Training helps Arkansas police officers identify mental illness; ‘I wasn’t a criminal,’ arrestee says

Dawnyell Harris couldn't find her baby.

Harris' aunt was watching her son when a neighbor took the baby from the home. Harris, 18, at the time, frantically called family and friends to try to locate the child, but nobody could tell her where her son was.

She panicked, with her thoughts triggering delusions and hallucinations -- symptoms of schizoaffective bipolar-type depressive disorder, which Harris was later diagnosed as having.

"It was so crazy," said Harris, now 37. "It was so much trapped in my mind in one place, and it's just little old me. How could I deal with this without help? Or how could I manage to get through life without help? You know, things like that was just running through my mind making it bigger and bigger and bigger."

Harris went to her godparents' home, but they weren't there. Desperate to find her son, she broke a window, took their car keys and fled in the vehicle.

Police were called, and when Harris bolted from the vehicle, seven or eight officers gave chase with their guns drawn. They eventually caught her, put her in handcuffs and took her to jail.

"I was scared I was going to get shot, because I was so symptomatic that I could have turned around and said anything or screamed and they would have shot me," Harris said. "I was really scared about that."

The incident occurred in 2000, long before recent efforts by state legislators who are pushing for improvement in how law enforcement officers interact with people in mental health crises.

Through Act 423 of 2017, the state now encourages that at least 20 percent of law enforcement agencies with 10 or more people take crisis intervention training. The act also created crisis stabilization units, 16-bed facilities where officers can take people who are experiencing a mental health crisis. Previously, often the only option for officers' was to take them to jail.

Crisis intervention training teaches officers how to interact with people who they suspect suffer from mental illness. More than 447 officers in Arkansas have been trained since the first session was held in September 2017, according to Charles Ellis, a training supervisor for the Arkansas Law Enforcement Training Academy.

The hope is additional training will help police assist the mentally ill during a crisis and assess whether that person is better off going to jail or to a mental health facility for help.

Harris believes such training could have drastically altered her experience with police. After she was taken to jail, her mom tried to explain to authorities that her daughter had suffered from mental health issues throughout her teenage years, but Harris still ended up spending 11 months in jail before being transferred to the State Hospital.

"I think they were very hostile," Harris said, describing her encounter with police. "They wasn't really, like, trying to figure out what was going on with me. It was just more like I was a criminal, and I wasn't a criminal. Something had just triggered all of that."

NEW BEGINNINGS

Officers who undergo crisis intervention training spend three days hearing from mental health professionals, people who have mental health disorders and their families. They are taught how to interact with people experiencing mental health disorders, which includes keeping sentences short, speaking slowly and remaining calm and respectful.

Officers who took part in a November training session in Hot Springs visited Ouachita Behavioral Health and Wellness, the Community Mental Health Center, and spoke with four patients. Over the final two days of the course, officers took part in role-playing exercises where they acted out scenes and put their new skills to use in simulated situations.

"We are putting more and more on our police officers," said Kim Arnold, executive director of the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill Arkansas, which is partnering with law enforcement agencies to offer crisis intervention training. "That's the sad thing about it, because we're asking them to do one more thing, but they're already doing it."

Pulaski County Deputy Blake Forthman received training at the end of 2017 and used those skills during three calls Nov. 27, transporting one man to the Pulaski County crisis stabilization unit.

Forthman pulled up about 3:25 p.m. that day to assist Lt. Ted Haase and Deputy Douglas Bjork, who were talking with Joey Plaisance. Bjork had stopped when he saw Plaisance walking alongside the road.

"I was just driving down the road, and he was just standing there swaying like this," said Bjork, swaying back and forth with a dazed facial expression. "I was like, 'I think this might be one.' "

Plaisance, 37, told police he'd been hearing voices for about a month, and that the voices were stressing him out and scaring him. Haase explained the crisis stabilization unit to Plaisance and told him the mental health professionals there could help him.

"If you want to go with us, that'd be great," Haase said calmly.

Plaisance, who is homeless, expressed concern about items he'd left with his girlfriend. Such concerns are common in these encounters, Forthman said. People are often resistant to go to the unit for any number of reasons. They are concerned about where they'll leave their possessions, or their jobs, or who is going to watch their children. People can't always uproot their lives to seek treatment.

The majority refuse, Forthman said. Some don't think they have mental problems. Often they are off their medication and have trouble discerning that they need help.

Plaisance decided to give the crisis stabilization unit a try.

"I do need the help," he said. "I'm not going to lie."

Forthman patted down Plaisance and placed him in the back seat of the vehicle before calling the unit to make sure there was room for Plaisance.

If the unit's beds are full, officers call other hospitals to try to find another place where the person can be taken. The unit had space for Plaisance that night, and after about 30 minutes the unit director cleared Forthman to bring Plaisance to the facility.

Typically, the process takes about 10 minutes and officers can simply speak with a nurse to approve the transfer, Forthman said.

"It's still a new program, so it's still growing pains," he said.

Forthman drove Plaisance to the unit, talking with him the entire way there. They talked about Plaisance's girlfriend, who he credits with turning his life around, and similar models of trucks they have owned.

Once they arrived, Forthman left in fewer than 10 minutes.

It was the first time Forthman had taken someone to a unit. He said he believes crisis intervention training is useful and said it mirrors the type of instruction he received when he was an emergency medical technician.

"I like talking to people," Forthman said. "I like being there for people, and if I can be there for people on another level than a regular deputy then, heck yeah, sign me up."

The training also makes it safer for officers, said Karl Sorrells, a North Little Rock police officer. When officers understand how to interact with people who have mental disorders, it's less likely the situation will result in a physical altercation.

Mental illness cases are the most frequent calls law enforcement officers answer, Sorrels said. He estimated that he's responded to between 6,000 and 7,000 calls involving people with mental issues over his 22-year career.

Craighead County Sheriff Marty Boyd estimated he's worked about 100 such calls in his more than 25-year career, and Pulaski County sheriff's Haase said he's responded to several hundred such calls in his 17 years on the job.

"We get multiple [such] calls per day," Haase said.

FIXING THE SYSTEM

With mental health resources in short supply, law enforcement officers are often the first and, in many cases, the only type of care for these people, said Arnold, the executive director of National Alliance for the Mentally Ill Arkansas.

In Arkansas, people with mental illnesses are 3.3 times more likely to be incarcerated than under medical care, according to Treatment Advocacy Center, a national group that conducts research on mental health disorders.

In an effort to address the problem, the state is pairing law enforcement training with the creation of four crisis stabilization units. The units will serve as a pilot program, said Kathryn Griffin, justice reinvestment coordinator for the governor's office. If they work well, officials hope to add four.

Two units are up and running, in Sebastian (Fort Smith) and Pulaski (Little Rock) counties, but units in Washington and Craighead counties have lagged behind, Griffin said. Both counties ran into trouble finding locations for their units. Washington County has a location in Fayetteville and hopes to begin offering services in 2019.

Without such units, mental illness sufferers often end up in jail, where they don't receive the type of help they need. Harris said she didn't receive medication or talk with a doctor while she was behind bars in 2000.

She received treatment at the State Hospital after her jail stay and then sought help at a long-term facility from 2001 to 2007. Harris, a former certified nursing assistant, lives in Little Rock. She has three children and stays busy raising her 2-year-old.

"It's pretty much a good life," she said.

Harris receives daily treatment at an outpatient facility.

"I think the sooner you start treatment, the better off you're going to be," she said.

Sebastian County Sheriff Bill Hollenbeck, part of the team that pushed for the creation of crisis stabilization units, said the goal is to help connect those with mental illness with outside community services before they get caught up in the justice system.

Hollenbeck said it's expensive to house people in jail. Act 423 is expected to save $288 million in operating and new construction costs by fiscal 2023, according to The Council of State Governments Justice Center, a state group that researches criminal justice.

Furthermore, people with mental health problems don't belong in jail, said Hollenbeck, adding that those who go to jail are more likely to commit additional offenses. Hollenbeck said if the state can get such people the help they need and avoid sending them to jail, chances are they can become productive members of society, which costs the public fewer taxpayer dollars in the long run.

"This is really the right thing to do," he said.

A Section on 12/10/2018

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