New rights policy could be grand news for Ford
Oh my, what excellent timing — just as Toronto Mayor Rob Ford prepares to leave rehab and resume office, the Ontario Human Rights Commission releases its new “policy on preventing discrimination based on mental health disabilities and addictions.”
The announcement warranted but small notice in the Toronto press this week.
Alas, the writers of these pieces apparently took the commission at its word that the policy offers “userfriendly guidance” to help landlords, employers and organizations comply with the Ontario Human Rights Code.
In fact, reading the 109page document is heavy slogging, the literary equivalent of wading in wet cement. It’s the antithesis of user-friendly, rather filled with the ludicrous jargon so beloved by human rights commissions.
In any case, the grand news for Ford is that it appears he has a wonderful case for a discrimination complaint, in that as a person with acknowledged addiction issues, he is deemed to have a psychosocial disability and thus is considered “protected” by the Ontario Human Rights Code.
(For the record, the Code is the governing legislation that protects selected groups of Ontarians; the commission sets policies and standards and promotes respect for human rights; the Ontario Human Rights Tribunal hears complaints of discrimination.)
Ford, of course, is now widely known as Toronto’s crackhead mayor.
A Google search Thursday with the keywords “Rob Ford crackhead” produced a mere 66,600 results.
Readers may recall his long-standing denial that he had any sort of substance problem and steadfast refusal to seek help, despite it being urged upon him by all manner of colleagues on Toronto city council.
(Now, some of said colleagues were rather mean or purse-lipped in how they urged help upon the mayor, though undoubtedly they perceived themselves as kind and well-intentioned, so, in the bizarre world, they must be deemed as kind and well-intentioned, perception being nine-tenths of any given battle.)
In any case, at the time, Ford’s refusals were deemed to be part of a pattern of dishonesty and were attributed to his innate stubbornness or to some perceived moral weakness — the old way of looking upon addiction.
He was roundly mocked for his lapses and egregious conduct during them; buttons and T-shirts making fun of him were everywhere; newspapers dedicated entire flying squads of reporters to follow him about; there were breathless details about how much he sweated and how incoherent he did or didn’t appear.
And much of that was before he belatedly confessed his problems.
But as the new policy makes clear, such denials are completely common among those with psychosocial disabilities and wholly understandable.
In fact, as the executive summary says in no uncer- tain terms, “Because of the extreme stigma around certain types of mental health disabilities and addictions, many people may be afraid to disclose their disability to others.
“They may worry about being labelled, experiencing negative attitudes from others, losing their jobs or housing, or experiencing unequal treatment in services after disclosing a mental health issue or addiction.”
The broadening of the disability definition to include addictions has been in the works for almost 15 years, with a court case here and a court case there, but the new policy is the first to lay out standards, guidelines and best practices.
As a decision by the rights tribunal noted in a case last year, the use of “the term ‘crackhead’ ” is itself demeaning.
That April 9, 2013 decision involved a complaint from a long-standing crack-cocaine addict — he’d been addicted for 23 years and had participated in no fewer than 14 recovery programs — who had been clean for eight months when he started a job as a sales agent for a car dealership agency.
Things appeared to be going along swimmingly until he declined an invite for a drink with his boss, explaining that he wasn’t being rude, but was rather a re- covering addict. Over time, he told the boss all about his history. And when he relapsed over two weekends in the late summer of 2009, he went to the boss’s house to get some money he was owed.
He thought they were going to go to a bank machine. Instead, the boss took him to two detox sites, over his objections, trying to force him into help.
In fairly short order, the two had a falling out over other monies the agent was owed, and the boss called him “a f— ing crackhead,” which made the agent feel like he’d been slapped in the face. He was ashamed, especially when he learned the boss told a colleague about his addiction history, and others in the business.
He resigned, so depressed he soon slipped “back into full-blown addiction.”
In fairness, from the evidence at the tribunal, the agent seemed a pretty reasonable sort, and the boss an aggressive thug who once even threatened to kill him.
The adjudicator found that the agent “experienced stigmatization due to his disability,” that his disability “is one which is associated with stigmatization,” and that he was “vulnerable to negative stereotyping.” The boss was found to have discriminated against him and to have created a poisoned work environment.
He was ordered to pay the agent the commission owed him plus $25,000 for the injury to his dignity.
The decision is cited, with approval, in the new policy.
Imagine, then, the injury Ford — having endured treatment at least as egregious as that and far more widespread and for a far longer period — might be deemed to have suffered, either when council stripped him of most of his powers, or if, come the municipal election in October, he loses.
I am not for a minute serious, but imagining the reception that Rob Ford, pleading such a case, would receive rather illustrates the hypocrisy of the whole schmear: Poor addicts good, rich ones not so much.