IT’S MONDAY MORNING, AND MY NINE AND NINE-THIRTY ARE both waiting. Before seeing them, I quickly check my messages, and learn that it’s been a busy weekend: a law student made a suicide attempt; a women’s studies major, who last week came out to her parents as a lesbian, fell down the stairs while partying and suffered a concussion; and the blood test I ordered on the freshman with bulimia showed low potassium—a condition due to vomiting that can cause an arrhythmia.
A busy weekend, but not an unusual one. Like everyone’s at the campus counseling center, my schedule is overbooked, packed with appointments made by distressed students. Why the surge of bright, accomplished young people, students at one of the nation’s best-known universities, flooding the offices of psychologists, psychiatrists, and social workers? They are looking for relief—from their crying jags, sleepless nights, relentless worrying, and thoughts of death.
Campus counseling centers are busier than ever. In a 2005 survey, 90 percent of these centers revealed an increase in the number of students seen with serious psychological problems. The number of psychiatric consultation hours doubled. Ninety-one percent of centers hospitalized a student for psychological reasons, and over 36 percent experienced one or more suicides. 1
Why are our kids in such bad shape? People are all scratching their heads, and you’ve probably heard the speculation: Is it the stress of leaving home and adjusting to independence? Is it issues related to identity, sexuality, relationships, and roommates? Don’t forget academic demands, parental expectations, financial pressures, and a competitive job market. How about the effect of 9/11? One academic has another angle. He points out, “today’s college students distrust the nation’s leaders. They have little confidence in the nation’s social institutions. They see large-scale problems all around them.”2
There’s no doubt that these elements, and others, contribute to varying degrees. But I believe another factor, one you haven’t heard, demands our attention. I contend that radical social ideologies are also to blame, especially when they’ve spread from the classroom to the counseling center. I once assumed campus medicine and psychology had one priority: student well-being. I’m no longer so naive.
Radical politics pervades my profession, and common sense has vanished. Not long ago, a psychiatrist might call casual sexual activity “mindless” and “empty.”3 Before political correctness muzzled our nation in the nineties, a campus physician might advise a student that it is love and lifelong fidelity that bring joy and liberated sensuality, and provide the best insurance against sexually transmitted diseases. 4 An unwanted pregnancy, an abortion—these were weighty issues. We understood that men and women are profoundly different, and weren’t afraid to say so. It was clear that liaisons outside a committed relationship could be hazardous, and a young woman would be wise to wait until someone serious came along. A sexually transmitted infection, even one easily cured, was a serious matter. Self restraint built character, and character was something to strive for. Certain behaviors were abnormal, and those who practiced them needed help. Traditional marriage and parenthood were valued milestones. To search for meaning, and to make sacrifices for a higher purpose—these were noble endeavors that defined our humanity.
Things have changed. Now young people are advised to use latex, and have a limited number of partners (as opposed to unlimited?). There is tacit approval of promiscuity and experimentation: one study of college students speaks of “primary and casual sex partners.”5 Infection with one of the sexually transmitted viruses is a rite of passage; it comes with the territory. Abortion is the removal of unwanted tissue, sort of like a tonsillectomy. Campus counselors urge students to get enough sleep, eat right, exercise, and make time for themselves. Clubs funded by student fees celebrate risky, fringe behaviors. 6 Young women think motherhood can be delayed indefinitely; women’s health teaches them only about preventing pregnancy. Traditional marriage and a mother and father are just one option; there are other alternatives, all equally valid.
These changes are the result of social agendas foisted on the campus community, and in my work at the counseling center, I see the consequences daily. Dangerous behaviors are a personal choice; judgments are prohibited—they might offend. Students have gender-free “partners”: what difference does it make whether male or female? Attendance at a “multiculturalism” workshop—to increase my sensitivity and inclusivity, and confront my sexism, racism, and homophobia—is mandatory. When lesbians have a child, it’s time to celebrate, but when Catholics or Mormons have their sixth, that’s, well, kind of extreme, and the eyes roll. Staff are encouraged to attend a meeting featuring a transgendered person and his therapist, who describes the journey from female to male. The mental health benefits of church attendance are never discussed; instead, a past president of the American Psychological Association (APA) declares organized religions a major source of social injustice. A committee of that organization is worried about what I think and how I speak. They advise me to never assume that a patient is heterosexual, or that sexual activity might lead to pregnancy. I should avoid thinking of men and women as “opposites,” as in “opposite sex.” I should not use this term, the committee cautions, “to avoid polarization.”7
My profession has been hijacked.
I cannot do my job, my patients are suffering, and I am fed up.
Unprotected tells the stories of college students who are casualties of the radical activism in my profession. These were students who turned to me for help in the midst of a crisis. They often wept, and sometimes, unknown to them, I wept with them. Their dramas were disturbing and unforgettable.
Despite using “protection,” Stacey had HPV, a sexually transmitted infection. Campus health focuses on “safer sex,” so I had no tools to encourage behavior change. Would she soon have herpes? Amanda will likely miss out on motherhood, because the “women’s health” program on campus focuses on contraception, not future families, and she’s probably waited too long. Can I treat her insomnia? Brian has anonymous encounters with men in the university community, but HIV testing is “a personal decision,” and judgments are prohibited. Will his life, and that of others, be cut short? Heather thinks women are like men, so she’s puzzled when her “friend with benefits”—a man with whom she has a physical relationship, no strings attached—is content, while she hates herself. Is Zoloft the answer?
My patients were hurting, they looked to me, and what could I do? Unlike other physicians, my hands were tied. Cardiologists hound patients about fatty diets and insufficient exercise. Pediatricians encourage healthy snacks, helmets, and discussion of drugs and alcohol. Everyone condemns smoking and tanning beds. Aren’t health-care professionals supposed to address their patients’ lifestyles?
Apparently not. I see many patients who endanger their health—sometimes their lives—through high-risk behavior. But I’m just supposed to say, “Make sure you’re protected.” Protected? Who am I kidding? Stacey thought she was protected, and so did Heather—now they’re paying the price.
Where I work, we’re stuck on certain issues, yet neglect others. We ask about childhood abuse, but not last week’s hookups. We want to know how many cigarettes and coffees she has each day, but not how many abortions are in her past. We consider the stress caused by parental expectations and rising tuition, but neglect the anguish of herpes, the hazards of promiscuity, and the looming fertility issues for women who always put career first. We strive to combat suicide, but shun discussion of God and ultimate meaning.
Inaccurate and ideology-driven “health education” misinforms our sons and daughters, increasing their vulnerability. HIV is presented as an equal-opportunity infection. Despite substantial failure rates, condoms are endlessly enshrined. Young women are led to believe that, like men, they can delay childbearing indefinitely. The emotional consequences of STDs and abortion are downplayed. A popular Ivy League Web site includes tips on behaviors that were classified as mental disorders in the eighties, the pre-PC era when I was trained. But as of 1994, sexual sadism and masochism are considered disorders by the APA only if they cause a person distress or impairment. Ten years later, following this controversial decision, this Web site was recognized for its “outstanding contribution to the profession of health education through technology.”8
Being fed up and angry, I wrote Unprotected. I would have preferred to steer clear of these topics, but this book came and pounded on my door. It entered my life, chapter by chapter, with the students who walked into my office. Meeting Brian, Amanda, Sophia, and the others forced me to examine the radicalism in my profession, and propelled me to speak out. But it also brought fear and worries. What price will I pay for being politically incorrect?
You probably didn’t know what some insider psychologists are now revealing: that “psychology, psychiatry, and social work has been captured by an ultraliberal agenda” and that there are “special interest mafias” in our national organizations. Likely you didn’t hear that certain points of view are “squelched,”9 that there are “horror stories” of “shunning and intimidation,” and that many will not speak up, fearing ridicule, vicious attack, or loss of tenure or stature. A past president of the APA, in a book about this alarming situation, wrote, “I lived through the McCarthy era and the Hollywood witchhunts and, as abominable as these were, there was not the insidious sense of intellectual intimidation that currently exists under political correctness.”10
Perhaps due to a measure of intimidation, perhaps just wishing to avoid conflict, at work I kept my views to myself; you might say I was “in the closet.” Many coworkers were zealous about the changes they wished to see in society—I knew they worked tirelessly, in and out of the office, to promote causes they considered right and just. This dedication defined their lives. I feared, if I dared speak up, labels and strained relationships. Perhaps they would stop referring patients. Who knew what could happen? So I stayed clear of controversy; when e-mails or comments bothered me, I let it go.
Yes, the university, and my department, were committed to the principles of diversity and multiculturalism. This commitment was plastered all over our policy statements. But somehow, through the years, I got the sense that the diversity that I represented wasn’t the same type to which they were so profoundly commited.
Furthermore, the ideology of the staff was the ideology of the university. My beliefs might come to the attention of people in powerful positions. I was but one person, of low rank, and I’d be drawing attention to myself, attention I didn’t want. As long as I could do my job and take care of students, it did not appear to be prudent, appropriate, or even relevant to publicize my beliefs.
But then I met Stacey and Brian, and I had a problem: how could I not speak up? Their stories were not unique—they were undoubtedly being told by young people all over the country. There are seventeen million students enrolled in our nation’s colleges and universities. 11 Many are still adolescents, impressionable and confused; they are at a critical point in their development, questioning who they are and what they want. Others have biological illnesses: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, obsessive-compulsive disorder. For help, students turn in hordes to their campus health and counseling centers. I see firsthand how the politicization of these centers is hazardous and wrong. Hazardous, because our kids are deprived of facts they need to make informed decisions, while risky behaviors are sanctioned. Wrong, because it is unethical to promote a particular social agenda while providing medical or mental health services.
As a parent, I know that behind most students are a mother and father who are worried, hoping, praying for their child. I want to warn them: in addition to binge drinking and date rape, there is another danger on campus that warrants your attention. You probably assume that if your child needs to visit the student health or counseling center—a “free” service, after payment of mandatory fees and insurance—the physician or therapist will be a neutral agent, providing objective information and guidance. Think again. The nurse teaching your daughter about herpes, the social worker reassuring your son about his homosexual thoughts—these people may have a vision for social change that you don’t share. They may see their jobs as an avenue for activism, and one of their goals is to influence your child.
The social change some of them envision is profound. They hope to destabilize a truth of science and civilization: that the sexes are deeply and essentially different. Their goal is an androgynous culture, where the differences between male and female are discounted or denied, and the bond between them robbed of singularity. I contend that to turn the therapy session or clinic visit into an instrument promoting this agenda is a corruption of the health profession. It demands a response. It’s bad enough that androgyny, promiscuity, and “alternative sexualities” are promoted by Hollywood; it is altogether another matter to have them endorsed by professional health organizations and college administrators.
These agendas are promoted by devoted professionals who are motivated by altruism. Nonetheless, damage is done. Students in treatment are endangered, as the prevailing anything-goes attitudes are officially endorsed, rather than challenged. And like secondhand smoke, the behavior of one can affect many, as these students interact, influence, and “hookup” with their peers. As we ponder the epidemic of depression, cutting, suicidal behavior, and eating disorders on our campuses, I suggest we look first in our own backyard.
It bears repeating that it is my fellow professionals I fault here, not the young people we all strive to help, and that these are health, not moral, issues. I argue as a scientist, with biological facts, not biblical ones. Forget Leviticus—as you’ll see, my data is from The New England Journal of Medicine and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
My argument is simple. If someone’s my patient, I’m responsible for her—all of her. Who says I should worry about alcoholic binges but not hookups? What, her liver’s more important than her cervix or fallopian tubes? I’m going to discourage certain behaviors, my colleagues will say? You bet I am! The real question is: how can I not?
So I* am speaking out, because I have to. But the story isn’t finished. Even as I write these words, months before publication, I’m still “in the closet” at work: still not “out” with my values and beliefs. It’s my choice; I’m just not ready. How odd, that among people who know so well the pain of hiding, I must hide. How sad, that in the midst of those flying the banner of tolerance and multiculturalism, I should hesitate. How scandalous, that the very profession we trust to guide and heal is sowing confusion and illness.