Overseas Boot Camps: Trouble at Tranquility Bay
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Jay Kay is probably regretting the day he let a reporter
inside the compound.
Kay, the owner of the Tranquility Bay, Jamaica "specialty
school" for troubled youth, told London Observer writer
Decca Aitkenhead that if people could just see the school
where 250 teens are undergoing "behavioral modification,"
the accusations against the school would dissipate. But no
reporter had entered Tranquility Bay since 1998. Aitkenhead
was allowed in--to show the world what the embattled school
is really like--but Kay vowed that if the resulting
news story was unfavorable, "Hell will freeze over before
anyone gets in here again."
It looks like his vow will be tested. Aitkenhead didn't
see the program as a tough-love haven for kids out of
control. She saw, instead, a tough but loveless atmosphere
that brainwashes and harms teens.
Tranquility Bay is one of 11 "specialty schools" run by
the Utah-based Worldwide Association of Specialty Programs
and Schools (Wwasps). These schools employ harsh discipline
in the hopes of reforming teens whose problems range from
the life-threatening (drug addiction, suicide attempts) to
the adolescent run of the mill (uncommunicative, rebellious,
unhappy, hanging out with "bad influences"). As similar
schools and programs come under increasing regulation in the
United States, Wwasps began to move its operations overseas,
opening schools in countries from Mexico to the Czech
Republic.
Many of these schools have been assailed by critics. Five
have already been closed: The Czech school closed following
allegations of physical abuse, while the Costa Rican school
was closed by local authorities in what turned into a
small-scale riot.
Many parents find these schools on the Internet, and
decide to send their kids away--even out of the
country--without ever visiting the facilities where their
children will stay. Many of the kids' families are riven by
divorce. Aitkenhead was troubled by what she saw as many
parents' belief that they could radically disrupt their
children's lives through divorce, yet remain entitled to
those children's unconditional love, happiness, and
obedience.
And how does Tranquility Bay secure that love and
obedience? Aitkenhead found that one of the main
disciplinary methods is "Observation Placement,"
colloquially known as "lying on your face": "Guards take
them (if necessary by force) to a small bare room and make
them (again by force if necessary) lie flat on their face,
arms by their sides, on the tiled floor. Watched by a guard,
they must remain lying face down, forbidden to speak or move
a muscle except for 10 minutes every hour, when they may sit
up and stretch before resuming the position. Modest meals
are brought to them, and at night they sleep on the floor of
the corridor outside under electric light and the gaze of a
guard. At dawn they resume the position.
"...Every 24 hours, students in OP are reviewed by staff,
and only sincere and unconditional contrition will earn
their release. If they are unrepentant? 'Well, they get
another 24 hours.'"
More Observer vignettes from behavioral-modification
school life: "In order to graduate, students must advance
from level 1 to 6, which they do by earning points. ...On
level 1, students are forbidden to speak, stand up, sit down
or move without permission. ...[O]n level 3, they are
granted a (staff-monitored) phone call home."
Colin Johnstone, 15, told the Utah-based Deseret News
that he "got some good out of" his stay at Tranquility Bay.
"But it is kind of like torture. It did me more damage than
good." His mother told reporters that he "had two teeth
knocked loose by a staff member's fist and spent at least
eight months in the isolation room."
The New York Times report on Casa by the Sea interviewed
Laura Hamel, a student who "said she was demoted from Level
3 back to Level 1 after giving a weeping, lonely friend a
hug and a kiss on the cheek at Thanksgiving. Affection of
that kind is forbidden."
Three former students at Wwasps' closed Costa Rica school
told the Associated Press that punishments included having
to"'sweep the sunshine'--use a broom to sweep pavement until
sunburns formed" and kneeling "on sharp rocks."
Children as young as twelve years old are sent to these
programs.
Maybe these are some of the reasons that Tranquility Bay
requires parents to sign a contract permitting the Jamaican
staff to use any necessary force, and waiving the facility's
liability for any harm sustained by a child. And these facts
may also help explain why Tranquility Bay, like many of the
harsher "behavioral modification" facilities, often advises
parents to use an escort service--i.e. strange men appearing
at your bedside in the middle of the night, handcuffing you,
and taking you to the airport. These programs often strictly
limit contact between parent and child for the first several
months or more, and parents are warned that any negative
reports their children make are likely the results of
manipulativeness. Put together, this is a recipe for
avoiding scrutiny and accountability.
So far, New York Newsday reports, seven lawsuits have
been filed against Wwasps affiliates, but none have
succeeded.
And Wwasps is far from the only group whose schools have
run into trouble. Many other "tough love"-style camps and
schools have had problems that should give any parent
pause--if not nightmares. It's easy to understand the
impulse behind the industry regulations that have led some
facilities to move overseas: It's hard to avoid regulation
and lawsuits when you've got a 14-year-old boy dying of heat
exhaustion after vomiting dirt in the desert, as happened at
the America's Buffalo Soldiers camp in Arizona in 2001.
Then there was Aaron Bacon, who never returned from the
North Star camp. His corpse was covered in bruises and open
sores after his death in the Arizona desert in 1994. Then
there was Gina Score, who, according to The Progressive,
died on her second day at South Dakota's Plankinton boot
camp after a 2.7-mile morning run that left her "lying in a
pool of her own urine, frothing at the mouth, gasping for
breath, twitching, and begging for 'mommy,' according to
eyewitnesses."
The camps should be investigated, and graduates and
current participants in the programs should be interviewed,
for signs of child abuse. And parents seeking help for
genuinely disturbed children should look elsewhere. For
example, not all wilderness-therapy programs follow a "boot
camp" model; some, like those run by the Arizona-based
Anasazi Foundation, follow a more flexible model. The
National Association of Therapeutic Wilderness Camps also
endorses a long-term, non-punitive approach. Parents can
also check out Troubled Children Inc., which matches
children with programs suited to their needs. Look for
warning signs like sharply limited contact between parents
and kids; attempts by the school to turn parents against
their children; use of "escorts"; and an emphasis on tough
discipline, force, and obedience.
Sunny Jamaica is not the answer.
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