One of the joys of a lifetime in politics is the incredible people you meet and what you learn from them. I’ve met kings, queens, prime ministers, presidents. Famous and accomplished people all, some by the accident of birth, some by skill and most by hard work.
We, in our way, meet people who affect our lives, and some have the power to suddenly change the way we view the world.
It’s the brave people who came forward and testified about their own lived experience with mental illness or that of loved ones that touched and still haunt me to this day when I chaired Ontario’s All-Party Select Committee on Mental Health and Addictions.
Stories of ordinary people held my colleagues and me in a state of shock and disbelief for approximately two years while we travelled this great province and eventually issued what became a watershed report: Navigating the Journey to Wellness: The Comprehensive Mental Health and Addictions Action Plan for Ontarians.
I would have to go back and research some names and stories, some I remember like it was yesterday.
One woman slept across her apartment door to prevent her mentally ill son from going out and scoring dangerous drugs he used to soothe his pain.
The man who knew he was different during his upbringing, but with a family in denial, never received the treatment he should have and ended his presentation with the words “…so I shot my son.”
A group of men, who were dealing with the tremendous challenges of schizophrenia, tired of being drugged to the point of not knowing if they were awake or asleep. They banded together in meetings, figuring out their drugs and dosages through peer-to-peer counselling, assistance and just plain talking with each other. Right or wrong and with nobody there to help, they turned to each other.
Having accepted the role, but before starting the committee work, I experienced the stigma of mental health when several fellow politicians commented. Their prevailing view was “What in the world was I thinking and who really cared about mental illness?” or “Why would anyone actually come out and speak about mental illness in public?”
The very clear intimation was that mental health issues were best left in the shadows, and I had picked the biggest “loser” of an issue to get involved with.
How wrong they were; people came out in droves and wrote in by the hundreds. They’d had enough of being quiet or embarrassed, and they’d seen or experienced enough pain and suffering. Treatment was so poor, underfunded and disjointed they had nothing to lose. Many only asked for three simple things we all would want: a home, a friend and a job.
Our committee travelled through all the major urban centres in southern Ontario; we visited indigenous territories, remote fly-in communities, rural Ontario and major centres in Northern Ontario. We left our party membership at the door and simply became ordinary people trying to help other everyday people who had suffered in silence for too long. I’ve seen politics at its sleaziest, and I’ve witnessed democracy at its best. This was politics at its very best.
In indigenous communities, we learned of the intergenerational trauma of residential schools. People who had never been parented found it extremely difficult to be parents themselves. We visited communities where between half and three-quarters of the population were addicted to opioids, and the rest were trying to treat them with no qualified medical help. Opioid painkillers found their way through the local airport easily, but federal aid to treat addicted people somehow never did.
We had access to some of the brightest minds in Ontario and Canada during our deliberations. I asked the same two questions over and over again. I sensed we were seeing an increased incidence of mental illness in Ontario, and I wanted to know if that was true. I also wanted to know how many practising psychiatrists we had in our province. Even with the committee’s dedicated staff, I could not find an answer to either.
The increased incidence question drew answers such as: “We can identify many more conditions these days,” “we’ve never really tracked the numbers,” or “we’re so overwhelmed, we stopped counting.” It also became apparent that nobody at any level of government deemed it important enough to keep track of one of the most significant resources we had to assist those dealing with mental illness, those, of course, being practising psychiatrists.
To my mind, we are still seeing increased incidence today and can barely put a band-aid on the issue when it comes to timely treatment. Government was already struggling to keep our physical health care system afloat when people began asking that a better job be done on mental health treatment. In so many ways, we’re still on our own on this issue.
Although the government of the day made some progressive moves with a “kids first” approach and a stigma reduction initiative, it was always going to be inadequate to meet the demand for the actual services needed. Don’t get me wrong, stigma reduction is important; it’s improving and is a part of the solution, but it’s the least expensive issue for government to fund. It is another example of how big government words are often designed to create the illusion of big government action. There’s a particular cruelty to encourage people to speak up about mental health issues but then not provide them with adequate treatment.
Essentially, the reality for people needing treatment, our opioid problem, our prison system, our workplaces, our school system, expanding technologies and expectations is that treatment is scarce and therefore prevention is key. Add the effects of this pandemic to the mix, and in fact, prevention appears to be the only powerful tool we have. Perhaps, a sign of some progress is that people are talking openly about the current and anticipated mental health tsunami from the pandemic. In the past, this may not have happened. Mental illness considerations would have probably been an afterthought.
A year or so ago, some very kind people in Oakville approached me and, knowing my interest and history on the issue, asked if I’d be interested in being part of a foundation designed to deal with mental illness and wellness. They asked if I would lend my name to the new organization. So, the Kevin Flynn Mental Health Foundation (KFMHF) was born; it focuses on raising funds for research into how prevention can lessen the incidence of mental illness in the first place. We also host informative, practical events with guest speakers. Recently we had Dr. Bill Howatt presenting on the impact of loneliness. Later in the year, we’re working with The Canadian Caribbean Association on an evening discussing the mental health impacts of feeling excluded. Our backroom and fundholder is the wonderful Oakville Community Foundation.
I have an image of a young person talking to their mom or dad or standing in the doctor’s office. They are frustrated for not knowing the clinical lingo and using totally inadequate words to try and explain how they suddenly feel “different” or sad all the time, or they’re not good enough, or they’ve already lost interest in daily life.
I asked myself, did that child have to be in that room at that time or was there something we could have done earlier that could have prevented it? There is, and I think we’re missing or not talking about something that lends itself to the increasing incidence.
At KFMHF, we want to help that research into prevention take place.
Bell Let’s Talk Day is a wonderful opportunity to help fund research by simply doing what you would be doing anyway (texting and talking). Bell Canada was one of the first corporations to step to the forefront and start an open dialogue on mental illness and should be commended for stepping into a space many other corporations feared to tread. They deserve our support.
You can learn more or contribute to the Kevin Flynn Mental Health Foundation through our website at Kevin Flynn Mental Health Foundation, and on January 26, you can help raise even more funds for many other mental health initiatives by going to www.letstalk.bell.ca and using #BellLetsTalk.
