One of several recent speeches on mental health recovery as I project the voice of those affected by it to audiences in the academic, health and broader social system to counter disfavor in the larger community, by emphasizing that hope, while something more than wishful thinking, is possible through engagement in work, variously defined, and peer interaction

1. From the Desk of Russell Pierce
August 20-21. 2014
A Message of Recovery for Psychiatric Residents
Worcester Recovery Center and Hospital
Russell D. Pierce, Director, Office of Recovery and
Empowerment
If there is one thing that I want to accomplish today that is to
counter the notion of ‘otherizing’ one another so nicely
described by the poet, Langston Hughes:
I, too, sing America.
I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,

2. And eat well,
And grow strong.
Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.
Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed—
I, too, am America.
What this poem means to me and perhaps to some of you who
have experienced recovery in your own lives—from failures,
divorce, bad relationships—or just circumstance, is that we
often felt alone, but my purpose here at the moment is address
in some small way recovery as a part of historical process and

3. how people who have been marginalized over time have gained
voice.
Let us begin:
Through all the sorrow of the sorrow song, there breathes a
hope in the ultimate justice of things, so said the great thinker
W.B. Du Bois. What this means to me is that suffering can be
endured through song and dance, that distress can be endured
through the mystery of music, but perhaps more importantly,
that wrongs will be righted and justice instituted. I am proud to
be a carrier of a rich tradition of reform movements across our
nation’s history including the mental health reform movements
that dates back in this Commonwealth to the nineteenth
century with the work of Dorothea Dix
Let us note at the outset that “recovery” does mean something
more than “getting better”—it does involve a fundamental shift
in how we define ourselves in communal life with the full range
of rights and responsibilities of citizenship. In this regard, we
are not only talking about symptom abatement, normalizing,
and the provision of housing and employment supports. No,
we are talking about and must talk about people reclaiming
their lives, dream and aspirations.

4. See, Slade, M., World Psychiatry, Uses and Abuses of Recovery,
Vol. 13. Issue 1-pgs 12-20, February 2014.
To share a personal note: I am often asked how have I
overcome so much, so much hardship, pain and loss. I think the
answers lies in childhood experiences and I had a good
childhood. I can recall my mother saying ever so sweetly to me
that life ‘ain’t easy’—which I interpreted even then that
‘rejection’ is part of the life course, not so much because you
were black, even though that would certainly contribute to it,
but because difficulties and adversities affect everyone. When I
was young I would listen intently to both sermons and gospels
that would inspire me with truths, if not satisfaction, songs that
had words to the effect, “God bless the child that got his own,
that mama may have, papa may have, but God bless the child
who has his own.’ So powerful.
So today I am not going to discuss or render comments in the
typical way that some people do—amounting to a ‘working of
the wounds’—not instead, I am going to offer some reflections
that actually may benefit those of you—and us who are
involved in the day-to-day strivings of ordinary lives, sometimes
complicated by misfortunes and specifically conditions related
to well-being and health.

5. But my aim today is not to delve deeply into the consumer
rights movement. I will leave that for anther time—perhaps
another invitation.
I am delighted to join with you today—in fact, over the last two
days, in a discussion of recovery and how this innovative
approach to clinical practice can cash out in the therapeutic
alliance between persons with lived experience and those of
you who are—or about to enter the caring professions. In
some ways, I view psychiatry and counseling in much the same
way I started to view law as a student—as something akin to
caring, a form of ministry if you will to the afflicted, the
suffering. I viewed the law as a form of ministry, helping the
soul, helping those to witness the majesty of the Lord in action:
to health and to repair and to restoration. Perhaps, this grew
out of traditions and childhood, but it was the centerpiece of
my early studies—the influence of the church and community,
and even the philosophies of Augustine and others, including
Thoreau and Emerson.
What I want to talk with you today however is not pure
philosophy or even the theory and history of our movement of
recovery, for others are more ably to do than I am at this
moment. What I do want to discuss with you is my journey as
an individual who has been afforded many opportunities to
walk through doors of entry and access—and in the process
how I have come to view life and the challenges it offers to us,

6. whether in recovery or not. Far too often we think that only
those who have been labeled with a diagnosis can speak
intelligently or exclusively on pain and pathos, whereas human
beings have been dealing with struggles for hundreds of years. I
am just as interested in your stories as well as my own—and
perhaps, we will discuss both.
But let me begin with an acknowledgment of those who have
influenced me thus far—and of course, that would be my
family, especially my mother and grandmother, who always
told me to work hard, study hard, learn as much as you can—
both formally and informally, and never forget from whence
you can because you are going to meet the same people going
up the ladder as when you are coming down. I must say they
were indeed correct.
They also taught me that you might have to work twice as hard
for half as much—and certainly there were no guarantees that
life was a rose garden, or that all people would marvel at your
talents and celebrate your successes.
The lessons of humility were early taught—and I recognize the
lack of it even when I am involved in treatment settings—
making me pause again, to consider, whether or not we can
actually teach through pedagogy good behavior, manners,
respect and overall conduct, that is the basis for a good
therapeutic relationship.

7. My goal here for the moment is not to chastise you or to even
instruct you, but to infuse the idea that equal respect and
consideration for the person does not happen by accident or
luck and chance. It takes purposeful effort and commitment.
This dedication to principle is hard and requires us all, in the
helping professions, to which you are entering, to engage in
frank conversations about race, gender, class and privilege
particularly unearned privilege and the micro-aggressions
associated with. I have found it instructive to learn about a
people’s history, culture and beliefs in my effort to become a
friend, ally, or supporter. Without appreciating these frames of
references and context, we cannot begin to have a full and
authentic conversation with one another. I often say that we
do not take introductions seriously—meaning that when we
see someone unfamiliar to us, we may say—hi, goodbye and be
on our way, not stopping to long enough to possibly witness
pain or pleasure or even discuss what lies beneath that veil of
identity or mask.
This is more so, at least in my experience, in the treatment
setting, where those who are assuming to care for others are
pressed by economies and policies, to spend about fifteen
minutes figuring out what is wrong with you, as opposed to
what is right with you—or even asking what has happened to
you to bring you to this point. But my larger point today is not
to focus on this. I want my message to reflect a journey of one
who lives and thrives in community life, unbounded by

8. diagnosis, not because I am in denial or even lack insight, but as
I hinted at earlier, I was brought up through traditions centuries
old to struggle, to endure whatever label—and somehow to
summon the strength of the ancestors to carry on. I do not
think we can underestimate these protective and resiliency
factors in our work together in communities, especially in
communities of color.
A strong sense of history has brought me through many a
challenge—a diagnosis, unemployment, homelessness,
congregate living, loss of friendships—and the death of loved
ones. The soul, however, is a complex thing. The soul, the
interior of our being and hearts is a wonderful part of each of
us. In it we find the rich resources to survive, endure, and as
the writers say, to prevail.
I am told that there is something called the ‘idiom of distress’
that a culture and a people practice and believe. The message
here is that we all exhibit pain in a certain way—and for those
that minister to the spirit and the soul, there is a way of
believing and acting that causes that stress to be revealed, let
us say for divine or spiritual redress. As an African American, I
have sought refuge not only in history or law—or even in a
doctor’s office, but also through the songs of Areatha Franklin
and Denyce Graves—and the sermons of Rev. Woods, my
childhood preacher at the local African Methodist Episcopal
Church.

9. Earlier, I spoke about influences—those people and institutions
that impact my life and impart wisdom. I have always been
bewildered when interviewers ask the question of ‘who has
influenced you’—not because it is an unfair inquiry. I just find it
hard to leave anyone out—or anything out. My remarks today
have been in the making over a lifetime—influenced by artists,
musicians, painters, intellectuals, teachers and friends. I must
also at this point say that the magnificent poet Maya Angelou
was a major influence with her poem—“Still, I Rise’—as was
Langston Hughes when he wrote—‘life ain’t been no crystal
stair.’
These are what are meant by the idioms of distress in my
view—the underpinning of a cultural belief system that serve to
edify and strengthen people in the toughest of times. I have
found the words of preachers uplifting and strengthening even
in moments of crisis, which can mark the onset of illness—and
it this particular understanding that I can only hope that
doctors and psychiatrists apply to their practice, which to me
brings recovery to practice, an appreciation of cultural context
and milieu.
As I stated at the outset, others can and perhaps already have
given you a glimpse into the recovery model, which to me is
less a model than an attitude. But I will not dwell on that for
now.

10. What has gotten me to this point in life? It has taken a lot of
hard work—delayed gratification, and then some. But I take
delight that I am not a statistic. I have a decent job and work in
a climate that is extraordinary—as is this opportunity to speak
with you here today, and I am grateful to Dr. Sanders, a
colleague, who has made it all possible. I realize everyday as I
salute the dawn that I am fortunate—fortunate to be here in
such a charming city, and to sit in the Commissioner’s Office, as
I and my team attempt to give voice to peers across the
Commonwealth.
Work has always been a defining characteristic for me—even
when I worked in local eateries and restaurants, school
cafeterias, and even cleaning out bathrooms, working in filing
room, sitting on non-profit boards, all gave me definition and
strength. A particular joy and satisfaction was working as a
public health advisor at the Substance Abuse and Mental
Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) in Maryland, and
helping in some way to move mental health systems forward.
These assignments provided me sufficient ego-strength, if you
will, and cash, to realize the dream of societal integration and
participation, that underlies the Olmstead Decision, but yet for
many of us, is the unfinished business of years of prolonged
advocacy for those with disabilities.

11. Let me just say a word about ‘disability’—I think it is important
that we do not use language to consign people to roles not of
their own choosing or making, and for me it has been
important to surround myself with people and professionals
who do not casually toss around terms without attention to
context. I am reminded again of Maya
Angelou—who said ‘I may not remember what you said, or how
you said it, but I will never forget how you made me feel’. It
has been disheartening to hearing those, even those who
minister to the soul and spirit, and for certain those who treat
the body and mind, say things like you are sick, you are unwell,
you will always be on medications—or that you will always be
in our care.
The purpose of a hopeful psychiatry is not to be hope sapping
as one of my colleagues described it, but hope-moving and
infusing. How we deliver messages to one another is crucial
and as I have suggested understanding the idiom or speech of a
people is important—as is their history, music and voice tell us.
We must understand why the ‘caged bird sings’—it sings
because it wants to be both loved and freed, freed from
hunger, isolation, trauma and racism. In this realm of thinking,
we must to the maximum extent possible understand why
choice and relationship are key to the therapeutic alliance. We
must encourage healthy risk taking, and understand that all
interactions, including the interaction between you as caring
professionals and peers entails some risk, but that the potential
reward is great. Just like character formation takes time and

12. responsibility and example, so too does choice take time and
cultivation—we can not presume that it will occur just because
we desire it or wish it to be—it take hard work, an appreciation
for the fullness of the person we are connecting with, and
avoiding snap judgments incapable of reversal or refinements.
Even where I sit, I know how it feels to be an ‘outsider’—but
this fact alone does not discourage me, for as I learned long ago
being the ‘other’ can give one certain advantages—and we
must all learn to take advantage of our disadvantages. I point
this out not to criticize, but to let you know that the struggle is
not over—that it continues, even among those who are allied
with us. The ‘other’ has an obligation to teach—to hopefully
inspire, hopefully to become part of the solution—and not
‘captured’ as they say in law by structures, or otherwise co-
opted. I have said elsewhere that one of the things that I like
about my role is to challenge—to challenge assumptions about
the aspirations, talents and creativity of a still, perhaps, the last
marginalized group in America.
Yet, I see progress. Like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
said, I may not get to the mountain top with you, but as a
people I can promise you that one day we shall overcome. In
this vein I too realize, not only with this invitation today and
incredibly with my appointment to the position of Director of
the Office of Recovery that a greater justice has been extended
to those of us in recovery.—your recovery and ours. That, is to

13. say, it is both possible for individuals and institutions to
change..