Jac.
K. Schroeder worked at the Selkirk Mental Hospital. The treatment
of some of the patients appalled him. One of his very first duties
was to bathe the patients.
“When
the first two [patients] had finished their baths I drained the
bath tubs. That's when the supervisor walked in and immediately
stopped the draining. “One water is good for six patients,” he
said. When I questioned that, he said, “If you run fresh water
for every patient you'll be bathing all day. You have until noon
to complete the bathing…. By the time I changed the water after
the sixth patient, a thick grimy layer of soapsuds floated on
top. My whole nature rebelled, especially when a patient really
enjoying the water dipped his head under the foamy dirty mess
and blew bubbles with delight. It was disgusting, a glaring demonstration
of man's inhumanity to man. For that day I stayed within the supervisor's
directives but my mind worked overtime for a way to change the
system. These people like us, were entitled to clean bath water,
to splashing in refreshing water with its healing balm, and experiencing
an invigorating respite from their week's dull routine of walking
the halls.”
The
next day the supervisor assigned Schroeder to give the patients
their weekly shave.
“I
found the razor blade quite dull. When I inquired about it I was
told that the blades were adequate for the job. The inmates didn't
need a close shave [the supervisor said] because they were not
going on a date! I tried to give the patient a good, clean shave,
but the blade was so dull I felt I was pulling out his beard instead
of cutting it.”
“When
the regular attendant called for a second patient to take his
chair, a healthy, robust man of about 40 sat down and stared straight
ahead. The attendant commanded him to put his head back on the
headrest. The patient continued to sit motionless, staring into
space. Instead of asking a second time or personally moving his
head back, the attendant struck him with his fist under his chin.
The patient jerked his head back against the head rest and the
attendant started shaving.”
“I
saw tears rolling down the patient's cheek but he didn't make
a sound. The other patients standing by seemed unaffected. Nobody
complained, but I was very disturbed. Such abusive treatment of
an inmate by a long-time employee spoke of justice gone awry.
It revealed a deplorable absence of conscience for caring, for
rehabilitating the mentally handicapped and the emotionally disturbed.
Compassion was missing.”
“Before
leaving work that day I asked to see the supervisor for a sharpening
stone and some used razor blades. I meant to sharpen these during
the evening. Another CO had the same idea, so the two of us spent
the whole evening sharpening blades. We were determined to offer
the patients a better, care-free, smooth shave at future shaving
sessions.” [ASP, 169]
While
not every CO had such graphic experiences, each one knew that the
patients at mental hospitals deserved much better treatment and
care. When these COs returned home after the war, the stories they
told to their families and churches helped inspire the building
of the Eden Mental Health Centre. |
