On January 15, 2020, the Final Report of the Presidential & Provostial Task Force on Student Mental Health was released on the Provost’s website, along with a response from the administration, announcing its agreement to comply to all recommendations mentioned in the report.
I learned of this report just like many of my peers—via mass email to the students, faculty, and staff entitled “Taking Action on Student Mental Health”. President Meric Gertler and Vice-President and Provost Cheryl Regehr state in this email that the University has now been “launched into a new phase of action on student mental health”.
Spanning 42 pages, the report suggests five avenues of implementation for this new phase of action: Service delivery and coordination of supports, partnerships, physical spaces, culture of caring and excellence, and financial resources. There is a lot in here that gives me hope for the future of the University: plans for a partnership with the Center for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH), an addressing of our toxic “culture of excellence”, and a plan to develop a transparent protocol regarding student death.
Despite this, there is a lot in this report that worries me, in particular how far away these plans are from coming to fruition. The university has agreed to create a team to redesign the way mental health services and supports are relayed to students. This team will “convene immediately, though its work will take time, given the scope of the project and the size, complexity and diversity of the University”. I understand this; there are a lot of ways in which it makes sense. This institution encompasses such a diverse student body that a one-size-fits-all approach is dangerous and unhelpful. Despite this, neither this document nor the president’s response offer any idea of when this task might be complete, or what we, as students, should do in the meantime. How long it will take for the full effect of these efforts to reach across the entire student body remains unclear.
Page four, titled “Outreach and Engagement”, mentions various surveys, focus groups, and open sessions that they posit allowed for the gathering of data on the needs of the UofT community. These took place through August-November of 2019, though this report is the first time I’m hearing about them. This is the exact problem we are having with mental health services as a whole: people do not know what is available to them, and the avenues to accessing resources are so complicated it becomes disheartening. For example, the report mentions access to same day counselling. Let’s say you learn this from the report and decide to visit the Student Life website for more information. You’ll come to find out that same-day counselling at the St. George campus is currently available on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1- 4 pm at the Health and Wellness Centre on a first-come, first-serve basis. Booking one of these appointments involves calling Health and Wellness. From my own experience, you’ll be on hold from anywhere between ten minutes to half an hour, or even longer—and even if you make it through waiting that long without giving up, you’re not guaranteed an appointment.
Many of my friends are graduating this term. During the next three months, as they prepare to venture into a new phase of their lives, how will they be supported? Is the hope for a better future enough to keep us going until this better future arrives?
Maybe I’m asking for too much. Maybe I’m too angry to see past the system that has failed me and my fellow students time and time again. I know nothing will change overnight, but a part of me still feels like we still aren’t treating this like a time-sensitive crisis.
Writer and activist Mia Mingus coined the term “access intimacy” to describe the feeling you get in a place where you feel that all of your access needs are being met—somewhere you’re completely comfortable asking for help or support without shame, need for justification, or fear of rejection, knowing full well that you will receive it. As a mentally ill person, access intimacy is something I’ve felt only in a handful of classrooms over the years. I’ve come to expect my needs not to be met. I know even if I’m registered with accessibility accommodations, this does not mean everyone will freely comply with them. I know that every day that I walk onto campus is another day that I am the only person who I can trust to advocate for myself. I’ve been doing this a long time, I have a great support system, and I’m in a place where I’m strong enough to not take no for an answer. The thing is—not every student is in the same place as I am. Access intimacy is something I believe all students should be able to feel in regard to their mental and physical health, throughout every part of their education. Until we can guarantee this as an institution, we do not have the right to be claiming any form of excellence.
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