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W2171247806 abstract "On 28 September 1911 Luz D. arrived with her husband at the admissions office of the General Insane Asylum La Castañeda, the largest state institution devoted to the care of the mentally ill in early-twentieth-century Mexico.1 Following the rules of the establishment, the Ds provided basic identification data before an asylum intern performed a routine physical and psychological examination designed to determine her mental condition. Because Luz D.’s affliction did not prevent her from understanding and answering questions, she actively participated in the institutional psychiatric interview—an interrogatory ritual structured around questions included in an official medical questionnaire—that would decide her admission status. Later, after she became an inmate, Luz D. chose to write the narrative of her illness on her own, on a separate sheet of paper:Luz D.’s ability to elaborate the story of her own experience with illness was not widespread among asylum inmates, but it was not unique either.4 In different formats and with diverse degrees of articulation, some inmates— especially those who did not suffer from severe mental conditions—participated in the elaboration of what Arthur Kleinman called illness narratives, stories in which “the plot lines, core metaphors, and rhetorical devices that structure illness are drawn from cultural and personal modes for arranging experiences in meaningful ways and for effectively expressing those meanings.”5 Asylum narratives, however, were hardly free-flowing constructions of life history. Constrained by an institutional setting that emphasized doctors’ authority and a medical questionnaire that provided limited space for inmates’ answers, these narratives brought together state health authorities and inmates as they engaged in a contested dialogue over the medical and social meanings of mental illness in Mexico. This article explores the tense and at times contradictory nature of such dialogue as it developed during the first three decades of the twentieth century, a period in which the insane asylum—established during Porfirio Díaz’s last year in office—strove to address the public health needs and welfare expectations of nascent revolutionary regimes. Based on close examination of the language used by psychiatrists and female inmates, I argue that the discussion on the proper place of poor women in society played a fundamental role in the definition of normal and abnormal behaviors. Male psychiatrists who for the most part received their education in Porfirian Mexico, for example, infused their diagnoses with normative notions of gender and class, detecting signs of mental illness in cases where human conduct deviated from socially condoned models of female domesticity in a modernizing setting.6 Hence, their repetitive and somewhat alarmed references to “capricious” and “sexually promiscuous” women who, according to some, “neither respected nor obeyed anyone.”7 By contrast, as attested by Luz D.’s narrative, female inmates swiftly proceeded to place their mental illness in the specific context of their lives, relating it to concrete tales of childbirth, conflictive family relations and, more often than not, domestic violence. As in other cases, Luz D.’s file showed that asylum doctors and inmates approached mental illness in adverse ways, yet it also revealed that the patient and the asylum intern agreed on a fundamental issue: she was mentally ill.8 My principal argument is that the conflict over the meanings of insanity that permeated asylum interactions did not result from a logic of rigid oppositions in which patients denied their condition—a view often linked to antipsychiatric notions of madness.9 Instead, a more mobile yet equally relentless strategy of displacement occurred.10 Simultaneously clashing and negotiating, asylum inmates and their doctors developed tense, mad narratives of mental illness—texts of multiple voices in which both actors waged their own understandings of body, mind, and society.In addition to Luz D.’s case, several medical files from the General Insane Asylum indicated similar socially shaped strategies of negotiation that informed the construction of mental illness and, by extension, of mental health in modernizing Mexico. In an era that witnessed the demise of a 30-year old dictatorship, the outbreak of a revolutionary struggle that took over one million lives, and the rise of regimes that sought to rebuild the Mexican nation, such negotiation was quite significant—a fact that both Porfirian and postrevolutionary health authorities did not ignore. However, while Porfirian psychiatry saw the asylum as a strategy of segregation to protect society from contagion, health and welfare authorities of the revolutionary period stressed the responsibility of the state to treat and reform ill minds. In this sense, the case of La Castañeda is particularly important to both the historiography of confinement and the historiography of modern Mexico because it emerged at a juncture in which diverse social projects collided and clashed. Indeed, Porfirian finances gave it life, but, even after years of neglect, revolutionary resources prolonged it. Thus while the layout and rules of the institution replicated Porfirian concerns with order and progress, patients and doctors, authorities and staff members infused the institution with the problems and aspirations of a nation in the making. In highlighting negotiation and dissent, the analysis of mad narratives that developed in asylum grounds during the early revolutionary period illustrates the contesting origin of policies of public health process that alerts about the relative weakness of the national state to implement health and social control policies.11Because doctors and inmates did not construct mad narratives in a vacuum, this article first describes the rise and demise of the General Insane Asylum —a monumental work of architecture in which psychiatrists, self-appointed guardians of the mental health of the nation, sought to preserve social order. While psychiatrists eagerly participated in state-making efforts by scientifically defining what was normal and abnormal in human behavior, the process was not as forthright and natural as often presented in medical narratives.12 Within asylum walls, in rooms distanced from the main forums of the nation, psychiatrists examined inmates, but the encounter, as demonstrated by Luz D.’s case, was dynamic in nature. For this reason, the article then proceeds to examine the character of the psychiatric interview in which inmates, complying with the imperative to disclose, spoke of their lives in ways that both followed and defied the official medical questionnaire of the institution. The latter section of this article particularly explores cases of women diagnosed as morally insane, paying attention to both psychiatric diagnoses and patients’ thick descriptions of their own ailments.13 A medical category coined by English physician James Prichard in 1835, moral insanity described “a form of monomania in which people recognized the difference between right and wrong, yet lacked the will power to resist evil impulses.”14 Because this diagnosis openly called for definitions of “good” and “evil,” it induced the conspicuous incorporation of nonmedical factors in interpretations of mental derangement—an opportunity that female patients used to elaborate stories of their basic human experience with illness.As women discussed the complex nature of their condition—the physical and spiritual causes, the evolution and social representation—they authored themselves as rightful, if unsettling, citizens of the new era. Indeed, the narratives that women constructed as they interacted with asylum doctors revealed their ability to interpret and rename the domestic and social worlds they inhabited, forcing doctors and readers alike to see those worlds through their eyes. More than mere illustrations to accompany political or economic histories of the era, these powerfully unnerving narratives also revealed the emphatic ways in which inmates’ articulated physical and spiritual pain to develop—whether implicitly or abruptly, cogently or frantically—moral and political commentaries on the causes of their misfortune. Thus at a fundamental level, the mad narratives examined in this essay constitute vivid reminders of the fragility of the hegemonic framework in which modern Mexico took shape.16When Luz D. approached the facilities of the General Insane Asylum—a monumental complex including 25 buildings surrounded by forests and manicured lawns—she must have been impressed. While she was familiar with mental health institutions, the architecture of the modern asylum was monumental and unique.17 That the insane asylum was significant for the Porfirian regime became all too clear when President Porfirio Díaz himself presided over the inauguration ceremony of the institution on 1 September 1910, the day on which the festivities for the anniversary of the Mexican independence officially began.18 Built with funds from the welfare system, the insane asylum sheds light on the social strategies of modernization that characterized the late Porfirian era and illustrates how a select group of state-commissioned experts deployed their knowledge of languages, medical theories, and concerns with the ordering of society to lay the foundation of the largest welfare institution for the mentally ill in modernizing Mexico.19 Indeed, the walls surrounding the asylum were meant to define a border separating “the strong and the competent” from the “weak and the corrupted” in an industrializing society increasingly concerned with the threat of the poor.20 Convinced of their modernizing mission, asylum designers freely spoke of confinement as a way to treat the mentally ill and to control potentially dangerous members of society.21 Visions of social control, however, went hand in hand with depictions of the asylum as a place of refuge where deprived members of society could secure medical and custodial care.22 These ambivalent views of asylums as both places of control and places of refuge shaped the planning and final physical layout of the institution—an aspect that adds complexity to views that represent asylums as mere instruments of state control.Responding to increasing concerns over the efficiency of institutions for the insane established during the colonial era, the emergence of the modern asylum was also facilitated by a welfare ideology that, unlike charitable enterprises, placed greater emphasis on correction, a process in which both the 1861 secularization of welfare institutions and Darwinist views of the poor typical of the Porfirian era played fundamental roles.23 Urged by physicians concerned with the treatment of the insane as well as by social commentators alarmed with the increasing number of urban poor in Mexico City, the federal government financed and published El Manicomio, a report written by physician Román Ramírez in 1884, which included an extensive and comparative collection of documents concerning the construction and management of insane asylums in the United States and Europe.24 Interested in pragmatic information that could be put to use in Mexico, Ramírez’s selection of documents included the translation of standards of construction and rules of governance for insane asylums created by the Association of Medical Superintendents of American Institutes for the Insane, a professional organization founded in 1844.25 Equally relevant were asylum records and superintendent reports from various American institutions, notably the New York Lunatic Asylum, the Illinois and Iowa Hospitals for the Insane, and the Alabama Insane Hospital. Systematic in approach and rich in detail, Ramírez’s report was the first introduction to the inner workings of modern mental health facilities ever to appear in Mexico. Providing information on both mental health treatments and the management of asylums, Ramírez placed his work in that ambiguous realm in which science and social concerns converged. In translating documents from both areas, Ramírez fulfilled the role of a cultural policy translator—a task of increasing relevance in a regime committed to modernity at all costs. Although the report did not result in the immediate building of the great Mexican asylum, the data it contained proved useful in this process 12 years later when, well into the golden era of the Porfirian regime, a new board continued with the asylum project.The physicians and lawyers who formed the 1896 board to build the asylum made recommendations to the authorities that exposed medical strategies to treat insanity, spatial tactics to prevent contagion, and social concerns with the order and progress of society—all fundamental values of the Porfirian regime.26 Indeed, the committee’s faith in the mental health benefits of closed, state-run asylums was so great that its members stated, “in the good conditions of an insane asylum rests three-quarters of the cure of the mentally ill.”27 They also believed that the success of an insane asylum depended on the right combination of both physical and medical factors. First, they recommended that the asylum be located away from populated areas to create a division between the world of reason and the world of madness, thus avoiding confusion and the possibility of contagion. Second, they recommended that authorities implement a strategy to classify inmates, both medically and spatially, within asylum walls. They advocated the creation of a department of admission and classification in which doctors could observe and examine inmates carefully because, as they were acutely aware, “insanity lacked a characteristic mark” and could go easily undetected or misdiagnosed.28 They too backed the division of the asylum into separate wards, each housing inmates suffering from the same ailment. In addition, to protect the finances of the institution, they suggested that inmates be classified according to first and second categories, giving priority to paying inmates. The committee attached blueprints of administrative offices, wards, workshops, libraries, and other facilities to illustrate how the architectural design of the asylum would reflect medical concerns with classification and order. Lastly, since the committee portrayed the state as the leader of a humanitarian and civilizing crusade, the asylum helped the Porfirian regime to secure for itself a place among the modern and progressive nations of the world.It took, however, five additional years of negotiations for the planning of construction works to start. On 9 July 1901 engineer Luis L. De la Barra requested from the Ministry of Interior $476.00 pesos to hire personnel and acquire instruments required to conduct a preliminary topographic survey of the land purchased by the government in the periphery of the sprawling city.29 Indeed, complying with foreign standards for asylum construction, Mexican authorities invested in a large area of good land located in Mixcoac, where wealthy Porfirians rested from the stress of the modernizing city during the weekends.30 Originally owned by the Carrera Lardizabal family, hacienda La Castañeda was appraised at $48,000 pesos in 1882.31 It was not until 1897, however, that legal titles of the 485,700 square meters of land were granted to the Public Welfare Administration.32 The selection of this site responded to medical notions associating clean, ample spaces with the improvement of mental health, yet equally significant were the panoramic views, the bucolic landscape and the rolling hills that, according to de la Barra, would made the asylum look “more picturesque.”33 In addition, while distanced from the city, an electric train line that connected Mixcoac with the capital city had been built in 1900, facilitating the transportation of provisions and visitors.34De la Barra, however, had to wait another four years and work with Salvador Echegaray—the engineer who had been in charge of the construction of the Leandro León Ayala asylum in Mérida, Yucatán—to complete the project to build the asylum.35 It was 1905 by then and, as the authors noted in the introduction of their final work, this was a time in which the government supported public works with unprecedented energy. Based on updated literature on asylum construction from Europe and the United States as well as statistical information from local mental health hospitals, de la Barra and Echegaray elaborated a long and persuasively argued document that came to constitute the “definitive study” leading to the construction of La Castañeda.36 The narrative strategies used to write the 1905 document reflected a careful process of cultural negotiation. Divided into four sections, namely, general plan of the asylum, general services, services for inmates, and general organization of the asylum, the project included specific guidelines. The first section entitled “Theoretical Conditions” presented a brief yet insightful overview of foreign sources. Unlike the 1884 report that emphasized documents from the United States, this section drew heavily from French sources, especially reports from commissions in charge of asylum construction under the rule of famous administrator Baron Georges-Eugène Haussman, the prefect of the Department of Seine during the Second Empire and responsible for the transformation of Paris.37 In the second section, “Program,” the authors introduced the specific needs of the Mexican setting, resorting when possible to data form the San Hipólito and Divnio Salvador hospitals.38 Each section ended with a “suggested solution,” usually a compromise between the former two. Thus, as true modernizing agents, Echegaray and de la Barra drew information from foreign asylums, but they did it in a critical fashion, adapting lessons and experiences to the local conditions of Mexico.In December 1906, 20 months later, engineer Salvador Echegaray was ready to submit yet another document, with additional blueprints attached, to the Ministry of Interior.39 This modified version discussed observations from the Council of Public Buildings, Echegaray’s own revisions resulting from recent visits to the Manhattan Hospital of New York, and indications from a new committee formed by lawyer and criminologist Miguel Macedo, engineer Alberto Robles Gil, and psychiatrist Juan Peón del Valle, director of the San Hipólito hospital since 1905 and son of José Peón Contreras, the first official professor of psychiatry in Mexico.40 Remarks form these “people of the greatest competence” were indeed numerous, yet they did not alter the 1905 project in fundamental ways. Three years later, in June 1908, the Ministry of Interior and engineer Porfirio Díaz Jr. signed a contract to begin construction. The asylum would include 25 buildings, counting inmates wards, doctors residences, infirmaries, and the General Services building whose imposing façade of classical lines became the hallmark of the institution. The federal government allocated $1,783,337.15 pesos to fund the construction of the asylum, one of the most monumental ventures of the Porfirian era.41The General Insane Asylum replicated values and hierarchies of the city in which it was built. Echoing fears of disorder and contagion characteristic of the Porfirian political imagination, the physical layout of the institution secured separate areas for men and women, dividing them with fences disguised with bushes and plants to avoid “the appearance of a jail.”42 Mirroring social hierarchies, the asylum also allocated the front areas, those closest to the gardens and the entrance, to paying inmates who lived in single rooms. Behind them, the common wards for indigent inmates began. The 848 female and male inmates arriving from the existing mental health hospitals in 1910 were distributed in seven wards, including those for tranquil, dangerous, alcoholic, epileptic, idiotic, elderly, and paying inmates.43 Social order was further embedded in the governing rules of the institution, which placed a physician-director at the top, followed by an administrator, the medical staff including both doctors and nurses, and attendants. Elaborated by an inspector from the Public Welfare System and the directors of five hospitals, the asylum regulation of 1913 included rules to provide inmates with the best psychiatric assistance available while securing the administrative order and scientific status of the institution.44 Enforcing these rules, however, proved to be a monumental task. The institutional order was limited by the rapidly changing social context in which the asylum emerged.Only two months after its inauguration, the Mexican revolution began. As the armed struggle evolved, little was left untouched in the country. Hunger and violence roamed both rural and urban areas, and Mexico City, an important site of military strife in 1914 and 1915, was no exception. The impact of the revolution on the General Insane Asylum was noticeable and devastating. In fighting the Constitutionalist army, Zapatista military forces occupied the institution in late January 1915.45 By early February, continuous shoot-out between the two armies “created panic among families of employees who tried to evade bullets hissing through the air.”46 While the military occupation affected some sections of La Castañeda—medical residences, a pair of wards —these damages were minor in comparison with the general deterioration of the establishment. Indeed, without the economic and political investment that gave it birth, the asylum soon faced mounting financial dilemmas, which affected both its administrative and medical branches, forcing a gradual redefinition of the institution as a whole.The earliest challenge that asylum authorities faced came in the form of inmate overpopulation. Although careful demographic calculations had resulted in the provision of 1,330 beds in 1910—730 reserved for women and 600 for men—there was a shortage by 1911.47 While asylum authorities acknowledged that the number of inmates had to be reduced, they were also aware that this situation stemmed form the welfare principles guiding the institution, including the provision to provide care to all individuals regardless of sex, age, religion, and social status.48 The physical structure and the quality of the asylum’s general services also deteriorated throughout the armed phase of the revolution. For example, by 1916, inspectors from the Public Welfare System noted that inmates wore inadequate garments and ate small pieces of bread that “did not even weigh 40 grams.”49 By 1920, asylum problems went far beyond clothing and food supplies, including the lack of mattresses, electricity, and basic medications, as well as leaking roofs and the deterioration of hardwood floors, doors, and windows of most buildings.50 Sensing fertile ground for sensationalist news, journalists visited the asylum and described it as a ravaged landscape, an institution “in complete desolation, lacking hygiene in the kitchen, providing inmates with poor and scant meals, supplying indigent inmates with miserable clothing. [In sum] wards, isolation rooms, gardens, streets and patios were completely forsaken.”51 The ominous state of the institution was not limited to its welfare services. The lack of financial support also compromised its status as a medical institution, for the scientific personnel had also become insufficient. Despite internal regulations, by 1912 only one intern bore full responsibility for the care and treatment of 98 inmates in the ward of tranquil inmates “A,” a situation that was a norm rather than an exception throughout the hospital.52 The limited number of nurses and poorly trained attendants seriously aggravated the problem. Only two years after opening, each asylum nurse took care of an average of 150 inmates in various wards. Similarly, 86 attendants supervised 1,024 inmates, roughly half as many as the director determined were needed to provide adequate attention.53 Under these circumstances, emphasis on the custodial functions of the institution increased.After years of neglect, the asylum underwent administrative and medical reform under the leadership of Samuel Ramírez Moreno and Manuel Guevara Oropeza, physician-directors of the institution between 1928 and 1932, significantly coinciding with the emergence of national organizations linked to the state such as the National Revolutionary Party. However, during the first three decades of the twentieth century, psychiatrists and inmates found themselves in an institution that offered little in terms of medical assistance and even less in terms of implementation of order. It was there, inside neglected buildings, under leaking roofs, surrounded by filth and despair, that psychiatrists and inmates came into contact with each other, producing narratives of mental illness that both reflected and illustrated the making of definitions of gender and class in Mexican society.As all inmates, Luz D. first faced her psychiatrist at the observation ward of the institution. There, in a sanitized environment that conveyed concerns with classification and order, the dialogue, more likely an argument, about mental illness began. While members of the medical staff of the institution did not conduct psychiatric research, they upheld the scientific status of their practice by carefully recording data and clinical observations. They initiated this activity during the psychiatric interview and continued it with the elaboration of the clinical histories of asylum inmates. Containing “information about the background of the inmate, his or her picture, a narration of inmate’s symptoms, the diagnosis, the treatment and its results and, finally, the time of discharge or the results of the autopsy,” the clinical histories articulated both medical interpretations of mental illness and popular views of insanity in Mexico.54The psychiatric impulse found fertile terrain in a society increasingly concerned with identifying, explaining, and ultimately controlling behaviors deemed as deviant—a social anxiety that strongly influenced the adoption of an evolutionary perspective among Mexican psychiatrists of the late nineteenth century.55 While a common practice during Porfirian times, the reception of foreign theory—in this case, European degeneration theory, a body of ideas linking mental derangement to the poor—was not a passive process.56 In fact, changing psychiatric views of the mentally ill—from benign views that blamed modernity and its many stimuli for cases of mental derangement to punitive notions depicting the insane as fundamentally unfit for modernity—exposed the various ways in which medical professionals used a common source of ideas with varied social purposes in mind.57 For example, while knowledgeable of the stress on heredity placed by Austrian psychiatrist Augustine Morel, Mexican doctor Mariano Rivadeneyra, a student of psychiatry who graduated in 1887 with a thesis on mental illness, equally emphasized social environment and education as concomitant factors of insanity.58 The mentally ill constituted, in his opinion, victims of a rapidly changing milieu, which affected the brain with “painful impressions.”59 Thus modernity, and not heredity, constituted the major cause of mental derangement. Only 20 years later, as classes on psychiatry appeared in the official curricula of the Faculty of Medicine and closer connections developed among mental health hospital doctors and academic circles, these benign views slowly vanished. Instead, in close association with the ascending modernization of the regime and trends of increasing popularity such as criminology and eugenics, punitive understandings of mental illness came to dominate Porfirian psychiatry.60 Thus, by the early twentieth century, using the same body of European ideas, psychiatrists and social commentators alike referred to the mentally ill as dangerous individuals who imperiled the basis of modernity and the future of the nation at large. This interpretative shift proved to be foundational in the rising professional status of Porfirian psychiatrists—a standing they confirmed every time they saw the monumental construction devoted to the exercise of their trade.Punitive views of mental illness associated with degeneration theory permeated the psychiatric practice of asylum doctors in 1910 and beyond. As in society at large, the use of this body of ideas within asylum walls was not only a medical but also a social decision responding to views of the distinctive sectors of society that interacted in its grounds. Psychiatrists were overwhelmingly male, members of the professional elite, and firm believers in the benefits of progress.61 Furthermore, the regime had granted them an unprecedented social status with the construction of the insane asylum—a facility that accentuated their professional confidence. However, while serving a range of social classes, La Castañeda attracted a clientele whose great majority were members of the growing contingents of the urban poor. In 1910, for example, all women and a high percentage of men in the institution were free and indigent.62 Most inmates were between the ages of 21 and 40, and single.63 Most also arrived at the asylum at the request of the municipality, accompanied by police authori ties, and in public transportation. Although most female inmates had been housewives, almost a third of them had also worked as domestic servants, seamstresses, and laundresses. Those listed as unemployed (16 percent) were usually prostitutes.64 Occupations of male inmates tended to be more diverse, yet class origins remained similar. They included artisans, such as tailors, shoemakers, and carpenters. Although the asylum admitted middle-class professionals such as pharmacists," @default.
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W2171247806 date "2001-08-01" @default.
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W2171247806 title "“She neither Respected nor Obeyed Anyone”: Inmates and Psychiatrists Debate Gender and Class at the General Insane Asylum La Castañeda, Mexico, 1910–1930" @default.
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