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In 1991, Alfredo Olivera, then a 24-year-old psychology student, spent his weekends volunteering at the Hospital Interdisciplinario Psicoasistencial José Tiburcio Borda, a psychiatric hospital in Buenos Aires, Argentina, better known as El Borda. During his visits, Olivera was struck by how the patients who lived there not only suffered psychologically but also, in most cases, had lost contact with the outside world. When he mentioned this to a friend who happened to host a radio program, the friend offered to bring him on-air to speak about his experiences with the people he called “the lunatics.” Olivera made a counteroffer: Why not let the residents do the talking?
That very week, Olivera went to the hospital with a tiny recorder. Placing it on the table, Olivera asked the all-male group of residents to talk about their madness. “My madness?” said the first one. “Why not talk about women? That’s a way more interesting topic!”
“A house without a woman is a ship without a captain,” said another.
“God struck man so hard and pulled out his rib,” a third person chimed in, as another resident laughed and said, “Give him his rib back!”
The radio program eventually turned into a space of debate: what to do with Mr. V? After much discussion, he was dubbed Interrumpidor oficial de Radio La Colifata—“The Official Interrupter of Radio La Colifata”—and became the only team member who was allowed to interject at any point during the conversation. His interruptions were brief and punctual, and most team members accepted his unpredictability. Others were more reluctant, but they always regarded him with the utmost respect.
“The most important thing is not to anchor the patient’s frenzy,” Olivera explained. It’s a question of understanding that each person shines in the best way they can through their personal form of self-expression. The aim of La Colifata is to create conditions to contextualize this particular way of being, a space that allows residents to narrate their perception of the world. It makes true communication and connection possible.
Mr. V always interrupted with consent from others. The hosts would allow a few seconds for his message, then continue with the program. After having garnered that acceptance, he was offered his own program. In order to host, he had to give up his role as Official Interrupter. In taking on his own program, he’s had to wait his turn.
“We don’t correct or force whoever got lost in the universe of words to return to the fold,” Olivera explains. “On the contrary, we provide the water to a dry riverbed so that it can return to being a river.”
One overcast Saturday, plastic chairs were arranged in a semicircle on El Borda’s patio for a recording of La Colifata. Two microphones were passed by hand as residents conducted a segment called “Interviews with Visitors.” A resident dressed in jeans and a floral-print shirt grabbed the microphone and approached two of the nearest audience members in a group of more than 50 nursing students, who had just arrived.
One of the audience members, a loquacious dark-haired and muscular woman, introduced herself as Valeria. She was a student at the University of Merlo and wanted to major in mental health. “What do you think is the difference between people outside of the hospital and those who are residents?” the host asked.
“None. There’s no difference,” she answered.
“Well, then,” one of the psychologists who coordinates the show interjected, “Why are they so far away?” He gestured to the imaginary line that divided the semicircle between the residents and the crowd of spectators—about 20 feet separated them.
“Come! Crazy isn’t contagious!” a resident cried, laughing loudly. It was as if calling out the distance revealed a stark unconscious prejudice. Almost immediately, everyone moved their chairs closer to close the gap.
Due to a translation error, an earlier version of this article misspelled Fernando Aquino's last name.
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