American frosts

American frosts
I want to express my gratitude to everyone who braved the snow and frost, and some, due to transportation issues, walked to work. This year, when they apparently expected the snow to melt on its own, it didn't. While pedestrians and car owners in Brooklyn and Brighton are unanimously criticizing the new mayor, it's as if everyone has come from a hot country and is seeing snow for the first time. Yes, the mayor is new, with no experience at such a high level in the capital of the world. But it's terrible that some homeless people froze to death on the streets.
After the release of Milos Forman's film "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" in New York cinemas in November 1975, based on Ken Kesey's novel of the same name, something happened in America that is rarely and reluctantly remembered today.
Under the banner of humanism, individual freedom, and the fight against violence in psychiatry, thousands of patients were discharged from hospitals. It seemed society had taken a step forward. In reality, many of these people were completely unprepared for independent life. Home wasn't a home for everyone, and many didn't want to return. Relatives were afraid, refused, or were unable or unwilling to take on responsibility. In America, unlike many countries, relatives are not legally responsible for adult family members. The exception is children under 18. That's all. After that, the person is left alone with themselves and the streets. The empty psychiatric wards in American hospitals and the appearance of unwell people on the streets surprised many.
So psychiatric hospitals gradually emptied, and cities filled with people who fit neither into the system of freedom nor into the system of care. They are not always aggressive. More often, they are lost. These are the people who sit and sleep on the streets in the cold, in the heat, in the rain.
In New York, some homeless people froze to death. This isn't a big news story—it's everyday life. Meanwhile, these days, police are prohibited from picking up people from the street and taking them to the hospital without their consent, even if they're clearly ill and in danger. Freedom of choice trumps self-preservation. Formally, it's humane. In reality, it's fatal.
I'll never forget an incident that happened last year in Brighton at a bus stop near the Tashkent store. It was freezing cold. A man was sitting in shorts. Next to him was a large white cat with blue eyes. He was collecting donations—not for himself, but for food for the cat. I overheard someone say they'd bring him some sweatpants and a jumper. And you can't even imagine what he said. These were the words of a man who lives in his own world. A world where help is a threat, where clothing is not protection but an intrusion. Where the logic of the street is stronger than the logic of warmth.
Yes, these people are unhealthy. Yes, they shouldn't sit and sleep outside in such weather. But what if society has no right to intervene, relatives have no obligation, and the person themselves refuses help? Where is the line between freedom and indifference? And has the street become the new, cruelest "hospital" of our time?
Renowned American psychiatrist Alla Shapiro noted: "The largest institution for the mentally ill in America isn't even the street, but the prison. America's largest psychiatric hospitals are 'correctional facilities.' The criminalization of mental health. When the massive closure of psychiatric hospitals occurred, not only were the patients unprepared, but so was the system itself. There weren't and still aren't enough outpatient clinics, programs, doctors, nurses, or social services. Now they're trying to expand and staff these programs, but... And many paranoid patients don't want or are afraid to live in institutions, and people with drug addictions don't want to spend money to partially pay for such housing. It's a problem."
Let's hope that this problem will be resolved soon.
Marina Lagunova