A blog about the protest:
http://www.amplifyyourvoice.org/u/Lklou ... onal-to-MeIndependent Educational Consultant Association (IECA) Protest
Saturday May 15th 2010 -
Personal statement:
Yesterday in Toronto, there was a protest during the Independent Educational Consultant Association (IECA) Conference. The goal was to raise awareness about the current unregulated practices that these programs are allowed in many parts of the U.S. These schools and boot camps have very few restrictions about how they're allowed to exist- many of them are essentially self-certified and allowed to practice therapy in any manner they choose. This includes strict behavior modification treatments, levels of isolation that would be illegal if these kids were in the state corrective systems, and a complete lack of licensed schooling. In the United States and Canada, we've all seen the newspaper stories: Boot Camp Deaths like Omega Leach. It got so bad that last year, a bill (HR 911) was introduced into the House of Representatives called "End Institutionalized Child Abuse." The U.S. Government Accountability Office produced a 62 page report on selected cases of death and abuse at public and private Residential Treatment Centers (RTCs). The bill passed the House but has not been acted on by the Senate.
The picture to the left is thanks to an awesome friend of mine, Lee G. I met Lee in 2002, when we both attended the same Residential Treatment Center. By the time I arrived at Provo, I needed help. After a mid-semester move in 7th grade from London, England to a suburb in Dallas, TX, I failed to thrive in school. I didn't have a lot of friends, I was bullied, and the school work was so below my level I became discouraged. I was picked on by a vice principle for my clothing choices and hair color, despite never actually breaking the school dress code. I had an undiagnosed learning disorder. I graduated middle school a with a perfect behavior record, and took summer school classes to clear away some easy high school electives so I could play a sport (basketball), stay in orchestra (viola) and take a language (pre-AP Spanish). I was on the Talented-And-Gifted track for one of the best high schools in the nation, and sometimes considered the best when Private, Charter and Magnet schools were removed from that list.
Emotionally, I wasn't doing so hot. While I still had exemplary behavior reports in class, my grades had gone from As to Cs, and an F in geometry pre-AP. I was still depressed I was living in car-dependent Texas rather than the metropolitan world of London which had given me so much walking independence. My relationship with my parents was pretty terrible. And so they decided that I needed a more therapeutic environment. So we looked at different programs. I wanted to get out of the house- boarding school, especially if it were some place beautiful, sounded like a great way for me to express my independence and work out some of my issues. And we saw this great video by a residential treatment program, Provo Canyon School. They had pictures of guys and girls studying together outdoors, a great section on recreational and equine therapy, field trips to Moab and Yosemite. There was talk of dances and proms. We got a press release about the kids picking apples on campus and donating it to a local food bank. They promised I could work hard academically and get caught up or even ahead.
But that's not what I experienced there. In the 8 months I spent indoors, I was subject to emotional and verbal abuse. I was forced to watch the physical, sexual, emotional and verbal abuse of others, and encouraged to participate in that dehumanization if I wanted to go home. I spent a month without a phone call to anybody. I was not allowed to watch news, radio, read newspapers, and there was no internet access. The boy's campus was miles away- in a separate city. We never had classes with them. We were entirely cut off from the outside world and locked inside for months at a time. We also became our numbers, the way the school identified us.
For me, The worst part was waking up in the middle of the night to hear a girl screaming, to hear her dragged to the freezing cement rooms that were called Isolation until they stopped, when you knew they'd been stabbed in the butt with a needle, drugged into a stupor for the next few days. They'd finally emerge pale, dizzy, with deep black circles under their eyes without the right to have a bed or their own clothes. I heard these terrible stories concerning male staff who had unrestrained access to their "emotionally disturbed" youth. Some girls bragged about the cute staff member they managed to have relations with. It meant safety. The queer among us were constantly harassed and told they were in some way deficient.
I'm terrified of telling this story because I'm afraid people will judge me as "emotionally disturbed" or as somehow damaged. I am not those things, but I know those words can be used against me to invalidate my experiences. I am also terrified that people will judge my parents for sending me here. The fact is, my parents were lied to, and were promised that I would be helped when they felt they couldn't help me. I am a polite, brilliant, contributing member of society. I graduated high school in two years and was still valedictorian. I lived independently as a minor abroad. I graduated college, and was a member the national honor society in my field (classics). I have healthy, successful relationships. I volunteer my time and work for those who are less fortunate than I. I am a stronger person for what I have been through. But that does not excuse the abuse I have encountered or witnessed. I have seen others break, and I refuse to be a part of that. And the youth that are at that school now have no voice currently. But I still have nightmares of those screams. I still am triggered every time I see my number. I still sleep with my door locked in case someone tries to drag me out of my bed in my sleep, as I have seen and I have heard. And it's hard to sleep at night if I'm not protecting someone else from that reality.
