Enduring Institutions and the Lingering Stench of Corruption

Enduring Institutions and the Lingering Stench of Corruption

Written for DSAB 620

Reaction Paper 3

Keith Murfee-DeConcini

Insane asylums after 1850 became much more custodial in their nature of operation and that’s when the real trouble began. Curing patients was no longer the aim. The new aim was containment. Because of the new focus, overcrowding was a persistent issue, as the final chapter in The Discovery of the Asylum (Chapter 11, The Enduring Institution) alludes to. “The Worcester state hospital, for example, had a total of 285 rooms for sleeping, feeding and employing about 250 inmates. Between 1845 and i860 as many as 532 and never less than 301 patients filled them Conditions were little better elsewhere. In 1871, the New Jersey asylum at Trenton squeezed 700 inmates into buildings intended to hold 500.”  

It was problems like these that led disenchanted superintendent Pliny Earle in the 1870s to publish an article entitled “The Curability of Insanity,’’ which he turned into a book nearly ten years later. In the article, Earle tore down the asylums’ claim to fame: their success rates. By “...a careful attention to the mechanics of record-keeping, Earle disclosed that the antebellum figures on the number of cures were grossly exaggerated. The annual reports had estimated percentages of recoveries not on the basis of patients admitted but on those discharged; they had counted the same patient as cured many times over, with each release after a relapse put down as another recovery.”  

Earle also took aim at contemporary asylums, stating that he believed that, “The institutions of the 1830’s and 1840’s had offered patients better care with a greater likelihood of recovery than existing ones.” He blamed the rise of chronic cases in the asylums in part because of the downgrade in care. Earle also claimed that insanity “as a whole, is really becoming more and more an incurable disease. . . . All estimates based upon the assumption that either seventy-five, or seventy, or sixty, or even fifty percent of the persons attacked with insanity can ... be cured and returned to the class of permanent producers . . . are necessarily false, and consequently both ‘a delusion and a snare.’ ”

Even with these concerns raised by superintendents like Pliny Earle, or the fundamental objections of neurologists like William Hammond, nothing was done to shutter the asylums. What ended up happening was that eventually the asylums took over the purpose of the local almshouses and jails, because, “The population of the poorhouse itself became compelling evidence of the need for institutionalization. Its corridors were filled with first- and second-generation immigrants along with the broken, aged, diseased, crippled, and dissolute. In northeastern states especially, ‘immigrant’ and ‘poor’ became synonymous terms...The poor took their place alongside the criminal, the insane, and the delinquent, as fit subjects for a custodial operation.”   

            What came alongside the later asylums was another institution known as The School for the Feebleminded (i.e. people with intellectual disabilities). These schools sprang up around the country and their aim was noble, at least in the beginning. From what we have learned in the Discovery of the Asylum, it did not take long for the asylums’ to veer off course from their original goal either. While it did take slightly longer for the Schools to veer off course, eventually they followed the way of the asylum.

In his book, “Inventing the Feeble Mind: A History of Intellectual Disability in the United States,” author James W. Treat weaves together the history of the various state schools created with the purpose of educating those deemed by society to be intellectually disabled. To borrow from his introduction: “Intellectual disability is a construction whose changing meaning is shaped both by individuals who initiate and administer policies, programs, and practices and by the social context to which these individuals are responding.”

Let’s look at how that term has evolved, for the construction of the term has been viewed in a variety of different forms: “Since it emerged as a social problem in the second quarter of the nineteenth century, educators, social reformers, physicians, psychologists, sociologists, and social workers have viewed intellectual disability in diverse ways: as a disorder of the senses, a moral flaw, a medical disease, a mental deficiency, a menace to the social fabric, mental retardation, and finally a disability.”

Before, during and after the 1870s, the Feebleminded and the like were viewed as a burden to society. Superintendents of the mental wards and the schools, “believed that phenotypical damage caused by alcoholism in one generation could be passed on; a disabled child was the result of the poor ‘genetic environment’ of the parent compounded by the poor home environment into which the child was born.” They had studies to back this up (see Dugdale’s The Jukes, 1877). Their conclusions stated that, “degeneracy among generations could take on markedly different forms—a drunk in one generation, a prostitute in another, and an idiot in yet another.” Although “Disability itself was not easily predicted across generations,” they found that “intergenerational patterns were more predictable than previously thought.”

We have seen where the state schools for the Feebleminded eventually went off the rails like the asylums before them. We need no clearer examples than Willowbrook and Pennhurst. Are we really past them as much as we think we are? In the concluding pages of The Discovery of the Asylum, David Rothman thinks we are: “In fact, since the Progressive era, we have been gradually escaping from institutional responses, and one can foresee the period when incarceration will be used still more rarely than it is today. In this sense the story of the origins of the asylum is liberating. We need not remain trapped in inherited answers. An awareness of the causes and implications of past choices should encourage us to a greater experimentation with our own solutions.”

Have we really learned that much from the past of almshouses, poorhouses, asylums and state-run schools for the Feebleminded, to successfully fend off a reemergence of the horrors done to those deemed different enough from the norm by society, to warrant those horrors? As with the Eugenics movement, whose aim was the “betterment” of human society, we must remember that heinous acts can start from seemingly “good intentions.”

  

References:

Dugdale, Richard Louis. 1887. "The Jukes": A Study in Crime, Pauperism, Disease and Heredity; Also Further Studies of Criminals by Richard Louis Dugdale. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons

Earle, Pliny.1887.  The Curability of Insanity by Pliny Earle. Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott Company

Rothman, David J. 1990. “The Enduring Institution." Chap. 11 in The Discovery of the Asylum (Revised Edition), by David J. Rothman, 265-295. New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction.

Trent, James W. 2017 “Introduction.” In Inventing the Feeble Mind: A History of Intellectual Disability in the United States, by James W. Trent, xvii. New York: Oxford University Press

Trent, James W. 2017 “The Burden of the Feebleminded” Chap 3 in Inventing the Feeble Mind: A History of Intellectual Disability in the United States, by James W. Trent, 55-92. New York: Oxford University Press

The Development of Institutions

The Development of Institutions

Written for DSAB 620

Reaction Paper 2

Keith Murfee-DeConcini

“Disability is an enigma that we experience but do not necessarily understand.”

Page 1, Handbook of Disability Studies, 2001

The attitudes of Colonial Americans (eighteenth century) towards the poor and the disabled were remarkably different from the periods that succeeded them. At the start of Chapter 1 of The Discovery of the Asylum (1990), entitled “The 'Boundaries of Colonial Society,” we learn that the “Eighteenth-century Americans did not define either poverty or crime as a critical social problem...Compared to their successors, the colonists accepted the existence of poverty with great equanimity.”  In those days, the term “poor” had a very broad definition: “When colonists discussed the poor or legislated for them, they included widows along with orphans, the aged along with the sick, the insane along with the disabled without careful differentiation. The fact of need, not the special circumstances which caused it, was the critical element in the definition.”

While the colonists would certainly make an effort to help the poor whenever they could, their act of charity was not limitless. “Dependent neighbors made up the ranks of the poor. The town recognized a clear obligation to them and officials were not especially concerned with possible malfeasance…Local communities, however, did not accept responsibility for the needy outsider, no matter what his moral condition, and they drew up complicated statutes to exclude him. Poor relief was a local system, towns liable for their own, but not for others.”

The Colonist attitudes’ towards the poor and the disabled were influenced by their religious beliefs. One Boston clergyman at the time, Samuel Cooper, proclaimed that relief for the poor was the highest Christian virtue. Cooper elaborated his point, “It ennobles our nature, by conforming us to the best, the most glorious patterns….Charity conforms us to the Son of God himself.” Indeed it was taught to the colonists through their religious upbringing that, “No good works were more important than caring for the needy.”

Still, alongside this generous religious outpouring of charity for the poor and disabled, colonists were also being taught that, “the roots of deviant behavior were more internal than external; the fault rested more with the offender than with the society.” One can wonder if some of the earliest most perverse seeds of what would become the basis for the medical model of disability were being planted.  

The Jacksonian society of the nineteenth century took a vastly different approach than their colonist predecessors. In Chapter 5 entitled “Insanity and the Social Order,” we see this on full display. Jacksonian Americans viewed insanity and those inflicted with it as a serious problem that they needed to deal with: “...by the 1830’s, Americans calculated that insanity was increasing significantly in their society, not being cured.”  They looked to doctors to discover and explain the etiology of the disease and they put their trust in the practitioners’ findings. In these findings, the medical community was unanimous: “...insanity was a disease of the brain and that the examination of tissues in an autopsy would reveal organic lesions, clear evidence of physical damage, in every insane person.”

One of the leading voices of that time in the medical community, Isaac Ray, backed up the findings of his colleagues by stating that, “No pathological fact is better established…than that deviations from the healthy structure are generally present in the brains of insane subjects... The progress of pathological anatomy during the present century has established this fact beyond the reach of a reasonable doubt.”

Sometime later, insanity fell under a newly created classification of mental disorders that focused on society and its role in creating deviant behavior.  Therefore society felt compelled to grapple with solutions to treat and cure this growing problem. Several prominent voices lent their views to the discussion, claiming that society should take ownership of the problem and invent a solution. “Should not society, then, make the compensation which alone can be made for these disastrous fruits of its social organization?... This duty of society, besides being urged by every consideration of humanity...will be seen to be more imperative if we consider that insanity is in many cases the result of imperfect or vicious social institutions and observances.”

The “solution” that the society came up with was isolating those with mental disorders in a new environment “from the dangers at loose in the community.” This would be done in hopes of reforming and curing the inflicted, rather than addressing the chaos and disorder of society. This reform program resulted in a new environment being created, which became known as the Asylum.

Thus, Jacksonian America offered their answer to the enigma of what would later become known as disabilities. Isolate them away from public view and hope and pray that they just disappear altogether! As Chapter 6 (entitled “The New World of the Asylum”) explains, the beginning days of the traditional Asylum were relevantly “safe experiences” for the era, (with a few exceptions). Thomas Kirkbride, one of the leading medical superintendents, instructed that in his asylum, none of the patients should be physically harmed in any way and most of his fellow colleagues across the country tried to follow his lead in their asylums respectively. At least in the beginning days of the asylum, they did not start off as snake pits like Willowbrook (1947-1987) and Pennhurst (1908-1987).          

References

Albrecht, Gary L., Katherine D. Seelman, and Michael Bury. 2001. "Introduction: The Formation of Disability Studies." In Handbook of Disability Studies, by Gary L. Albrecht, Katherine D. Seelman and Michael Bury, 1. Thousand Oaks: Sage Publication.

Rothman, David J. 1990. "Insanity and the Social Order." Chap. 5 in The Discovery of the Asylum (Revised Edition), by David J. Rothman, 190-129. New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction.

Rothman, David J. 1990. "The 'Boundaries of Colonial Society." Chap. 1 in The Discovery of the Asylum (Revised Edition), by David J. Rothman, 3-29. New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction.

Rothman, David J. 1990. "The New World of the Asylum." Chap. 6 in The Discovery of the Asylum (Revised Edition), by David J. Rothman, 130-154. New Brunswick: Aldine Transaction.

          

       

Disability History in Context

Disability History in Context
Written for DSAB 620

Reaction paper 1

Keith Murfee-DeConcini

Disability being studied or not being studied in the scope of human history is a very intriguing subject to ponder. The two readings this week--- “Disability History: Why We Need Another ‘Other’” (Kudlick, 2003) and “Who’s Not Yet Here? American Disability History” (Burch & Sutherland, 2006) --- did a good job at beginning to explore this topic and all the subtopics related to it (e.g. different groups contained within the scope of the disability history/identity). I think that the histories of disability are viewed by the vast majority of scholars as not rating as a distinct culture compared to other minorities (e.g. women studies, African American studies) because of how society views the term of “inclusive diversity.”

It was not long ago, in relation to topics being studied and taught in schools, that the minorities mentioned above were not being studied and yet now they are, after many years of being excluded from the textbooks. Society and scholars (especially in Western society) seem to think, very erroneously, that the term “inclusive diversity” has been fully defined already --- and that definition does not include the disability community and all the sub-communities within it.

As one of the articles pointed out, once you start looking for disability in history, you will find it throughout. By studying history, it becomes clear that the concept of disability is not a new concept at all. Disability has been a part of existence like the concept of time, always present, however often hidden from the everyday consciousness of society.

Why society has sought to either banish or eliminate disability completely from being recognized as a part, a natural part, of the historical discourse, is in itself a complex topic.

The reason that stands out most chiefly among the rest to explain the negative societal reaction to disability is, however, unsurprisingly clear. As Burch & Sutherland state “Perhaps the greatest challenge for Disability history and for Disabled people is ignorance and fear. Society and academe still rely heavily on the medical model of disability, enforcing prejudice against people with disabilities…. To date, no American history textbook has included Disability in a meaningful way, rendering it invisible, insignificant, inaccessible.” That quote was from 2006 and more than ten years later, progress is slowly inching on. Yet the fact remains that many professors in traditional academics view disability as a non-subject, or if they view it as a subject, it is one that is barely worth noting, to begin with. Programs like this one being offered at CUNY, the University of Illinois at Chicago and a few others are the exception to the overall norm.

How did society get so entrenched in this mindset of ignorance and fear? People are often afraid that they will “catch a disability” just by being around a person who has one; or the viewpoint that disability is a trait of declining health. Religion plays a big part, as the early Christian teachings about visions of hell teach us. Meghan Henning wrote about how this came to pass long ago, in her chapter (Weeping and Bad Hair) in 2017’s Phallacies: Historical Intersections of Disability and Masculinity. Henning states that “By threatening disability as a punishment, the bodies that we find in hell intensify and reinforce the ancient idea that bodily difference was a punishment for sin…. The sinful body is abnormal, dysfunctional, weak, penetrable, porous, and leaky.”

That line of thinking and other types like it have permeated generations and have influenced the current viewpoint and understanding that society applies to disability. In essence, I believe that Kudlick got it right when she stated that, “Like the sidekick who never gets the girl but who causes the romantic lead to discover love, disability is too often the unacknowledged enabler that helps define and construct the social order. Each time communities banished them, charities helped them, socialites pitied them, institutions cured or abused them, schools trained them, governments assisted them, medicine treated them, or sterilization destroyed them, disabled people became unwitting participants in the redemption of the non-disabled who struggled to secure their own status as “natural” or “normal.”

References:

Burch, Susan, and Sutherland, Ian, “Who’s Not Yet Here? American Disability History” in Radical History Review, Issue 94, Winter 2006

Henning, Meghan. 2017. “Weeping and Bad Hair: The Bodily Suffering of Early Christian Hell as a Threat to Masculinity.” In Phallacies: Historical Intersections of Disability and Masculinity, edited by Kathleen M. Brian and James W. Trent Jr., New York: Oxford University Press.

Kudlick, Catherine J., Disability History: Why We Need Another “Other.” The American Historical Revie, (2003) vol. 108, No. 3.