This is a very sad day for the survivor
movement, the antipsychiatry movement, and for all those who organize against
psychiatry—for one of our pillars of our community and indeed, one of our guiding
lights has just passed—Leonard Roy Frank.
Awful for us all who are facing this loss, though it is good that we are
pulling together—and indeed Leonard would have liked that.
As I reflect on this day, I am taken back
to the moment when I first came face-to-face with Leonard. It was 1982—and
Leonard, like Don Weitz, like so many other people were testifying at Toronto
City Hall Council Chambers. There was a hushed moment just before Leonard got
up to speak; and I had an eerie sense that something remarkable was about to transpire.
Then Leonard with his legendary long magnificent beard which made him look ever
so like an Old Testament prophet, and his keen penetrating eyes rose to speak. At
first, Leonard’s voice was exceptionally gentle, almost as if he were soothing
a child. And so your first impression is that this is a very soft-spoken
guy. Gradually, however, with every word
that he spoke as he was elaborating on the appalling legacy of psychiatry, his
voice grew louder and louder—as if a divine fury were overtaking the man. By
the middle of his speech, his voice was thundering, his eyes grabbing you, so
that there was no way that you would miss a syllable or fail to take in the seriousness
of what was happening. It is as if his
righteous anger itself were a way of knowing, of way of seeing that guided him
and the rest of us infallibly.
Over the years, the pattern that I
witnessed that day was repeated again and again. Whenever clarity was needed, whenever
someone was needed to spell out the profound violation of human rights or to
cut through the tangle of psychobabble, there was Leonard, warrior that he was,
uttering forbidden truths, articulating them loud and clear, never pulling his
punches, never retreating an inch. Such was the strength and the certainty of
the man. At once a friend, a team member, a social justice activist, a seer, and
a voice in the wildness that willy-nilly spoke truth to power.
Leonard’s legacy is gargantuan and is
unquestionable—his stellar contributions to Madness
Network News, his organizing, his various Quotationaries, his exceptionally
well researched and at once scholarly and accessible book on the history of
shock, which we all of us reference to this day. And there was his quiet
behind-the-scenes support of so much that his comrades-in-arms were doing—e.g.,
his solid support of those of us who were penning a feminist critique of ECT,
for example, for which I will always be grateful. I would also like to point
out and add Leonard’s unwavering ability to keep his sights on what is
important and not to get sidetracked.
Albeit there have at times been fractious divisions in our movement, as
there have been, indeed, with all movements, Leonard was never part of it. What goes along with this, he was interested
in working with anyone who was making a genuine contribution. And he was good
at recognizing an ally when he saw one.
Leonard, we remember and cherish you for
all the work you did both publicly and behind the scenes. We remember you for your wisdom, your good
sense, and your generosity. We remember you for how you lived, who you were, what
you cared about, what you made of your life.
What privilege it has been working with you
all these decades! And what mitzvah to
have had you as a friend!
Enjoy a well earned rest, comrade ours. And
may your memory be as a blessing.
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