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My Barbaric Yawlp Archive
The
Regimens of Regimes
by Michael Partie |
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“I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable.
I sound my barbaric yawlp over the roof-tops of the world…”
Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass
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I’ve noticed lately that, even on NPR, people often use
the word regime when they mean regimen. They
refer to “vitamin regimes” or “exercise regimes”
or “treatment regimes.” This sounds odd to my ear
and vaguely disturbing, so I turn to our trusty Concise
Oxford English Dictionary (OED) for clarification. It says
“The World’s Most Trusted Dictionaries” right
there on the front cover.
A regime, according to the OED, is “a government,
especially an authoritarian one.” And this is my understanding
of the word. In everyday usage, when we say regime,
we usually mean a tyrannical government that oppresses its people
– that uses the threat of violence to impose its will
on the citizenry. So we speak of “corrupt regimes”
or “evil regimes” or “military regimes, and
we topple governments to achieve “regime change.” |
By contrast, the OED describes a regimen as “a
therapeutic course of medical treatment, often including recommendations
as to diet and exercise.” So we may devise a regimen of
medication, vocational or social skills training, illness education,
rehabilitation activities, etc. in order to help a person achieve
his or her treatment or habilitation goals.
I’m not just channeling Andy Rooney. I have a point here.
In providing services to people with disabilities, we wield
tremendous power – power so ubiquitous and pervasive,
it fills us like the air we breathe. Like the air, this power
eludes our awareness, is invisible to our consciousness. And
power employed without mindfulness can be very destructive.
In mental health, developmental services, and educational settings
throughout the country, professionals are often frustrated by
what they describe as “treatment resistant” people.
We say people are treatment resistant when they will not adopt
the regimen we have developed for them, and seem unwilling or
unable to make progress toward recovery or independence.
But what if through our unconsidered use of power, the person
experiences, not a thoughtful and health-promoting regimen,
as we imagine we are providing, but an oppressive regime?
Then we engage, not treatment resistance, but a kind of political
resistance, which family life advocate Mary Lewis describes
as “acting out against a dominating power.” And
that is a very different thing altogether. Political resistance
serves a vital protective function. It preserves the person’s
individuality, dignity, and essential freedoms.
In this context, the person’s resistance becomes more
understandable, even admirable. One might argue that it is our
duty as citizens in a free society to resist oppression. Is
there anything quite so quintessentially American?
As service providers, we have an obligation to examine our practices,
to challenge our own habits, customs, and superstitions in supporting
people with disabilities. If we truly wish to eliminate coercive
elements from our services, we have to confront them, and recognize
the dynamics that lead to and maintain them. This recognition
requires us to seek them, to root them out. Because our power
is so pervasive, the elements of coercion will not always give
themselves up to casual viewing. Elimination requires illumination.
Abraham Lincoln said, “Nearly all men can stand adversity,
but if you want to test a person’s character, give him
power.” As support professionals and service providers,
our characters are tested everyday, each time we report to work.
-August 2005 |
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