The Dead Inside

The Dead Inside

YA/adult nonfiction
"The warehouse had a name: Straight, Incorporated. Straight
called itself a drug rehab for kids, but most of us had barely even
smoked weed. Take me, for example. In September, at age thirteen, I
smoked it for the first time. I tried it smoking again in October.
In November, I got locked up in Straight--for sixteen months. The
second we entered the building, we stopped being humans. Instead, we
were Straightlings."
Reading Cindy Etler's The Dead Inside: A True Story is like
discovering a twenty-first century addition to the scene of Dante's
Divine Comedy--a whole new ring of Hades created just for children.
Kids spent their days in a windowless warehouse like building being
made to parrot back useless information and attack one another. Meals
were water, balogna sandwiches, and a smelly substance. Nights were
spent on mattresses on floors in host homes where they were locked in
their rooms and under constant surveillance, even when they used the
toilet.
If adult prisoners of war were treated like this their nation of
origin would have NATO on speed dial. Something about cruel and
unusual punishment. Only these were kids locked away allegedly for
their own good. What the bloody Hell?
Of course we all know the ugly why. People were making money
off of misery. The kids were the collateral damage.
Etler had a serious problem in her home life. It had nothing to
do with drugs. She was afraid to be at home. Her mother's second
husband, Jacques, physically and sexually abused her. In one far from
lovely scene her mom just watched while he beat her. One night she
slept in a burned out building to stay away from him.
The scariest part of the book is the author's note at the end of
the book. It talks about when any program is shut down another
equally bad one springs up.
"While a renamed Straight lives on in Canada, equally
destructive programs are operating all over the United States. In
2007, the U.S. Government released a report in the 'troubled teen
industry.' The report states that, between 34 states, there were 1,503
reports of abuse or neglect of children by residential program staff.
Twenty-eight states reported one or more youth fatalities. The report
went on to say that these statistics 'understate the incidents of
maltreatment and death.' Program kids are good at keeping their mouths
shut."
And where is government in all this? Apparantly MIA. The
congressional bill that was introduced in 2015 "To require certain
standards and enforcement provisions to prevent child abuse and
neglect in residential programs" is still in limbo and estimated to
have a 2% chance of success.
On a personal note, much of my last few days has been centered on the
Red Cross. I volunteered Tuesday and donated and volunteered
Wednesday. Wilson Center was great. Russell made the baked potato
bar I'd asked for. We had a program on meditation.
I got my UMaine bill for the class I'm taking. $635 all waived
because I'm 65. I can even use the rec center for free. I sure plan
to. I don't see why this benefit isn't more publicized. Actually I
do. There's the assumption we'd be happier in senior college. Too
delicate to interact with people who aren't in "our" generation. No
demographic ghetto for me!
A great big shout out goes out to Lisa Morin, the Red Cross nurses, my
friend Russell, and my classmates.
jules hathaway


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