Skid Row: A mental health state of emergency | Deon Joseph | TEDxGrandPark

Deon Joseph is a law enforcement consultant who has worked for the LAPD for over 20 years - seventeen of those years in downtown Los Angeles’ Skid Row community. From patrolling the streets to meeting with public figures and advocating for change, Deon is driven to influence an environment for the homeless that helps them to reclaim their lives from the grips of their complex issues.

In his talk, Deon offers practical insights from his experience working boots on the ground in one of the worst homeless situations in the US.

Through his work in the Skid Row community, Deon has found that many homeless people have been indoctrinated to fear and mistrust of law enforcement and consequently do not seek their help.

Deon created The Housing Program and The Open Door Project in an effort to creatively dispel those fears and focus on community policing at a grassroots level. His programs are designed to empower the residents of Skid Row and create real change and impact.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at https://www.ted.com/tedx

I've been a police officer for 25 years,

22 of those years spent in a place
known as Skid Row,

which is also known as the mecca
for all things homeless

in the United States of America.

Currently, we're going through a failure
for several reasons -

change in laws that has given
the criminal element

a stronger grip over
the homeless community

than ever before

and litigation that's tied our hands

in creating an environment
conducive to change

so that the service providers in Skid Row
can be stronger than that -

their influence can be stronger
than that of the criminal element.

Whether we have succeeded
or whether we failed,

there was always one glaring challenge

that we were never ever really
able to get a hold of,

and that was mental illness

or even worse, dual diagnosis,

which is when somebody
struggles with mental illness

but they're also on drugs.

That is a huge, huge challenge.

Now, I first came to Skid Row
in the summer of 1997.

It has always been my experience

that when you enter in a bad place
anywhere in this country,

there's usually about
a mile and a half stretch of territory

that kind of warns you first.

When I first got to downtown LA,
this was my experience.

I'm driving northbound on the 110 freeway,

and I'm looking at the beautiful,
picturesque LA skyline,

which is the West Coast symbol
of America's economic might and power.

And I said, "That's downtown.

It can't be that bad."

And I'm seeing people in business suits,

drinking coffee,

carrying briefcases,

smoking on a cigarette to de-stress.

And I said, "This can't be that bad."

Ladies and gentlemen, look.

Folks, as soon as I crossed Spring Street,

it was as if I tripped and fell
into Dante's Inferno,

Mad Max Thunderdome,

Waterworld,

any natural disaster movie
you could think of,

I was there.

And I saw some of the most horrific things
I'd ever seen, in a 50-block radius.

I saw trash that was piled up to my knees.

I saw people having "relations"
on the sidewalk.

I saw people shooting heroin
and smoking crack in broad daylight.

But the worst thing that I saw that day -

it gave me a sense of hopelessness -

was to see individuals walking around
with hospital gowns and wristbands,

walking aimlessly in the streets,
not knowing where they were.

I knew who they were:
they were clearly mentally ill.

I got into the station,

and my first gig at the station
was to work the front desk.

I'm introduced to my partner, and he says,

"Welcome to the front desk,
Officer Joseph."

He says, "Oh, by the way,
Hurricane Linda's out."

I said, "Who's Hurricane Linda?"

This is where I was introduced
to mental illness

in the most extreme way possible.

I thought I knew everything
there was to know about mental illness.

My mother and father
raised 41 foster children.

Some of them were on
the spectrum of mental illness,

dealing with trauma -

sexual trauma, physical trauma, neglect.

Thought I knew.

I helped raise my niece from birth
up until she was 33 years old.

She also was on the spectrum
of mental illness.

I thought I knew.

I was not prepared.

My partner continued, he said,

"Yeah, she just got out the hospital
a little bit too early, uh,

she's gonna come into the station,
she's gonna kick over the trash can,

she's gonna punch the vending machine,

push over the ATM, throw papers around,

try to rip the phone out of the wall,

and by the way, Officer Joseph,
she's gonna spit in your face."

Now, I'm this big, tough guy
from Long Beach back then.

I was like, "I wish a mother
would spit in my face," right?

"Spit in Officer Joseph's face!"

Right?

(Laughs)

No sooner than I said that,

the hurricane comes
swirling into the station.

She kicked over the trash can,

she punched the vending machine,

she pushed the ATM,

she ripped the papers off the wall,

and then tried to pull
the phone out of the wall,

and then she sees me, the new face,

and her eyes got big.

And she approaches the front desk,

and she puts her finger
in my face and says,

"You're my little brother."

"Uh, ma'am, I don't know you. I'm sorry."

And then she puts her fingers
up to her lips and says,

"Shh - it's your birthday."

I look at my partner, I say,
"What do I do here, boss?"

He says, "Tell her it's your birthday,
stupid, so we don't get in trouble."

Alright, happy birthday to me, alright?

No sooner than I said that,

her eyes got big,

and she smiled as wide as the ocean,

and she flew out of the station.

She came back an hour later,
wearing nothing but her trench coat.

She stands in front of me,
and she rips open her trench coat,

pulls out a giant plush Tweety bird,
slams it onto the desk.

Bam!

"Happy birthday, little brother!"

I'm like, "Thank you,
but why did you get me this?"

She said, "Because your head
is shaped just like it."

Ugh!

(Laughter)

Now, if I wasn't already self-conscious

about the good Lord
taking my beautiful wavy hair ...

But really, a mentally ill woman
who was a drug addict

was the first human being
to make me laugh since I got to Skid Row.

Linda and I became friends.

When I say "friends," like, real friends.

We had a seven-year friendship.

Linda depended on me
to keep her safe ...

from the birds.

I'm like, "Birds?"

I'd been in the field
arresting drug dealers.

She'd grab me on a pant leg:
"Joseph, the birds, the birds!"

"Baby, can you see me
handling business over here?" Right?

Didn't care.

She needed her little brother.

I discovered that oftentimes

when individuals are struggling
with mental illness,

when they're trying to talk to you,
when they're talking incoherently

or where they're talking
in an agitated state of delirium,

they're often trying
to tell you their story

from within their troubled mind.

And many of us walk away, understandably.

I chose to listen.

Now, I listened but I didn't hear her.

She was trying to tell me something.

I found out who the birds were one day.

I was taking my beautiful wife
to a party off-duty,

driving on the 60 freeway.

A big, ugly, burgundy van
pulls up next to me.

A head sticks out and starts screaming,

"Hey, little brother, the birds got you!

I told you,

that's my little brother right there!

And I'm like, "Oh my God!"

And when I looked in the front seat,

there was an older woman
with high cheekbones who resembled her.

That's mama bird.

In the back seat were two young ladies
who resembled her as well.

I could only assume
that they were the baby birds.

And they would snatch her and say,
"Linda, get your butt back in the car,"

and snatched her back in the car.

It was her loved ones

who would often come down to Skid Row

and lovingly kidnap her, bring her home,
and try to love her back to health.

But that was a challenge
because she was addicted to drugs.

And oftentimes she would escape from home

and end up coming right back to Skid Row
to scratch her chemical itch.

And when she did that,

it would cause her to not only
do terrible things to herself,

but it also caused her
to do horrible things to others.

One day she sees me in the street,

and she says,

"Hey, little brother, I love you."

I said, "Baby, I love you too."

She said, "I want to give you something.

You've been watching over me for years.

I want to give you something
that's going to watch over you."

She gave me this porcelain angel.

I've held onto this
for 15 years of my life.

I loved her,

and I think at first
I asked her if she stole it first.

(Laughter)

She promised me she didn't, so -

(Laughs)

So I took this angel,

and I immediately went to my locker,
opened my locker,

and I put it at the top of my locker.

Because I wanted to open my locker

and have this angel
smiling down on me every day.

One day, I came to work,

I opened my locker
and I start donning my uniform,

and I reach up to get something
off the top of my locker,

and the angel falls
and cracks on the ground.

I was upset, but I figured,

let me go get some glue
and glue this thing together,

everything's going to be okay.

As I was picking it up, one of my partners
walks up to me and says,

"Hey Joseph, did you hear
what happened to the hurricane?"

I was like, "What did she do now?"

He says, "She ain't doing nothing.

She's dead."

She sat on the sidewalk in front of
our station, injected herself with heroin,

and because she couldn't respond,
she froze to death.

And I waited for him to walk away.

I sat down in front of my locker,

and then the tears
started to well in my eyes.

Then out of nowhere
I'm punching my locker in anger

over a mentally ill woman

who was a drug addict,

who I loved with all of my heart.

In my opinion, the system failed her.

Failed many others too.

I'll never forget,
the late '90s, - '98, '99, -

I'm walking a foot beat.

We were two of the cops
crazy enough to walk a foot beat

in the area of 6th and San Julian
in the '90s, and it was off the hook then.

Now, I'm not the hero
in this story, my partner is.

I was eating a bacon-wrapped hot dog
from Los Angeles Street,

and it was delicious.

As I'm munching on my delicious hot dog,

we're talking about
how horrible the Lakers were,

glad Shaq and Kobe was here,
things are going to turn around,

my heroic partner disappears
out of the corner of my eye.

And I look and I see my partner
flying through the air to grab a woman

who looked like a soccer mom.

Mental illness doesn't have a look.

And he reached out, grabbed her

and pulled her from the path
of an MTA bus.

He threw her towards me.
I drop my delicious hot dog,

I'm mad now. I handcuff her.

I said, "Ma'am, what are you doing?"

She said, "I heard voices telling me
to jump in front of a bus so I did it."

Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.
She said the magic words.

Now we can quote unquote
"help her," right?

Took her to the station,

had our wonderful mental evaluation unit
talk to her, evaluate her.

They said, "Yep, send her
to a contract hospital."

We did just that.

Dropped her off at the hospital,
gave each other a high-five.

The police save the day, right?

Six hours later,

one of our partners comes up and says,

"Hey!

Hey A-team!

You remember the lady you guys saved
in the area 6th and San Julian?"

I said, "Yeah."

"Well, she just successfully
killed herself with another MTA bus

in the area Cesar Chavez and Broadway."

(Whispering) What?

Who failed soccer mom?

Was it her symptoms or was it a system?

I think it's the system.

Lastly, I had another friend
named Margaret.

Long story short, we met,
she hated my guts with a passion.

One day I saw her at her worst.
At the time I was a young officer.

I had no resources and she said,

"Officer Joseph, can you
help me get housing?"

At the time, I couldn't.
I didn't know what to do.

I said, "I hope you get housing,
but I don't know."

Several months later,
she did get housed,

in one of the most drug
infested housing units in Skid Row.

Months later, we get a radio call
to respond to this hotel.

We get to the third floor,
and there are two women

who have been stabbed
with a pair of sewing scissors.

And if you've ever seen sewing scissors,

they're that small.

But whoever did the damage
got to slicing and dicing.

And I looked down the hall,
and I saw my friend Margaret

sitting like a child
with her legs crossed,

bloody scissors in one hand,
empty crack pipe in another,

and an empty bottle of pills
in her jacket pocket,

bragging about how
she just killed two alligators

that broke into her friends' room,

not realizing that they were her friends.

Listen, I know from a public safety
and a legal standpoint,

I had no choice but to send her to prison,

but I'm telling you,
as a police officer and a man

that that was morally wrong.

Someone should have
helped Margaret long before.

We have many people
on the spectrum of mental illness

who fell in the loving arms of family,

who did the best they could
to them and loved them back to health.

And it's a struggle. It's real.

It's real!

But you had many who were
either dumped in, shoved in,

or wandered into places like Skid Row.

And here's what happens to them
when they get there.

They stop taking their prescribed
medication. You know why?

Because it makes them
feel down, lethargic,

and in Skid Row, it's what
my son used to call "turnt up."

You can't be down
in "Turnt Up Ville," right?

So they would give away,
sell their prescribed medication

to make money to do what?

Self-medicate on the hard stuff:

crack cocaine, methamphetamine
and other drugs.

And that would exacerbate
their conditions 100-fold

where they then
became a police problem.

Listen, it's not a police issue
if you're mentally ill.

It's not a crime to be bipolar.

It's not a crime
to be paranoid schizophrenic.

Not at all.

But when those things meet drug addiction,
it can have disastrous consequences.

And who do they call when it happens?
The police. The tip of the spear.

And we get there with our badges
and our handcuffs

and all these other tools.

Everybody says, "Why don't
you get a clinician to go with you?"

Our clinicians are wonderful,
but many of them won't even approach them.

And how do you expect us to fix it,

and even our wonderful
mental health clinicians,

when there's a can of chemical buffer

between us and the crisis at hand?

It's a challenge.

Here are the tools they give us

to help people who struggle
with mental illness:

5150 or 5152 of the Welfare
and Institution codes,

where we were able to
detain them and hospitalized them

for 72 hours or less,
or two weeks in extreme cases.

Let's show you where that fails.

Anybody here ever try
to get washboard abs?

(Laughs)

Think you can get a six-pack
in 72 hours or less?

I'm going to tell you no

because I've tried that
before I came here and it didn't work.

It takes days, weeks,
even months to get those results.

So how can we realistically
or humanely believe

that we're going to help someone
on the spectrum of mental illness,

or even worse, dual diagnosis,
in 72 hours or less?

Listen, it takes six weeks
for the average person

to benefit from the therapeutic attributes
of their prescribed medication,

so you can't expect that
to stabilize them in 72 hours or less.

Listen, I know I'm just a street cop.

I do not claim to have all the answers,

but I do have some suggestions

based on 22 years of dealing with
the people I care about in Skid Row.

It should never be 72 hours or less,
especially when they're in crisis

or dual diagnosis.

It should be six weeks and here's why.

You have to detox them first.

You've got to detox them
so they can hear you.

Then after you detox them,
develop a rapport,

give them the medications, stabilize them,

and find out who their loved ones are

so we can reunite them
with their loved ones.

The next step is
we have to ask our politicians

to streamline and quicken
the process of conservatorship.

Because it's too long, and it's too late.

Okay?

Lastly, we should never put anything
recovery related in dangerous places,

crime ridden places, like Skid Row.

It's wrong.

You're not giving them a fair chance.

How can you rehabilitate
when the person preying on you

is not only outside the facility
but sneaks in as well?

Listen.

This is what we need, and I'll end here.

We need our politicians,

our first responders -
police officers, firefighters,

we need our wonderful
mental health clinicians,

and yes, civil liberties groups
to come to the table with intentionality

in solving this serious crisis,

to void ourselves of partisanship,
finger-pointing, blame,

and let's come together
and solve this problem in a real way.

What you're hearing is not
from the perspective of a police officer.

We need to stop that.

What you're hearing
is from the perspective of a human being

who happens to be a police officer,

who cares about these individuals
like nobody's business.

I thank you for listening.

Rest in peace, Linda.

(Applause) (Cheers)