The following is a transcript of Jason W. Park’s address to East Los Angeles Custody Officers on August 15, 2025, via the NAMI-SYSLE (National Alliance on Mental Illnes, Sharing Your Story with Law Enforcement) program:
Hi everyone, good morning. My name is Jason, and I am a member of NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. NAMI is the nation’s largest grassroots mental health organization dedicated to improving the lives of individuals and families affected by mental illness. NAMI has over 650 affiliates in communities across the country that engage in advocacy, research, support and education. Members of NAMI are families, friends and people living with mental illness such as major depression, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCS), panic disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and borderline personality
disorder.
Hola a todos, y buenos días. Mi nombre es Jason y soy miembro de NAMI, la Alianza Nacional de Enfermedades Mentales. NAMI es la organización de salud mental de base más grande del país dedicada a mejorar las vidas de las personas y familias afectadas por enfermedades mentales. NAMI cuenta con más de seiscientas cincuenta afiliados en comunidades de todo el país que se dedican a la defensa, la investigación, el apoyo y la educación. Los miembros de NAMI son familiares, amigos y personas que viven con enfermedades mentales como depresión mayor, esquizofrenia, trastorno bipolar, trastorno obsesivo-compulsivo (OCS), trastorno de pánico, trastorno de estrés postraumático (TEPT) y trastorno límite de la personalidad.
Let me give you a brief detail about my background before we continue. I have a Harvard bachelor’s in philosophy and a PhD in strategic management from the University of Pittsburgh. That’s what I call an Ivory Tower. That academic record represents a host of intellectual pursuits cut off from everyday worldly concerns.
I also have a mental health diagnosis (bipolar disorder type I with psychotic features) and an arrest record (simple assault, a misdemeanor). That’s what I call the School of Hard Knocks. That lived experience represents a host of painful lessons completely due to exposure to the world.
Maybe I should say a third thing: I am institutionally unaffiliated and retired. In other words, I have autonomy, or freedom. I don’t have to worry about where my next meal is coming from, and I am not forced to earn a living. That means I can volunteer my efforts to whatever causes I see worthy of supporting, as long as my skills and talents can be employed.
So I will speak freely about the School of Hard Knocks, then the Ivory Tower, and then conclude.
The first and most memorable encounter with law enforcement was when I was mis-medicated and manic and I got into a fight with my father and brandished a golf club at him. I guess I must have had a pretty bad round of golf, huh? I also terrified my mother by engaging in incomprehensible screaming. My parents called the police and I was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon (which is a felony). I was detained at the Twin Towers. There were two sweaty, smelly bunk beds, a single hole in the ground to urinate and defecate in, a damp roll of toilet paper, puke-colored government green paint peeling everywhere, a crude water faucet for drinking coming from the walls, tasteless food, screaming prisoners in the hallway, pungent body odor, police officers outside looking in the cell with contempt, mistrust and hatred.
They put me in a holding pen, with all the Blacks and Hispanics. I was the only Asian there. When I rolled in, everybody turned around, took one look at me, and hollered, “YO, BRUCE LEE!” Even though most inmates were just chilling out, wrapped up in their own lives, I couldn’t get away. I was lying on one of those metal ledges when suddenly my lower body gave out from under me. A young Hispanic prisoner had kicked my legs. For some reason, he sat down where my feet had been. He had a shaved head and was very thin. He couldn’t have been more then 21. I collected myself and sat down next to him, trying to speak to him peacefully. “Hey, what’s your name? Where are you from? Hablas ingles?” Nothing worked. Then another Hispanic male, probably in his 30’s, tried to talk to him in Spanish. I couldn’t register what they were talking about. Then the older male turned to me and asked, “Hey, what’re you in here for, man?” “I hit somebody.” “Oh, yeah? I hit my girlfriend.” I nodded. Then another Hispanic male, probably in his 40’s, asked, “Yo, Chino, why you in here? Don’t your people got money to get you out?” I replied, “They’re working on it.” “What you say, Chino?” I turned my body toward the wall and ignored him. “He said, they’re working on it, man!” Somebody replied for me.
Anyhow, the sergeant rounded us up an hour later in the cold indoors and gave a speech: “Alright, you guys are here for bullshit court, for your bullshit misdemeanors, not with the violent felons. There’s still time for you to reform yourselves if you show you can in front of the judge. Come on!” He waved with his baton. Boy, was that inspirational.
Then I was called up and sat quietly while some videotape was playing on a TV. Nobody listened to it, but I did. Finally, the judge entered the courtroom and the bailiff yelled “All rise!” My case was presented to the judge, and my lawyer sparred verbally with me while the ruckus was noted by the judge. “Your Honor, my client would like to say something.”
I said, “Your Honor, I would like to exercise my right to a court appointed attorney!” A hush fell upon the entire courtroom. The clock stopped ticking. The judge looked down momentarily and replied, “That depends. Are you unemployed?” “I am, your honor.” Then the energy in the courtroom picked up. Three public defenders made their presence known. I went through all three save the last one, a Hispanic male. And that is when I was made an offer: simple assault with three years’ probation. And the rest is history…
I don’t blame the courts. My mistrust of the lawyer paid for by my parents suggested to the judge that I was haplessly crazy, and that I needed treatment and a chance to reform myself. Of course, I had acted criminally, so the misdemeanor record, and I had to do three years’ probation. He could have been quite uncharitable and unsympathetic if he wanted to, but he chose not to.
I don’t blame my psychologist and psychiatrist. They never expected me to act so criminally. Although I was mis-medicated on Effexor which causes irritability, that is not an excuse. Maybe Effexor as an anti-depressant will send someone manic. Although my therapist kept having me explore the rage I felt toward my parents, that is not an excuse.
I don’t blame my parents for what happened. They simply supported me in any way possible. That’s not bad parenting? I am so lucky to have parents who are always looking out for me. Yeah, maybe parents make mistakes. My mother was a ballbuster. And my father was a hard-ass. But their high expectations were because they just wanted me to be the very best I can be. I don’t want parents who coddle their children all throughout adolescence, only to kick them out at 18?
I don’t blame the police for what had happened. They were simply called to the scene of a crime to make an appropriate arrest. If maybe they had used a 5150 call, things might have turned out somewhat better. If for example the LAPD’s MEUs were called to the scene. I don’t know if you have a similar such program here, but I would not be surprised if it was in East Los Angeles.
Ultimately, I blame myself. I terrified my parents, I inconvenienced the police, I failed my treatment team, and I tested the patience of the judge. I am very lucky not to be dead or in jail. But I am not, because of the people with me and around me who were looking out for me. After that incident, I realized this: I did not create my problems, but they are mine to solve. There is nothing about having bad genes and experiencing a bad environment that causes the bipolar to flare up. But it is very clear what I have to do for the rest of my life: regular therapy visits, strict medication compliance, enriching social activities, strong family involvement, avoiding negative people, and complete, total abstinence from drugs and alcohol.
In addition to making arrests, police officers have to make quick judgments about the mental state of those who could go to jail, or could be diverted to receive psychological treatment. Remember the motto: “to protect and serve.” The question is: Do you seriously pursue it, or cynically advertise it? Know that I would never send you out on a custody-related activity where I was unwilling to go myself; nor would I advise you on a course which I felt myself unwilling to pursue. You are excellent sheriff’s deputies; you are excellent public citizens. Enforce the laws, preserve your honor, and this society you have sworn to protect and serve can afford to be, and will be, generous to you.
This concludes my presentation. Thank you for your attention.