Mental health funding shortfall is costing lives

Sadly, this is an editorial we have written before. And even more sadly, we will almost certainly write it again. Because here, in Ontario, in 2021, our society and our governments still don’t get it on the subject of providing adequate mental-health services. We know what we need to do, we know what happens when we don’t do it, and still, our government and a disturbing number of the people who elect them, remain unwilling to do what is necessary.

The story of Attila Csanyi is not new, or unique. Compellingly told by Spectator journalist Teviah Moro, (in print Saturday and online now) who spent months investigating and reporting, it is the story of a promising young man and athlete, who suffered and survived terrible abuse at the hands of a foster family. He and his twin brother emerged from that scarring experience damaged but determined, and ended up in loving foster care in the small city of Lindsay, Ont. There, Attila demonstrated star qualities as a baseball player. It looked, for a time, like his story might have a happy ending.

But Attila started showing signs of mental illness and distress. His brother, Richard, worked diligently to get help, but had limited success. The baseball dream went away, Attila’s schizophrenia got worse, and his life went off the rails. Attila, who became homeless, used hard drugs and stopped taking his medication, was eventually found dead on the roof of Jackson Square.

The system didn’t fail Attila and those who loved him just once. It failed when it placed the twins in a foster home that turned out to be abusive. It failed when it couldn’t find adequate resources to deal with his schizophrenia. And it failed when it could not place him in safe, secure housing.

There is no mystery here. Just sadness and a preventable tragedy. There’s not even mystery around why Attila, and dozens more like him, fell through the cracks of our so-called social safety net.

As recently as the 1980s, Ontario basically warehoused people with mental diseases such as schizophrenia. The typically huge facilities were called mental hospitals among other things. Hamilton had one on the Mountain, and parts of it still stand.

In most ways, especially judging by today’s standards, it was a barbaric system and it needed to change, or to be eliminated. And as public, political and medical opinion turned against it, the mental hospitals were closed.

But here’s the thing. Experts and advocates at the time applauded the more modern and humane treatment of people with mental illness, but they also had a stark warning: closing the facilities doesn’t mean the need goes away. It merely transfers the need to the broader community. Significant investment in community, primary and tertiary mentalhealth support needed to follow the patients no longer living in warehouses.

That happened, but only to a point. Communitybased mental-health services and support developed, but not nearly enough. The result was predictable, and people like Attila were the victims. Attila’s family tried to get him the help he needed, but it wasn’t available. They tried to ensure he had safe and supportive housing, but the supply is inadequate and inconsistent.

Today, in cities like Hamilton and across Canada, people with serious mental-health conditions have to wait if they are fortunate enough to access them at all. Yet, in the year before this pandemic, the Ontario government dedicated less than 2.5 per cent of its $58 billion health spending to mental health.

That’s inadequate and we all know it. But until we do something about it, there will continue to be victims of systemic and societal failure like Attila.