If someone had told me in 2008 that the single most time-consuming issue facing me as one of the newest of America’s three thousand-and-eighty-one sheriffs would be mental health, I would have laughed. I was the SWAT team leader. I was a drug education officer on patrol and a street-level narcotics interdiction officer for a larger (by Iowa standards) sheriff’s office. I would do the occasional court-ordered, emergency mental health committal and the random transport from one health care facility to another mental health facility on a judge’s order from time to time. But that was the extent of my engagement with real, actual, and actionable knowledge of law enforcement and mental health care as a unit. Sure, you would see the news about the mentally ill, you’d encounter the occasional ‘crazy’ guy or gal, and you’d pray that you never had to encounter someone on patrol who wanted a ‘suicide-by-cop’ scenario to play out in real life.
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Today, mental illness and how it intersects with my duties as one of Iowa’s ninety-nine elected sheriffs influences my obligations on a daily basis. I manage nearly three-hundred residential beds in our jail and over sixty percent of them are occupied by someone with a significant mental health diagnosis. The number of emergency mental health committals have steadily risen since I took office in 2009; and our state has slowly and steadily ‘alleviated’ itself of its obligations in the mental health care arena, opting instead to delegate that responsibility down to the counties or mental health regions for which they provide minimal financial or other kinds of supports. They have shut down state run mental health hospitals, privatized mental health care insurance, decentralized the Department of Human Services, and gutted both funding and staffing for mental health care over the past twenty years to create a perfect storm of convergence whereby a nationwide crisis has become a ‘hometown doorstep issue’ for my colleagues and those of us in law enforcement.
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In America today, the fastest growing population in prison is not Blacks, Hispanics, or toothless methamphetamine addicts…it is the mentally ill. We are criminalizing our brothers and our sisters, our neighbors and our friends at an alarming and increasing pace…and are we not challenged to be their keepers? At a truly visceral level, this problem perplexes me to my very being. I am hurt and disappointed, no, perhaps that is too small an assertion for where I find myself standing as a sheriff. Disappointed is a father when a child forgets to pick up the Legos and you ‘find’ them at 11:00pm on your way to the bathroom, stuck to the bottom pad of your left foot. I am not disappointed, I am disrespected. That is perhaps closer to the feelings of frustration, rage, anger, insult, and the hundreds of other feelings that boil just beneath the surface of my calm façade as a law enforcement administrator. You see, I’ve watched legislators pass gun bills that no one really wanted in just one session, yet for twenty years in my state we’ve tried to reform mental health delivery systems that nearly every state citizen recognizes is necessary, to no avail.
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If this book helps to add fuel to someone’s efforts, if my words provide credence to a person’s argument of need for support, or bolsters strength in the observations regarding the importance of mental health reform, great! If something in my stories and narrations cause someone to pay attention and listen to the choir that is likely reading this, giving their real-life experiences more credibility, then all my efforts are well worth it. My goal is to simply champion the message that change must happen.
This is a compelling book for those in and out of the mental health and law enforcement fields. Mental illness needs a champion and Tony and the community partners in Black Hawk County, Iowa have certainly not turned their backs on it or thrown up their hands. They have rolled up their sleeves and started the hard work of making changes and differences. Now it is our turn to continue to speak, learn and advocate for changes. Great call to action.. Easy and quick read.
I live in Waterloo, Black Hawk County, Iowa, so Tony Thompson was “my” sheriff. When I’d heard he’d written this book, I immediately added it to my want to read list. I finally made time for it, and I wasn’t disappointed. The subject matter is heartbreaking and frustrating and eye opening. He presents problems, examples of how those problems play out, and concrete suggestions of possible solutions, all the while acknowledging how long it will take and how hard it will be to “fix” the problem.
The only reason I gave this four stars instead of five is that it was not super well edited. Thompson acknowledges in the book that he isn’t “a great writer”, but some parts could have been better edited to be more clear and readable. But that didn’t take anything away from the importance of what Thompson had to say.
After working in the care of people with mental and physical disabilities before county homes disappeared. I have to agree with everything spoken in the book. All the staff knew and fought to keep open as there was even then an overflows of people with no where to go. There needs to be safe places for them to call home.
An honest and open discussion about the mental health crisis in our state and how the police departments are expected to provide a place for the mentally ill.
This book describes the prevalence of mental illness in jailed persons, and was complete with numerous real encounters. I really liked how this book flowed from one chapter to the other, and it had a solid, inspiring ending. The author’s tone really showed his genuine caring and concern for this population of people.