We were also asking the same question: whether antidepressants, of which we both have considerable experience, good and bad, are the right way to treat the illness we share. At the time I was reading Lost Connections, I was working on a documentary for the BBC about depression, so we were talking to some of the same people.
I know a lot more about depression, which I have suffered from on and off for several decades, than about illegal drugs, which I have never taken. I was an easier door for him to be pushing at this time. He takes a big, controversial subject, surrounded by strong opinions and taboos, covers it on a global canvas through diligent research and extensive human interaction, and reaches a clear and broadly compelling conclusion. None of them detracts from the enjoyment and enlightenment I experienced reading a book very much in the tradition of Hari’s first. I spotted, too, the occasional split infinitive, which always sets my teeth on edge, but I recognise that this is a minority irritation and these are minor quibbles. He also has a strange fondness for the words ‘thrum’ and ‘thrumming’. Indeed, any criticism I have of his new book on depression is less about his main thesis, and the nicely structured unfolding of it, than the fact that centres are ‘centers’ and programmes are ‘programs’. The book, deservedly, became a bestseller and helped Hari rebuild his reputation, particularly in the United States.
He travelled the world to look at the drugs trade from every angle imaginable and concluded, convincingly, that the ‘war on drugs’ was failing and a totally new approach was needed. My attitudes, formed over a lifetime spent viewing illegal drugs as bad, drug dealers as worse, and the issue as one best dealt with by harsh laws vigorously enforced (tough on crime, not the causes of crime, you might say), were fundamentally challenged by his reportage and analysis. Some books have changed my opinion on an issue slightly. It was his previous book on drugs, Chasing the Scream, that alerted me to the depth and breadth of his journalistic abilities. We have corresponded intermittently on our shared keenness to destigmatise mental illness ever since. As with most media frenzies, I assumed it to be overblown, and assumed also that it would eventually blow over, as indeed it did. Sure enough, in his reply he confided that he was prone to severe depression, something that was not exactly being helped by the onslaught on his reputation. Why else, when Johann Hari was at the centre of a furore over plagiarism that led to him losing his column on The Independent seven years ago, did I decide to drop him a line? I barely knew him and rarely read his paper, but something told me to offer a few words of encouragement that it is possible to survive media storms and emerge stronger.
P erhaps depressives have an instinct for each other.
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