken
up
by
real
movements
of
psychiatric
patients,
their
friends
and
relatives,
and
at
times
reforming
clinicians.
As
one
history
of
such
movements
in
the
United
States
points
out
(Tomes
2006:
722-‐3),
in
the
period
1950-‐70
deinstitutionalisation
led
to
advocacy
that
was
still
mainly
led
by
clinicians
but
from
around
1970
a
psychiatric
“survivor”
movement
developed
in
the
setting
of
radical
social
movements
of
the
1960s,
looking
to
patients
themselves
to
build
a
new
type
of
mental
health
system
based
on
self-‐ empowerment.
McLean
notes,
“Intellectually,
the
movement
was
nurtured
by
the
consciousness
raising
of
the
feminist
movement,
the
societal
critiques
of
the
radical
therapists,
the
labelling
arguments
of
the
gay
liberation
movement,
and
the
philosophies
of
self-‐help
movements”
(2000:
823-‐4).
In
the
spirit
of
the
times,
one
of
the
first
patient
1
As
McLean
(2000)
summarises
it:
“The
movement
was
overwhelmingly
antipsychiatry,
anti–medical
model,
and
opposed
to
forced
treatment
and
involuntary
commitment.
Participants
located
mental
illness
not
in
individual
impairments
but
in
oppressive
social
conditions.”
groups
to
spring
up
in
the
United
States
called
itself
the
Psychiatric
Inmates
Liberation
Movement
(McLean
2000:
822).
Very
soon
the
anti-‐authoritarian
bent
of
some
activists
led
them
to
break
ties
even
with
sympathetic
clinicians.
In
response
to
this
frontal
assault,
the
mainstream
of
psychiatry
felt
under
siege.
At
first
it
tried
to
ignore
it,
but
by
the
1970s
was
moving
to
clean
up
its
act.
Yet
it
managed
to
do
so
in
a
way
that
rehabilitated
much
of
what
was
being
attacked
in
the
first
place.
How
did
such
an
apparently
radical
critique
get
subverted
so
thoroughly?
Sedgwick’s
critique
of
anti-‐psychiatry
Writing
before
rise
of
neoliberalism,
British
socialist
and
clinical
psychologist
Peter
Sedgwick
pointed
to
limitations
in
anti-‐psychiatric
critiques
that
can
help
us
understand
how
they
left
themselves
open
to
being
neutralised
by
hegemonic
mental
health
systems.
To
do
this
he
deployed
Marx’s
materialist
method
of
analysing
social
phenomena,
contradictions
and
change
rather
than
suggesting
that
psychiatry
was
uniquely
rotten,
as
many
of
its
critics
did.
In
an
approach
that
garnered
significant
criticism
on
the
Left,
even
in
early
writings
he
argued
for
“more
and
better
mental
hospitals,
more
and
better
doctors
and
nurses
—
at
the
expense
of
armaments
and
the
profits
of
the
rich”.
This
was
at
odds
to
anti-‐ psychiatric
views
like
those
expressed
in
the
David
Mercer
play
Family
Life
(later
a
Ken
Loach
film),
which
tells
us
“that
all
that
these
hospitals,
doctors
and
nurses
do
is
to
brainwash
potentially
revolutionary
people
through
the
use
of
drugs
and
electro-‐shock”
(Sedgwick
1972).
He
praised
anti-‐psychiatrists’
demolition
of
scientific
positivism
in
psychiatry.
He
described
the
latter
as
“an
approach
towards
the
investigation
of
human
pathology
which,
modelling
itself
upon
antecedents
it
believes
to
be
characteristic
of
the
natural
sciences,
(a)
postulates
a
radical
separation
between
‘facts’
and
‘values’
(declaring
only
the
former
to
be
the
subject
matter
of
the
professional
investigator
and
(b)
suppresses
the
interactive
relationship
between
the
investigator
and
the
‘facts’
on
which
she
or
he
works.”
Positivist
diagnostic
entities
catalogued
in
textbooks
were
thus
held
to
correspond
to
some
external,
objective
reality
in
nature
(Sedgwick
1982:
21-‐2).
The
anti-‐psychiatrists
were
correct
to
both
reject
psychiatric
diagnosis
and
treatment
as
value-‐neutral,
and
treat
them
as
social
constructions.
But
Sedgwick
differed
with
them
in
that
they
mostly
turned
a
blind
eye
to
concepts
of
health
and
illness
in
general,
rather
than
just
the
mental
varieties.
In
a
key
passage
he
argued,
“It
may
prove
possible
to
reduce
the
distance
between
psychiatry
and
other
streams
of
medicine
…
not
by
annexing
psychopathology
to
the
technical
instrumentation
of
the
natural
sciences
but
by
revealing
the
character
of
all
illness
and
disease,
health
and
treatment,
as
social
constructions.
For
social
constructions
they
most
certainly
are”
(ibid:
29).
By
making
this
point
Sedgwick
is
not
denying
the
existence
of
phenomena
in
the
natural
world
that
humans
label
as
“diseases”
or
“illnesses”;
rather,
“[o]utside
the
significances
that
we
voluntarily
attach
to
certain
conditions,
there
are
no
illnesses
or
diseases
in
nature”
(ibid:
30).
For
example,
the
illness
known
as
influenza
consists
of
the
interaction
between
various
biological
organisms
in
the
context
of
a
certain
environment,
but
its
designation
as
an
illness
arises
from
the
social
meaning
it
possesses.
There
are
many
similar
interactions
between
organisms
in
nature
that
humans
don’t
call
diseases
because
they
have
no
such
social
import.
It
is
important
grasp
that
for
Sedgwick
this
was
not
about
relativism.
Rather,
definitions
of
health
and
sickness
were
always
the
product
of
specific,
historical
social
processes,
whose
meaning
could
only
be
judged
if
one
also
had
a
theory
of
social
structure
and
change.
“All
sickness
is
essentially
deviancy”
from
social
norms,
which
themselves
must
be
understood
concretely
(ibid:
32).
This
allowed
him
to
focus
attention
back
on
conflicts
over
ideas
and
practices
of
a
society
itself.
A
materialist
approach
was
not
a
matter
of
technologising
illness
or
medicalising
morals,
but
of
the
politicisation
of
medical
goals:
[W]ithout
the
concept
of
illness
—
including
that
of
mental
illness
since
to
exclude
it
would
constitute
the
crudest
dualism
—
we
shall
be
unable
to
make
demands
on
the
health
service
facilities
of
the
society
we
live
in
(Sedgwick
1982:
40).
Thus,
“more
and
better”
care
did
not
mean
“more
of
the
same”
but
a
challenge
to
the
priorities
of
capitalist
psychiatry,
as
part
of
a
wider
challenge
to
the
system
itself.
Sedgwick’s
approach
has
multiple
merits.
By
defining
mental
illness
as
“real”
but
socially
(rather
than
biologically)
constructed,
his
approach
can
explain
the
emergence
of
new
illnesses
as
part
of
social
processes,
and
help
us
understand
what
social
functions
they
serve.
It
can
cut
through
debates
about
whether
certain
illnesses
are
bona
fide
by
locating
their
attribution
within
a
wider
context.
And
it
can
explain
how
diagnosis
and
treatment
can
play
contradictory
roles,
not
just
as
instruments
of
elite
rule
(as
suggested
by
anti-‐psychiatrists)
but
also
as
essential
aids
to
subaltern
resistance.
Importantly,
his
writing
was
also
a
riposte
to
the
medical
(and
methodological)
individualism
that
was
uncritically
accepted
by
most
of
psychiatry’s
detractors.
Rather
than
framing
diagnosis
and
treatment
in
terms
of
a
simple
battle
between
the
labelled
individual
and
their
oppressor,
he
located
their
contradictions
in
social
struggles.
Contra
Szasz’s
libertarian
invocation
of
the
absolute
right
of
the
individual
to
determine
their
fate,
Sedgwick
responded
that
personal
rights
couldn’t
be
separated
from
the
struggle
for
social
freedoms.
Similarly,
the
attribution
of
deviancy
to
individual
patients
could
not
be
resolved
by
determining
that
they
“really”
had
nothing
wrong
with
them
biologically,
but
by
interrogating
the
social
function
of
the
attribution
(and
thereby
also
explaining
its
ability
to
shift
and
change
with
social
change
itself)
(Sedgwick
1973).
By
freeing
himself
of
these
unresolvable
debates,
Sedgwick
could
both
argue
for
reforms
in
the
here
and
now
(“more
and
better”)
but
also
point
to
the
need
for
a
thoroughgoing
critique-‐in-‐practice
of
society
as
a
whole.
Such
a
critique
can
serve
as
a
guide
through
developments
produced
by
neoliberalism.
Neoliberalism
and
mental
health
1. Neoliberal
biopsychiatry
Biological
psychiatry
emerged
long
before
the
renaissance
it
was
afforded
by
the
project
to
put
the
profession
on
a
firmer
“scientific”
footing,
in
1980,
with
publication
of
the
American
Psychiatric
Association’s
Diagnostic
and
Statistical
Manual
of
Mental
Disorders,
3rd
Edition
(DSM-‐III).
Despite
its
obvious
weaknesses,
biological
reductionism
continues
to
dominate
psychiatry
because
of
its
fit
with
the
needs
of
the
dominant
social
order:
Its
claim
to
provide
“value-‐free”
scientific
legitimacy
to
social
problems,
its
basis
in
medical
individualism
mirroring
the
appearance
of
ontological
individualism
within
markets,
and
its
usefulness
as
a
conscious
tool
used
by
elites
to
mystify
and
enforce
hierarchical
social
relations
(Cohen
1993:
511-‐2).
Nevertheless,
with
the
shift
away
from
post-‐WWII
“welfare”
politics
that
were
already
being
dismantled
when
Sedgwick
wrote,
there
has
also
been
a
massive
expansion
of
this
model
to
completely
overtake
all
other
modalities
of
explanation
and
treatment.
This
has
been
synergistic
with
the
transformations
wrought
by
neoliberalisation,
understood
here
in
David
Harvey’s
words
as
a
“project
to
achieve
the
restoration
[capitalist]
class
power”
in
response
to
the
economic
crisis
and
subaltern
resistance
of
the
1970s
(Harvey
2005).
That
is
because
it
has
suited
the
economic
interests
of
powerful
institutional
actors
such
as
private
health
insurers
and
pharmaceutical
manufacturers
seeking
to
expand
markets,
and
governments
seeking
to
limit
costs
of
public
services
through
narrowly
defined
and
easily
administered
therapeutic
approaches
(Cohen
1993:
516).
Big
Pharma
has
been
able
to
extend
the
notion
of
“chemical
imbalance”
to
produce
massive
increases
in
the
prescription
of
psychotropic
drugs
for
a
much
wider
range
of
conditions
than
previously
obtained
(Moncrieff
2006).
Psychotropics
are
now
among
the
most
profitable
drugs
in
the
world.
To
achieve
this,
Big
Pharma
has
preyed
on
real
life
stresses
faced
by
ordinary
people
in
a
society
becoming
harsher
and
less
collective.
In
part,
it
has
achieved
this
through
utilising
the
ideology
of
happiness
through
individual
consumption,
where
people
are
always
expected
to
seek
an
idealised,
contented
norm
of
inner
experience
that
is
always
frustrated
by
their
actual
existence
(Moncrieff
2009).
The
positivism
(and
empiricism)
that
underpins
DSM
diagnoses
and
related
treatments
also
matches
the
reduction
of
health
service
activities
to
ones
that
can
be
measured
for
efficacy
and
cost-‐effectiveness
by
randomised
controlled
trials,
excluding
more
complicated
(and
perhaps
more
effective)
psychotherapeutic
and
social
modalities
because
they
are
not
readily
amenable
to
such
quantitative
analysis.
This
then
allows
mental
health
services,
whether
public
or
private,
to
be
subordinated
to
monetary,
market
imperatives
(Plastow
2010b;
Plastow
2010c).
By
locating
such
tendencies
in
the
social
system,
Sedgwick’s
approach
can
track
the
changing
definitions
and
boundaries
of
health,
illness
and
treatment
while
remaining
anchored
in
the
social
system
being
analysed.
For
example
we
can
now
understand
both
the
struggle
for
Vietnam
veterans’
suffering
to
be
acknowledged
by
governments
in
terms
of
Post-‐Traumatic
Stress
Disorder
as
a
fundamentally
radical
subaltern
act
(Neale
2001:
185-‐9),
but
also
understand
the
later
use
of
the
category
by
private
medical,
pharmaceutical
and
insurance
interests,
as
well
as
governments,
to
define
the
veracity
or
otherwise
of
workplace
injuries
in
the
service
of
elite
interests
(Summerfield
2001).
Similarly,
the
use
of
medications
to
treat
depression
can,
depending
on
the
context
and
circumstances,
be
part
of
trying
to
cover
up
anger
at
the
state
of
society
or
it
can
represent
a
genuine
attempt
to
provide
relief
to
those
suffering
from
those
social
problems,
even
if
only
partial.
In
both
cases
Sedgwick
encourages
a
critical
practice
that
seeks
to
bring
out
the
best
from
existing
scientific
knowledge
while
eschewing
a
moralistic
rejection
of
all
psychiatric
treatments
as
useless
or
worse.
2. Neoliberalism
&
social
control
The
process
of
neoliberalisation
on
the
one
hand
stresses
the
roles
of
individual
market
actors
to
freely
engage
in
commerce,
but
on
the
other
hand
it
is
accompanied
by
authoritarian
tendencies
that
seek
to
modulate,
pacify
or
even
eliminate
deviancy,
here
designated
as
failure
to
meet
the
expectations
of
modern
work
and
consumer
life
(Moncrieff
2009:
242).
As
Terry
Eagleton
describes
the
ideal
neoliberal
subject:
“Capitalism
needs
a
human
being
who
has
never
existed,
one
who
is
prudently
restrained
in
the
office
and
wildly
anarchic
in
the
shopping
mall
(2003:23).”
Growing
social
inequality
and
distress
result
in
systemic
responses
to
increase
social
control,
often
through
invocation
of
the
paradigm
of
“risk”
(See
Callinicos
2007:
303-‐4
for
a
general
discussion
of
risk).
The
latter
seeks
to
reduce
the
social
determinants
of
illness
and
health
to
“risk
factors”
which
must
then
be
controlled
at
the
level
of
the
individual
person
(Henderson
2007:
82).
Such
a
calculus
leads
to
an
increase
in
preventative
actions,
including
detention
and
coercive
treatment
—
such
as
has
been
seen
with
the
introduction
of
forcible
medication
in
the
community
in
the
UK
despite
the
lack
of
an
evidence
base
for
its
effectiveness
(Churchill,
Owen
et
al.
2007).
At
a
less
extreme
level
there
is
the
use
of
medicalisation
to
regulate
socially
undesirable
affects
or
behaviours,
whether
through
drug
therapy
for
disruptive
children
for
their
ADHD
or
to
ameliorate
the
productivity-‐sapping
effects
of
depression
on
labour
power.
Sometimes
the
medicalised
approach
results
in
workers
no
longer
capable
of
fitting
in
to
modern
workplaces
being
put
out
to
pasture
on
disability
pensions,
robbing
them
of
meaning
in
life.
Again
Sedgwick
allows
us
to
break
free
from
circular
debates
about
what
the
“objective”
basis
of
these
problems
is
locating
them
in
a
contradictory
and
conflictual
social
reality.
3. Neoliberal
co-‐option
of
patient
movements
Perhaps
most
importantly,
Sedgwick’s
critique
of
medical
individualism
and
an
individual
rights
agenda
among
anti-‐psychiatry
movements
helps
explain
how
quickly
they
turned
from
radical
rejections
of
the
existing
mental
health
system
to
incorporation
within
it.
The
reform
movement’s
high
point
was
undoubtedly
in
Italy,
where
radical
psychiatrist
Franco
Basaglia
successfully
campaigned
for
“the
1978
Italian
National
Reform
Bill
that
banned
all
asylums
and
compulsory
admissions,
and
established
community
hospital
psychiatric
units
which
were
restricted
to
15
beds”
(Rissmiller
and
Rissmiller
2006:
864).
This
spurred
a
“democratic
psychiatry
movement”
that
saw
similar
reforms
in
several
countries,
but
thereafter,
almost
everywhere
the
movement
petered
out,
mostly
shifting
its
focus
to
consumer
advocacy.
The
early
movement’s
focus
on
individual
“empowerment”
was
wedded
to
a
consumer
perspective,
especially
in
the
United
States
where
consumer
politics
were
a
significant
force.
As
McLean
(1995:
1067)
explains,
“
‘Consumer
empowerment'
substitutes
an
empowerment
defined
in
terms
of
one’s
power
to
exercise
choice
within
the
mental
health
system
for
an
empowerment
originally
conceived
as
deriving
from
one’s
independence
from
that
system.”
The
self-‐help
ethos
of
many
patient
groups,
an
understandable
reaction
to
state
“welfarist”
policies
that
“encouraged
passivity
and
professional
‘policing’
of
social
and
family
life”,
could
easily
be
turned
to
encouraging
the
privatisation
of
care
arrangements
within
families
and
voluntary
organisations
(Henderson
2005:
249-‐50).
Very
often
the
problems
inside
existing
services,
driven
by
hierarchical
management
structures
and
limited
funding,
would
simply
replicate
themselves
inside
consumer-‐managed
non-‐ government
organisations.
There
would
also
be
conditions
placed
by
governments
on
the
flow
of
funds
to
ensure
that
the
organisations
muffled
their
criticisms
of
state
policy
(McLean
2000:
838).
An
account
of
the
way
that
an
Australian
government
moved
from
welcoming
consumer
activists
“inside
the
tent”
before
then
applying
neoliberal
prerogatives
to
their
functioning
is
instructive:
When
corporate
rationalisers
in
periods
of
Labor
government
were
concerned
with
the
state’s
legitimation
imperative
of
popular
support
for
health
services
reform,
the
democratising
efforts
of
activist
groups
were
encouraged
and
their
policy
role
embraced.
But
when
governments
shifted
to
a
focus
on
efficiency
and
economic
and
managerial
objectives
rather
than
democracy,
community
activist
groups
came
under
pressure
to
redefine
their
role
more
narrowly
in
accordance
with
neo-‐liberal
and
managerialist
paradigms.
Having
long
accepted
their
designation
as
“consumer
groups”,
they
tempered
their
commitment
to
radical
reform
of
the
health
system
in
favour
of
participation
in
the
mainstream
policy
process
(Lofgren,
Leahy
et
al.
2011).
These
shifts
did
not
mean
that
all
activists
abandoned
their
suspicion
of
mainstream
mental
health
services.
In
the
United
States
there
were
deep
splits
in
the
movement
over
support
or
opposition
for
forcible
treatment.
But
those
attracted
to
“consumer”
rather
than
“survivor”
politics
focused
on
“advocating
for
more
treatments
and
greater
access
to
them.”
Former
patients
moved
from
picketing
meetings
of
the
American
Psychiatric
Association
to
sitting
on
panels
at
them
(McLean
2000:
825).
Similarly,
health
authorities
saw
the
benefit
of
promoting
organisations
of
family
members
of
the
mentally
ill,
finding
them
willing
to
argue
for
more
research
into
narrow
biomedical
explanations
of
deviant
behaviour
and
even
coerced
treatment.
These
carer
organisations
were
often
better
organised
nationally
than
groups
of
patients
and
ex-‐ patients
themselves
(ibid:
828).
Consumer
activism
was
not
just
problematic
because
of
its
use
of
neoliberal
terminology
and
its
incorporation
into
existing
power
institutions.
It
also
exacerbated
class
differentials
in
the
type
of
care
patients
received.
Not
only
would
working-‐class
and
poor
people
tend
to
receive
drugs
rather
than
intensive
therapies
for
their
problems,
but
their
very
experience
of
“consumption”,
and
the
promised
“choice”
and
“empowerment”
it
could
deliver,
came
with
minimal
ability
to
control
other
aspects
of
their
lives
(ibid:
830).
The
rights
agenda
that
drove
large
sections
of
the
patient
movement
therefore
left
it
open
to
incorporation
in
a
neoliberal
framework.
Understandable
rejection
of
paternalistic
mental
health
services
in
the
post-‐WWII
“welfare
state”
era
was
utilised
by
authorities
willing
to
cede
limited
individual
rights,
but
only
within
a
tightly
controlled
market
framework.
As
with
other
liberation
movements
of
the
era,
a
mixture
of
legal
reforms
and
incorporation
into
existing
corporate
and
state
structures
seemed
to
provide
a
way
forward
for
activists.
But
instead,
their
aspirations
were
reduced
to
once
again
being
mere
participants
in
a
system
out
of
their
control.
Conclusion
Although
he
published
Psycho
Politics
at
the
very
start
of
the
neoliberal
era,
Peter
Sedgwick
was
able
to
develop
a
critique
of
existing
psychiatry
that
could
serve
as
a
useful
approach
to
resisting
the
logic
of
neoliberal
transformations
of
mental
health
and
illness.
He
would
not
have
been
surprised
by
mainstream
psychiatry’s
ability
to
claim
it
now
stood
on
firm
scientific
footing
with
the
positivist,
narrowly
biomedical
counter-‐ revolution
ushered
in
with
the
DSM-‐III.
Neither
would
he
have
been
shocked
to
see
individual
rights
agendas
moulded
into
safe
channels
through
consumer
empowerment
strategies,
while
authoritarian
policies
gradually
bubbled
back
into
view.
And
he
would
have
rejected
the
naïve
hope
that
the
explosion
of
medical
diagnoses
for
all
kinds
of
human
distress
could
be
resolved
through
interventions
(psychiatric
or
anti-‐psychiatric)
divorced
from
a
social
substrate.
Despite
the
difficulties
involved
in
creating
such
unity,
Sedgwick
always
highlighted
the
need
for
genuine
cooperation
from
below
between
patients
and
clinicians,
which
would
naturally
mean
having
to
challenge
the
power
relations
structuring
existing
services.
His
suggestion
that
we
fight
for
serious
reforms
and
improvements
in
the
existing
system
was
not
a
lowering
of
horizons
but
an
unavoidable
building
block
for
genuinely
collective
alternatives
to
the
capitalist
organisation
of
mental
health
and
illness.
His
method,
then,
was
not
about
a
question
of
psychiatry
versus
anti-‐psychiatry,
but
of
addressing
mental
health
illness
in
the
context
of
projects
for
social
transformation.
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