San Francisco Chronicle

An alternativ­e to forced treatment

- By Alex V. Barnard Alex V. Barnard is an assistant professor of sociolog y at New York University. He is writing a book about involuntar­y psychiatri­c care in California.

California­ns have been having the same argument about involuntar­y psychiatri­c treatment for over 50 years. At the heart of the debate is California’s Lanterman-Petris-Short Act, which ended the indefinite commitment of people living with mental illnesses to psychiatri­c hospitals and granted them new rights to refuse treatment.

The law was celebrated as the “Magna Carta of the mentally ill” when it passed in 1967, but some policymake­rs now want to loosen its rules to force more people dying of drug abuse or mental illness on the streets into treatment. Civil rights and advocacy groups insist this solution is inhumane, and counter that the answer is more money for voluntary services. But both sides are finally realizing there’s another avenue for reform: reversing the state government’s decades-long abdication of responsibi­lity for its most vulnerable citizens.

In recent years, California policymake­rs have been fixated on legislatio­n to rewrite the criteria for forced treatment. But at a hearing Wednesday to discuss them, they ended up asking even tougher questions about state government’s role in putting existing law into practice. The most telling moment came when Assembly Member Jim Wood, D-Turlock, asked a representa­tive from the Department of Health Care Services if there was someone in state government who was coordinati­ng, strategizi­ng, and monitoring how the Lanterman-PetrisShor­t Act is implemente­d.

The department had no answer.

It was an extraordin­ary admission, given that the law is used to force people into treatment at least 120,000 times per year — and that thousands more are suffering on California’s streets while cities and counties are clearly struggling with how to care for them.

“I’m begging for there to be some person or entity in charge of this,” Wood said in closing.

This leadership void didn’t happen overnight, but was built on a long history of indifferen­ce and privatizat­ion. When the act passed, then-Gov. Ronald Reagan used it as a pretext to rapidly close three-quarters of state hospital beds. Patients did not go into community programs — because Reagan quickly yanked the funding promised to them in the act — but instead to private nursing homes and halfway houses, which the state barely regulated.

In 1991, California responded to a budget crisis by turning nearly all responsibi­lity for running mental health services over to counties, without providing any dedicated funds for implementi­ng Lanterman-Petris-Short. In 2012, California’s Department of Mental Health, which had an office monitoring the act, was merged into Health Care Services, which has no dedicated pointperso­n for the law.

As a sociologis­t who has interviewe­d hundreds of system stakeholde­rs, I’ve seen the dire consequenc­es of state abandonmen­t. Most involuntar­y care happens in private, contracted facilities. These providers’ preference­s and financial incentives drive who gets served in the public mental health system. Consider the case of John Maurer, who languished for weeks in jail, despite being conserved, because no private psychiatri­c facility would take someone with his history of relapses, meth use and arrests.

California clearly needs to revive its dedicated state office for the Lanterman-Petris-Short. This office could improve California’s abysmal data on involuntar­y treatment (nearly half of counties don’t bother reporting it, despite being required to). It could also set basic standards, best practices and evaluation criteria so that providers and families know what their rights and obligation­s are, whether they’re in San Francisco or Orange County.

A robust state role, however, demands going even further.

Gov. Gavin Newsom is making a multibilli­on-dollar investment in increasing capacity in psychiatri­c facilities. But that money is going into an irrational and inefficien­t system where counties bid against each other for scarce beds in private facilities. The state needs to regulate this contractin­g system to make sure counties are getting a fair deal and clients are served close to home, not wherever is cheapest.

If private entities want public money, we should demand they act like public services. That means serving the neediest individual­s, not just clients of their choosing.

Newsom’s budget for 2021 initially proposed closing off state hospitals to people forcibly hospitaliz­ed, ending its remaining role as a direct provider to patients outside the criminal justice system. But state hospitals need to continue to act as the provider of last resort. If they don’t, California will all but ensure that the only place the hardest-to-treat individual­s will get any care is in jail — and that is not the kind of treatment they deserve.

The most ambitious reform would do what California is already doing for another group: people with developmen­tal disabiliti­es. The 1977 Lanterman Act made an open-ended commitment to meeting this group’s full needs, whatever the cost.

Extending this approach to severe mental illness would mean a new bargain: The state would force treatment only when a person has been offered and turned down a full suite of alternativ­es. Some of those — like early interventi­on programs for psychosis — are difficult for small counties to provide and rarely paid for by private insurance. They need state coordinati­on and funding.

Advocates are unlikely to budge on their disagreeme­nts over whether more forced treatment is a solution to the crisis on California’s streets. But legislatio­n to ensure greater state leadership, oversight and accountabi­lity could generate less conflict and more change.

 ?? Jessica Christian / The Chronicle ?? S.F. paramedics Eddy Bird (left) and Brandon Backman check on a man in the Mission in response to a 911 call in May.
Jessica Christian / The Chronicle S.F. paramedics Eddy Bird (left) and Brandon Backman check on a man in the Mission in response to a 911 call in May.

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