Chloe Bercovitz

Co Editor-in-Chief

“It just felt really disheartening and I felt defeated and powerless,”

says student Gina Nicoll via Global News. “It made me feel I was doing something wrong just by being unwell, and I felt I was criminalized for it.”

In the past decade, researchers have become increasingly fascinated by the intersectionality that strings mental health with the criminal justice system. And, namely affecting students, this issue raises a question that has become more and more necessary to divulge: why does seeking psychiatric care so often become a matter for the police?

My answer lies, overwhelmingly, in an analysis of Quebec’s Act P-38.001 – which governs the involuntary intervention of individuals whose mental state presents a danger to either themselves or others.

“Before I was in the system, I didn’t realize how intertwined policing was with mental health,” Nicoll continues, an undergraduate at the time who was living on campus. An episode of hers landed her in the hands of police. She was then taken to hospital for assessment.

Such a paradox is an everyday reality; a product of what I believe to be a broken system. Mental health has, finally, become understood as healthcare – and yet serious cases intrinsically provoke an involvement of the law.

P-38, Quebec’s Act respecting the protection of persons whose mental state presents a danger to themselves or to others, establishes the circumstances under which a person may be involuntarily taken for psychiatric assessment or confinement. Intended to protect individuals whose mental state presents itself as dangerous, this legal framework intrinsically restricts one’s liberties. How contradictory.

But this act has become more relevant than ever: Quebec adopted Bill 23 in June of this year. This legislation has made amendments to P-38, changing the standard from “grave and immediate danger” to a broader “situation where there is a danger.” Further, the Government of Quebec has now allotted $104.4 million in funding, over five years, to support the collaboration between police officers and psychosocial workers.

However, such reforms beg certain questions: can changing the process of intervention garner those in mental health crisis the appropriate care? And can a change in the law necessarily revisit and/or alter how intervention feels to the person subjected to it?

Involuntary psychiatric intervention, I would argue, inherently blurs the line that is marked between individual liberty and public safety. There are circumstances in which a person may be unable to recognize the gravity of their condition; intervention shall forever be necessary in preventing harm. The existence of such circumstances should not be dismissed. But with that being said, the authority to intervene does not absolve anyone of the responsibility to consider how that intervention ought to be carried out.

For an individual in the midst of acutely severe psychological distress, the arrival of police will, oftentimes, introduce an entirely new dimension to an already frightening situation. Police officers have responsibilities with regard to public safety – and indeed, their training prepares them to respond to a range of emergencies. Mental health professionals, by contrast, are trained to assess psychological distress, provide treatment, and help individuals manage their conditions. So, while these roles may overlap, they cannot be considered interchangeable.

Nicoll’s experience illustrates the grave importance that is considering the perspective of the individual in distress. She felt as if she were a criminal.

Bill 23 revises when and how the state may step in; it does little to stop crises from happening. Not enough care is being given to the conditions that bring someone to such a point. As we live amid a healthcare system full of red tape, I wonder why legislative change hasn’t been met to address the root causes of the matter at hand.

A myriad of solutions exist: a healthier future, to me, is palpable.

Mental health crises commonly emerge through a pattern of neglect that looks like waiting for a counsellor, a referral, or a psychiatrist. A budget that stretches north of a 100 million has the very capacity to fund and expand a variety of resources.

Every individual who can receive help early is one fewer person whose first encounter with the system is a uniform at the door.

Crisis centres, offering walk-in services without any means of a referral, are something that we already see in Quebec. A working alternative that provides assessment, stabilization, and connections – more government attention to such establishments could be the life-saving alternative to an emergency room.

In a similar vein, I have taken inspiration from the crisis café: a model that has begun adoption in the United Kingdom. Quite different from a crisis center, these are more informal, community spaces, allowing those in distress to speak with trained staff and peers. They are not intended for those in immediate danger, but rather, to reach individuals earlier and before the law becomes involved.

Even though there will forever be cases in which intervention is necessary, necessary should never, ever, feel punitive. Better care before a crisis, a safer place to go during one, and mental health professionals on scene, would make intervention what it was always meant to be: protection that no one should have to fear.