A riveting, thought-provoking play by Catherine Frid
Catherine mentions that working with J.D. students on the play was an amazing experience. Holder of a law degree herself, she felt right at home exploring issues of law and justice with so many bright people—a perfect collaboration.
Children on a school trip parade by me as I wait for the conference room to open in the foyer of Black Creek Pioneer Village. Any one of these kids could share the same fate as the titular character of the play I am about to hear. In fifteen minutes or so, Catherine Frid—one of Osgoode’s artists in residence—will be performing the first reading of her play NormaLeeDean for attendees of the Law and the Curated Body Conference and high school students that are part of the L.A.W.S. program.
The play—born out of her directed reading course at Osgoode on Canadian informants and whistleblowers—is based on a true story: that of the Norma Dean inquest concerning the suicide of a young girl at the now defunct Kawartha Lakes School—an Ontarian detention training centre. Even though the story is set in the 1970s, the theme is disturbingly topical. In 2007, Ashley Smith died by self-inflicted strangulation while under suicide watch at the Grand Valley Institution for Women. It’s hard to believe that, after thirty years, a similar event could happen again—especially while under video surveillance. The virtue of art, and Catherine’s play, is the ability to show why such breakdowns in justice occur, and the barriers that exist in achieving justice itself.
Once inside, I spot Catherine chatting with the organizers. Catherine—in red with her light brown hair falling freely on her shoulders—looks eager to start as the final preparations are made. I sense the pre-reading jitters in the air. It’s a big deal, no doubt; subjecting one’s work to an unknown audience for the first time.
I walk over to introduce myself to Catherine—who greets me with enthusiasm and then excuses herself to give the final instructions to her director and actors. Unlike a staged play, a reading utilizes certain conventions to help give the words shape: the director narrates the action and the actors read the lines for multiple parts—standing up and down to enter and exit scenes.
I take a seat in the back, behind the L.A.W.S. students. A few minutes later, Catherine sits a table away from me. She informs me that she watches the audience, instead of the actors, so that she knows when they’re engaged and when they’re not; it’s the only way to be certain about which parts work and where the first of many revisions need to take place.
Suffice it to say, I was completely riveted by the play due to Catherine’s framing of the subject matter and the force of her words. Exploring both young Norma’s path through the mental health care system, as well as the whistle-blowing that led to the inquest, NormaLeeDean exposes how inadequate and uncompassionate treatment can lead to a needless death, as well as how the urge to cover up disaster—instead of improving on the failed system—can lead to injustice.
The parties implicated in Norma’s death—be it the government or the institutions and people responsible for her treatment—all have interests in attacking the informants and whistle-blowers raising the issue. Norma’s child psychologist, Dr. Flora Danziger, rattled by the news, is told to “stay quiet” by the clinic director in order to protect their clinic and her job and reputation, to which she responds that her job is to “protect children!” like Norma Dean. Even her daughter isn’t off limits—multiple times, it is suggested that she only feels so passionately for Norma because she failed to protect her own daughter, who still lives overseas.
Likewise, the journalist, Victor Malarek, who broke the story is characterized as “a scrupulous reporter who would do anything to get on the front page” by the clinic director. The intern who gave the tip is deemed aggressive, untrustworthy, and no longer a good fit. They all push for the inquest anyway, despite any repercussions it may have on their futures.
Even Norma is disputed to be a violent girl—a glue-sniffer, a girl that was “unmanageable,” and thus suggesting that she was deserving of how she was treated. In the scenes of Norma at Thistletown—an innovative treatment centre for disturbed youth—the audience sees through that caricature. Instead of being treated with understanding, her outbursts are treated with disdain: she is sent to the juvenile court at 311 Jarvis (“311 ain’t no heaven”) multiple times; she is given drug therapy; she is placed in solitary confinement (“soul-destroying torture”)—all things which Norma didn’t respond well to but which were continued anyway.
I was taken aback when I learned that institutions were permitted to criminally charge their own patients. On one weekend, upset and having nowhere to go, Norma breaks into Thistletown for safety, only to be charged with breaking and entering and theft for eating leftovers in the staff fridge.
Norma was a victim of a system that blamed and punished her instead of providing her with the gentle care that she needed. Her psychiatrist was shocked to learn that she ended up at a training centre when she responded so well to her initial treatment. Norma was remembered as a special girl who had a bright future ahead of her. Somehow, in a span of four years, a grade four Norma—not wanting to go to school because she was afraid of her mother leaving her—ended up being diagnosed as having a fear of being alone and unloved, and a personality disorder. Sadly, I found that believable; given the abuse that she was subjected to, it’s no wonder.
When the reading is over, I sit down with Catherine and we chat a bit about the play and her experience as one of Osgoode’s artists in residence. She mentions that working with J.D. students on the play was an amazing experience. Holder of a law degree herself—from Osgoode no less—she felt right at home exploring issues of law and justice with so many bright people—a perfect collaboration. But much more work needs to be done. One thousand ideas are already flowing through her mind about what should be tweaked and what can be improved upon. A true writer, the editing process is already in full swing.
Midway through our conversation, we realize that we have left our bags in the other room. She tells me about her dream last night—about losing the cash she has to pay the actors. A nervous day, but a good one; it’s not very often that playwrights get multiple readings of a play. It will likely be another year until the play is finalized. This reading is only the beginning.
I ask Catherine what inspired her to base her play on the Norma Dean inquest and not some other Canadian whistleblower story. “Guts,” she says immediately, ready for the question. The informants and whistle-blowers in this story were “bold” and “didn’t back down.” It takes a lot of courage to challenge the status quo. When asked about developing the play, she notes that her goal was to “inspire people to think about injustice.”
In my opinion, she completely hit the target. All the attempts to discredit those seeking an inquest by attributing their motives to less than noble reasons struck me with both sadness and indignation. “You’d think that, in events like these, those involved would try to figure out what went wrong and how to correct it for the future, but that’s not how it works,” Catherine says. “Usually, they’ll do anything they can to cover-up their mess.”
After the event, we walk back to Osgoode together, through York’s expansive campus. It’s easy to get lost, especially in the drabness of pre-spring. “Nothing looks good this time of year,” she says. We continue admiring the campus anyway. I think to myself that her comment is a good metaphor for her play. While nothing looks good when the snow melts—revealing all the dirt and trash buried by winter—it doesn’t mean we should look away. Instead, we should have the courage to blow the whistle when we are confronted with injustice.