Transcript: NAMI-SYSLE East Los Angeles Custody Officers May 9, 2025

The following is a transcript of Jason W. Park address to East Los Angeles Custody Officers on May 9, 2025, via the NAMI-SYSLE (National Alliance on Mental Ilnnes, Sharing Your Story with Law Enforcement) program:

Hi everyone, good morning. My name is Jason, and I am a member of NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. NAMI is the nation’s largest grassroots mental health organization dedicated to improving the lives of individuals and families affected by mental illness. NAMI has over 650 affiliates in communities across the country that engage in advocacy, research, support and education. Members of NAMI are families, friends and people living with mental illness such as major depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCS), panic disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and borderline personality disorder.

Hola a todos, y buenos días. Mi nombre es Jason y soy miembro de NAMI, la Alianza Nacional de Enfermedades Mentales. NAMI es la organización de salud mental de base más grande del país dedicada a mejorar las vidas de las personas y familias afectadas por enfermedades mentales. NAMI cuenta con más de seiscientas cincuenta afiliados en comunidades de todo el país que se dedican a la defensa, la investigación, el apoyo y la educación. Los miembros de NAMI son familiares, amigos y personas que viven con enfermedades mentales como depresión mayor, esquizofrenia, trastorno bipolar, trastorno obsesivo-compulsivo (OCS), trastorno de pánico, trastorno de estrés postraumático (TEPT) y trastorno límite de la personalidad.

You know, when I was a professor a long time ago, I used to go to conferences. And I observed that Asian presenters started their presentations with an apology, while American presenters began their presentations with a joke. Well, being Asian-American, I will try to do both: I apologize if anything I say today confuses…me!

The intersection of mental illness and law enforcement is something we should be serious about. But we do not need to be grave about it either. It takes a certain sense of humor to get us through it all, between law enforcement (you) and mental illness (me). I lived with mental illness and I’ve been to the dark side, and I am sure you have been through rather dark times, as well.

You are custody officers, correct? Your job is primarily to safeguard and transport detainees and prisoners from jail and prison to court. In contrast, patrol officers enforce the laws, make arrests, and operate within a certain scope. Correct? What’s more dangerous, supervising criminals, or out and about arresting them…I don’t know.

You know, it takes a certain type of personality to wear a uniform, badge and gun. Trouble is your business, because you are first responders, correct? Your training gets you to go toward the source of danger, unlike the general public, who run away in terror from danger. It reminds me of what one psychiatrist explained to me: “Why would you want to be around mental illness?”

So maybe there is something in common between mental health professionals and law enforcement officers. You go to danger; they go to dysfunction. That tells me that for you and for them, it is not simply a job, it is not simply a career. Rather, it is a calling. And that used to be about a religious calling, as if ordained by God. These days, it is non-religious in nature.

Before I begin my part of the address, understand that you have a calling here, that you want to “protect and serve.” You may have heard it many times, that it is your life’s calling. But you may be very jaded, worn out, and just plain sick and tired of hearing it. I hope that after my address, your views might change, if in fact yours haven’t already.

So let’s begin. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder 25 years ago, after graduating from Harvard. I lived an unhealthy “study hard, party hard” lifestyle. Plato, Aristotle, Marx, Nietzsche… pot, XTC, coke, meth…But when I quit the partying, my condition didn’t get better. It got worse. It was the academic stress, not the drugs, although they didn’t help, either.

Bipolar disorder generates wild mood swings. It used to be called manic depression, like the Jimi Hendrix song. Extremely irritable, then deeply depressed. There is no happy medium for bipolar people, unfortunately. So-called normal people like yourselves are very even-keeled, you know, right in the middle, and not easily rattled. Not me. I simply cannot function in society.

It can be successfully managed, through a combination of talk therapy and medication. Think of your brain as an engine. And an engine needs certain things to operate smoothly: engine oil, gasoline, coolant, and transmission fluid. A mentally ill brain lacks these components. Meds are those engine fluids that make the brain run properly. Bipolar responds well to the right meds.

In 1998 I was diagnosed bipolar and two months later I was drunk and manic when I started a fight and brandished a golf club. I guess I had a bad round of golf, huh? LAPD was called in and I was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon (a felony). They took me away in a squad car, in handcuffs, and I spent time in the Twin Towers for a few days.

I was in a cell with three other bunkbed inmates. A single hole to urinate and defecate in, no privacy, sweaty beds, prisoners screaming, bland food, body odor…Then into a holding pen with all the Blacks and Hispanics. I was the only Asian. I rolled in there, they took one look at me, and they all yelled out together, “YO, BRUCE LEE!”

Even though most inmates were just chilling out, wrapped up in their own lives, I couldn’t get away. I was lying on one of those metal ledges when suddenly my lower body gave out from under me. A young Hispanic prisoner had kicked my legs. For some reason, he sat down where my feet had been. He had a shaved head and was very thin. He couldn’t have been more then 21.

I collected myself and sat down next to him, trying to speak to him peacefully. “Hey, what’s your name? Where are you from? Hablas ingles?” Nothing worked. Then another Hispanic male, probably in his 30’s, tried to talk to him in Spanish. I couldn’t register what they were talking about. Then the older male turned to me and asked, “Hey, what’re you in here for, man?”

“I hit somebody.” “Oh, yeah? I hit my girlfriend.” I just nodded. Then another Hispanic male, probably in his 40’s, asked, “Yo, Chino, why you here? Don’t your people got money to get you out?” I replied, “They’re working on it.” “What you say, Chino?” I turned my body toward the wall and ignored him. “He said, they’re working on it, man!” Somebody replied for me.

Anyhow, the sergeant rounded us up an hour later and gave a speech: “Alright, you guys are here for bullshit court, for your bullshit misdemeanors, not with the violent felons. There’s still time for you to reform yourselves if you show you can in front of the judge. Come on!” He waved with his baton. Boy, was that inspirational.

Then I was called up again and sat quietly while some videotape was playing on a TV. Nobody listened to it, but I did. Finally, the judge entered the courtroom and the bailiff yelled “All rise!” My case was presented to the judge, and my lawyer sparred verbally with me while the ruckus was noted by the judge. “Your Honor, my client would like to say something.”

I said, “Your Honor, I would like to exercise my right to a court appointed attorney!” A hush fell upon the entire courtroom. The judge looked down momentarily and replied, “That depends. Are you unemployed?” “I am, your honor.” Then the energy in the courtroom picked up. Three public defenders made their presence known. I went through all three save the last one.

Thanks to family support and that sympathetic judge, my sentence was commuted to simple assault (a misdemeanor), with three years’ probation. I returned to jail to pick up my belongings: $29 and my driver’s license. It was dusk when I got a taxi to Hancock Park. My mom let me in, I crawled to my room, and I collapsed after three days without sleep or medication.

That was about the lowest of the lows I experienced with my bout of bipolar disorder. Yet that was 25 years ago. Today, I am semi-retired and financially independent. I am a writer specializing in publishing opinion pieces in newspapers. Only a mentally healthy person can do that. I have not had another single bipolar incident in over ten years.

I tell you, too many of my peers think that despair and hopelessness are their lot in life. With medication, therapy, family, society, and NAMI behind them, there is nothing they cannot do. Slack morality prevents us from fulfilling our potential. I went to hell and back to recover. But others went to hell and back with me.

My time is almost up, but I want to leave you with some last words which I started with: “to protect and serve.” Do you seriously pursue it? Or do you cynically advertise it? Just know this: I would never send you out with criminals in the same vehicle where I was unwilling to go myself; nor would I advise you on a course which I felt myself unwilling to pursue. You are excellent officers; you are the greatest of citizens. Carefully practice criminal custody, always preserve your honor, and I assure you, this society of ours which you have sworn to protect and serve can afford to be, and will be, generous to you.

This concludes my presentation. Thank you for your attention.