Mental health

On April 20, 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold entered Columbine High School in Colorado, armed to the teeth, and set about murdering their fellow classmates and teachers. When the shooting was over, 12 children and one teacher lay dead. Harris and Klebold were dead, too, and 20 others were wounded. Within a little over a week of the atrocity, there was already speculation that psychotropic drugs might have been a factor, specifically the powerful and relatively new antidepressant Luvox (fluvoxamine), which Harris was known to have been taking. Fluvoxamine is a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI), a class of antidepressant medication that was first trialed in the 1970s and then brought to market in  the US in the late 1980s.

My first semester of college coincided with the 2012 presidential contest between Barack Obama and Mitt Romney. I was a conservative from a small rural town at an elite liberal university, and this was not great for my social life. My freshman floormates at Georgetown defaced my political signs, made nasty comments to me in the hallways and on election night my RA dropped by my room to rub it in my face when the race was called for Obama. The following morning, we all went back to class and started preparing for midterms. Four years later, universities across the country all but shut down when Donald Trump won the 2016 election. Suddenly the mental health of the losers was priority number one. Classes were canceled to allow students space to grieve.

Special Counsel Robert Hur predictably concluded that President Joe Biden’s handling of classified documents when he was a senator and vice president do not warrant criminal charges.  But unfortunately for the White House, Hur’s recommendations to the Justice Department quickly became background noise. Instead, his unsparing descriptions of the commander-in-chief took center stage.  None of Hur’s characterizations should surprise anyone who has watched Joe Biden for more than forty-five seconds over the last three and a half years. It’s not like the American people have had only one opportunity to catch Biden seeing dead people. There was a second and third showing.

Most of those who follow the news have already seen the distressing video. A black man, Jordan Neely, walked onto a New York subway train screaming obscenities and ranting about his own destitution. Another passenger, a former Marine called Daniel Penny, came up behind him, took him to the ground and placed him into a chokehold. Neely lost consciousness and died. A Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist could not create a better scenario that perfectly exemplifies everyone’s societal meta-narratives, a Rorschach test onto which we can map our assumptions and biases. It resembles a “what do you see? Two women or a wine glass?” kind of picture. Is this a black man, destroyed and choked by oppression, or the inevitable result of societal decay?

“Whoever controls big data technologies will control the resources for development and have the upper hand,” Xi Jinping declared shortly after assuming control of China. In the years since, the Chinese surveillance state has exploded at home and abroad, thanks to espionage-adjacent apps such as WeChat, but none has raised as much ire as TikTok. Following reams of data showing that your teenager’s favorite app is poisoning their mind and spying on them, the calls to ban TikTok are now coming from inside the House… and Senate. But how would such a ban actually work? What does it mean to ban an app that is supported by the technological infrastructure of the CCP?