 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
October 20, 2006
The Bridge BY JORDAN E. ROSENFELD That is, until an average-looking man in a green shirt climbs over the railing and leaps to his death, disappearing in a circular splash. The leap looks effortless since the camera can’t truly capture the reality: The man fell at speeds of up to 80 mph; the impact of his body against the water like hitting concrete, likely shattering many bones and puncturing organs. Nor does it capture the fact that he may have lived for a few minutes in great pain before either drowning in the water or in the blood filling his lungs. “The bridge has this magical ability to practically erase what happens there,” says the film’s director, Eric Steel. “Someone jumps, there’s a splash, the boats come by and then it’s as if nothing has happened. I think that’s really the same way we deal with suicide and mental illness in general. But once there’s an actual film of someone jumping off the bridge you can’t just forget it; the image won’t disappear.” Steel and his crew filmed the east side of the Golden Gate Bridge—the side of choice for most jumpers since it faces the majestic cityscape—for the entire year of 2004 and captured on film most of the jumps made or attempted. Then he interviewed the families, friends and even one of the rare survivors. The result is a 90 minute film, which has set off a storm of questions about his intentions, and about who is responsible for preventing jumpers. Since it opened in 1937, the bridge, with its accessibility by car and walkway, has been a means to an end for roughly 1,500 people (not all bodies are recovered, so the numbers aren’t firm). Contrary to notions circulated in the media that it is the number-one suicide magnet for jumpers worldwide, the vast majority of those jumpers—87 percent according to a study commissioned by the Psychiatric Foundation of Northern California (PFNC)—are Bay Area residents. Marin County residents are the second-most frequent jumpers; San Franciscans the most. The subject of suicide is as old as the bridge itself, but it’s back in the public discussion due to the confluence of Steel’s documentary—which opens in select theaters on October 27—and a new study approved by the bridge’s board of directors that will determine the feasibility of a suicide barrier. The study is the eighth and furthest step the bridge has taken toward a barrier. Two million dollars in private funds were raised through private donors and a grant from the Metropolitan Transportation Commission. The study will conduct wind tunnel testing for the first time. Steel and his supporters believe that his film played a role in getting the board to reach this decision. Members of the bridge’s board of directors and some opponents of the film disagree with crediting Steel, opening up a divide that is as wide and complicated as people’s feelings about suicide itself. • • • • STEEL, A FORMER NEW YORK film producer of movies such as Angela’s Ashes and Shaft, says two things inspired him to make this film. The first was a New Yorker article, “Jumpers,” about Golden Gate Bridge suicides, written by Tad Friend in 1998, and the second was his own experience of watching people leap to their deaths from the Twin Towers on 9/11. In his director’s statement for the film’s press notes he writes, “I imagined that the people who jump from the Golden Gate Bridge must be trying to escape their own private inferno.” Fascinated by the public act of what is typically considered a private event, Steel dropped everything for a year to embark on this project, which will be aired on the Independent Film Channel and released theatrically. The film has inspired an inferno of outrage from the bridge board and staff—as well as passionate thanks among mental-health advocates and survivors of suicide attempts. Steel first caused upset in the permitting department of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area (GGNRA), on whose lands much of the filming was done, by describing a different project on his application paperwork than the one he actually made. His permit states he was making a film “Meant to capture the powerful, spectacular intersection of monument and nature that takes place every day at the Golden Gate Bridge.” Rich Weideman, GGNRA spokesman says they would not likely have been able to deny him the permit but, “[Learning the truth about the film] took us by surprise. I always think honesty is the best policy; it was just disappointing.” Steel does not dodge the issue. “I admit fully that I didn’t say I was making a movie about the suicides,” he says. “But I did say I was going to be shooting every daylight minute of the east side of the bridge for one year. To act like they really didn’t know is slightly disingenuous on their part. What completely dominated my thinking was that word would get out about what we were doing and that anyone who was mentally ill or looking for attention in all the wrong ways would see it as a chance to be immortalized. I was aware that when the total number of suicides approached one thousand, as reported in the newspapers, people were racing to be number one thousand. I didn’t think that was a phenomenon I could live with as a human being.” Bridge board member Dietrich Stroeh finds the idea of Steel’s film offensive. “I think the movie is stupid,” he says. “I don’t know what it’s proving and I wouldn’t see it for all the money in the world. Is it art? Is it telling a story? Is it going to protect society or bring all those people back? As far as I’m concerned, it’s a sick movie.” Mary Currie, spokesperson for the bridge and a Marin resident, takes a more middle-road approach. “I saw the film as being about the subject of suicide set to the backdrop of the Golden Gate Bridge. He had his permit and he made the film; we’re not content cops.” What does concern Currie and local authorities is what’s known as the “copycat phenomenon” in which media coverage of the bridge as a suicide location has been shown to increase activity of attempts. “In the two months following [The Bridge’s] Tribeca Film Festival premiere we saw an increase in people contemplating suicide from the bridge and a spike in overall activity by fourfold,” Currie says. Statistics she provided, based on the bridge’s incident reports, show that after Steel’s movie premiered in April, the number of people who attempted suicide by jumping off the bridge spiked from three in April to 11 in May. “Obviously I think copycat suicides are a real significant issue,” says Steel in response. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to make it worse. If you’re not going to change the fact that people are allowed to walk on the bridge then the only solution is to put up a barrier, not to stop showing my movie.” Mel Blaustein, a Mill Valley psychiatrist and chair of the PFNC task force, believes that Steel’s film did have an influence on the board’s decision to approve the study and is not convinced that the film will attract more jumpers. “I think that Eric’s film was certainly a catalyst in people being aware of and possibly a bit ashamed of the lack of a barrier,” he says. “It certainly pushed things along. I think it’s well done and sensitive and obviously in favor of a barrier.” Currie feels that it is inaccurate to credit Steel’s film alone for affecting the decision to fund the study. “We were already in the board room before we knew about Eric Steel. We’re a public agency, we wouldn’t make a decision like this based on someone’s film.” Steel stands by his work and admits frustration with the bridge staff. “The bridge turned down all interviews and made it impossible for the CHP to get involved in my film,” says Steel. “Instead they leaked a letter I wrote to the Chronicle and said that I had made a snuff film,” says Steel. “My honest opinion is that they’re hoping that this storm will blow over as it has before.” Currie says that the timing is coincidental. The board felt it was time to get answers to the three big questions that will affect the ultimate decision of the barrier: Engineering, aesthetics and funding. “We need to answer the questions and then put it to the community. Based on the results, Bay Area individuals will have more of an impact on the decision of what to do than the movie,” she says. Steel has been accused in the media of exploiting people’s suffering, and of not doing more to intervene upon the jumpers he filmed, though he claims his crew’s actions saved six people from jumping. “The bridge police’s incidence reports are filled with calls from my crew.” “I don’t feel I’ve exploited anyone’s suffering,” he says. “Almost all the people who participated in the film—and I’m talking friends and family of people who jumped—said they are amazed by it and hope it will help spare more lives.” When asked about whether he could have helped save Gene Sprague, a wraith-like figure dressed in black with long, flowing black hair who figures prominently in the film, Steel replies, “The only time we were able to help prevent jumps was when someone climbed over the rail and stood there. I watched Gene for 90 minutes, but I filmed hundreds of people for longer than that. I was anxious for him, but he never did anything that would have made me call the bridge district. He didn’t seem anguished; he seemed kind of free.” At the end of those 90 minutes, Gene climbed up on the rail, spread his arms in a Christ-like pose and leaned backwards to his death. • • • • THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE attracts about 50 million visitors every year, according to Currie. Of that number, approximately 23 people use the bridge to end their lives, most of them locals, a statistically small percentage of those who walk on it each year. Yet the persistence of the suicides continues to raise the question: Who is responsible for preventing them? The bridge district, with a barrier? The psychiatric community, with more mental health programs and education? Or families, by taking better care of their loved ones? Conclusive answers are hard to come by. Currie points out that the bridge is a public agency. “Our main charge is the safety of the bridge. Yes, we have a suicide problem, but those who use the bridge to commit suicide are misusing the bridge for its intended purpose.” Yet 23 deaths every year is a high enough figure to motivate proponents of a barrier to engage in a fierce campaign to see their goal achieved. Linda Allen is director of Marin Suicide Prevention, a nonprofit agency that serves Marin County. Her staff handles phone calls from suicidal people. “Our stance is that we think there should be a barrier,” she says. “Many people interviewed who lived said that the moment they stepped off they had second thoughts. I think people look at suicidal people as being selfish because it is something that someone, at some level, has chosen to do. Whereas if you get into a car accident or it’s a homicide it’s not the same.” Indeed, one of the catch phrases the psychiatric community, repeated by numerous people, is that suicide is “a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Psychiatrist Mel Blaustein, who is also medical director of psychiatry at St. Francis Memorial Hospital in San Francisco, says, “Suicide is not a question of free will; it’s an impulsive act. These people are in psychic pain. They’re not thinking rationally and it’s an act of desperation. A lot of people take the attitude that these people will just kill themselves anyway, but that shows a lack of knowledge about suicide.” Contrary to the notion that people choose the bridge for its romantic beauty, Blaustein feels that people choose it because of its accessibility. “In my experience those who say they want to use the bridge to commit suicide do so because it’s quick, fast and easy.” “There’s a kind of feeling that if someone is suicidal, who are we to stand in their way?” says Allen. “But studies show if you can put something in the way of people killing themselves, with time, many of them will heal.” Marin County supervisor and bridge district board member Cynthia Murray hopes to see a barrier go up sooner than later. “If there are things we can do to help protect the public health and safety, we should try,” she says. “As more people become enlightened about the causes and treatments of mental illness, I think we’ll see greater support. We’re the last big suicide magnet left in the world without a barrier and that’s not a great honor.” Coupled with concerns about how a barrier will affect the aesthetics of the bridge, board member Stroeh, who voted to approve the barrier study, still isn’t convinced a barrier is the proper use of funds. “I think [preventing suicide] is the responsibility of society. I say people have to take care of their own. If we’re looking at 25 to 40 million dollars to build a barrier, I can’t help but think that could pay for a lot of therapists and whomever the folks are that could help people.” • • • • THOSE WHO HAVE LOST loved ones to the bridge tend to favor a barrier. Christine Falcone of Novato lost a friend to the bridge in the early ’90s. At the time she was attending regular Alcoholics Anonymous meetings for young adults at Marin General Hospital, in which the group members had grown very close. One of the members, Sam (not his real name), was seriously depressed and had expressed suicidal thoughts to the group. Falcone remembers how worried she and others were about him. “For a while he seemed to be turning over a new leaf, and then the next thing I knew, I found out he had jumped over the bridge,” she says. “It was just devastating to his family and all of us in the group. I felt powerless and wish I could have intervened.” Falcone found it troubling to realize just how serious depression could be. “More than anything his death really scared me and made me realize the power of mental illness. I don’t think any of us understood how serious he was until he did it. To me, a suicide barrier makes sense since so many people jump to their deaths every year; it would at least eliminate that option.” One of the fiercest advocates for a barrier knows firsthand what kind of damage suicide attempts wreak on a family. John Kevin Hines jumped from the bridge in 2000, at age 19 during a bipolar episode in which voices in his head were telling him, “You should die.” He became a statistical anomaly when he survived by hitting the water feet first, and when he surfaced, was buoyed by a sea lion (by his account) while awaiting rescue. Miraculously, Hines only shattered a couple of vertebrae, though this required a metal plate to be inserted into his back. Splinters of those bones were sent into his organs and this required specialized surgery. His road to mental recovery hasn’t been easy, either. He feels that only in the past year has he really begun to gain balance in his life. Now 25 and no longer hospitalized or in rehabilitation, he lives in his own apartment, has a girlfriend, a job working with kids, and is going to school with hopes of becoming a psychologist. A member of the PFNC task force, he has made it his personal mission to help educate others about suicide and push for a barrier by giving public presentations and making himself available to talk about the issue. “I would say there are at least six people intimately related to every person who commits suicide or attempts it,” he says. “You look at the number of people who have died [from jumping off the bridge] and just imagine all the suffering left behind.” Hines believes there is a definite stigma against the mentally ill and those who are suicidal, and it is a result of a lack of proper education on the subjects. “If you have a broken arm, you get a cast and people sign it with things like ‘Get well fast.’ If you have a broken brain, people walk over and say, ‘Get up off the ground, pal!’ It’s not that easy. If you see [suicidal] signs you can go in and stop the thought process. People need to get educated,” he says. Adds Hines: “We are our brother’s keeper. The sooner we realize it, the sooner we’ll be better off as a society.” Hines, who is featured in Steel’s film, supports the filmmaker’s intention. “I think this film is going to save lives. The one thing I really love about Eric’s film is that it’s not political. It leaves you with questions, and I would say that’s called art. He is a man of great intelligence who wanted to show the truth about a tough subject. You need to see the movie before you make a judgment.” Hines is active in the push for a barrier but he fears the bridge board will not follow through after the study. “They do not have the money to fund a barrier,” he says. Suicides from the bridge affect every loved one differently. Azzadine Kachkach is a fitness trainer in Mill Valley. After reluctantly opening himself up to a new friendship on the heels of losing two friends (one to cancer, another to a car accident), he lost one more to the bridge. Earlier this year, Kachkach became close with his co-worker Paul (not his real name) at the gym in Mill Valley where they both worked. “He was a really nice guy, very unique. He was extremely helpful to me at work. If I needed anything, it was done in a minute,” says Kachkach. The two men became friends over the course of a few months, mostly getting together with their wives for dinners and games of basketball. Kachkach had no idea his friend was struggling with depression. On Monday, August 21, Kachkach came to work expecting to see Paul as usual, reliably at the front desk with a pleasant word for him. Paul was not there and a somber mood was evident in his colleagues. Kachkach learned that the car his friend had borrowed from a co-worker over the weekend was found in the parking lot at the Golden Gate Bridge with his wallet inside it. Everyone at the gym believed he had jumped. “I didn’t believe he did it at first, because they did not find his body. I thought maybe he was just wandering around the city somewhere, angry. Yet, about two weeks later, some witnesses came forward.” His friend’s death was a great blow to Kachkach. “I was hit so hard. I kept thinking, ‘How did I miss [the signs]? And I found myself looking around thinking, ‘Who will be the next person to jump off the bridge?’ I felt that I had to pay attention to the people around me very closely. I wish I had spent more time with him.” Kachkach and his wife have stayed in close contact with Paul’s wife, trying to put the pieces of the man’s death together and find closure. “My explanation is that he wanted life to be like a honeymoon. He wanted to be the perfect man, the best husband. Somehow he felt like he had disappointed himself and his wife and I don’t think he could take it.” Kachkach’s experience losing Paul has contributed to his belief that a barrier is the right idea, but thinks the issue is “complicated by politics and money” and fears one will not be built. Regardless of the future of the barrier, Steel is confident that he did his job in raising awareness on a tough subject. “I had a sense in editing the movie that we would first show you the picture-perfect postcard day at the bridge with billowy white clouds and people would say, ‘That’s beautiful.’ Then 90 minutes later we could show you the same shot and you’d expect to see a splash. I wanted people to walk out of the theater and challenge the notion of the picture-perfect postcard.” PHOTO BY ROBERT VENTE |
Suicide-Prevention Resources Marin County Family Service National Suicide Prevention Lifeline Psychiatric Foundation |
||
|
The Bridge, a new documentary, opens with a wide-angle shot of the stately Golden Gate Bridge gleaming its signature red on a rare fog-free day. Birds dip elegantly into the wind, kayakers row in the bay’s calm waters—except for some slightly ominous music, this could very well be a promotional video for tourism in San Francisco. |
|