This is a thread on why we need mental health response teams, and why cops are the least appropriate people to respond to mental health calls. About an hour ago, my doorbell rang. A young man was standing on my porch, a bump on his head. He said, "Can you help me?"

Initially I assumed he was soliciting, but Rose realized he really did need help. We tried to find a mental health response team, and Berkeley has one! Yay! But? They open at 11:30, because no one has a crisis before midday apparently?

I tried to call 911 but when I said I didn't want an armed response, that he was not armed, that he was confused and needed help, the 911 responder said that I had no right to dictate what kind of response there was going to be. I was...not polite.

Eventually, lost about what to do, I called 911 again and this time got someone who wasn't a monster. It took about 15-20 minutes for the cops to arrive. In that time, Michael and I sat with the young man in our front garden.

He couldn't remember his name, and everytime he tried he began to panic. He had EKG stickers on his chest, and had scratched the letters "DNR" on his chest.  We talked about how it makes sense to be scared when you don't remember things. I used my best soothing mom voice.

We did our breathing, in and out, for about 10-15 minutes.Eventually, he asked for paper to write on. He asked us for coffee and (though I wish he'd agreed to chamomile tea) we brought him some. We kept breathing.

Eventually a young female cop arrived and we made sure she was quiet and calm with him. She wasn't great but she was ok. We told her we had it under control and she went to wait in her patrol car. She was ok. A little gruff, but bc we were so gentle, she took her cues from us.

We told her we had it under control and she went to wait in her patrol car. It took another half hour for the ambulance to arrive. We kept breathing. He asked for a piece of paper so he could write notes. He asked us to read to him.

I tried Make Way for Ducklings but we had better luck with poetry, though eventually he asked for a "Happy Poem." (Good luck finding a happy poem. I even googled "Happy Poem," to no avail.)

The ambulance finally arrived but he was scared, so we kept breathing. Then, he took my hand (my husband ran to get me gloves) and I gently led him to the stretcher. And that, finally, was that.

This is a story about why we need mental health response, but it's also a story about white privilege. Because I'm white, because of the neighborhood I live in, the police took their cues from us. One officer arrived, not a dozen. She did not touch her gun.

Because we were calm and soothing, she was calm and soothing. Now, imagine what would have happened if we were not white, if he were not white. Does anyone think the situation would have played out the same way? #DefundThePolice