Who You Calling Crazy?

Of all the murky issues facing us in today's complex world, mental health is perhaps the murkiest.  Take, for example, the case of Norwegian mass killer Anders Behring Breivik. According to news reports, Anders was jailed for a maximum term last Friday when judges declared him "sane enough to answer for the murder of 77 people last year." You may recall that Anders stomped around an island where a political convention of sorts was taking place, "stalking his young victims dressed as a policeman, tricking them into thinking he was the help sent from the shore after the initial attack. He then shot them from close range before finishing them with a shot to the head." How nice. Sounds crazy to me, but not crazy enough to be called insane.

So who is? Mark David Chapman, another nut in the news, was just  denied parole for the seventh time. Chapman, in prison since 1980 for the murder of singer John Lennon, was first deemed insane, then deemed not insane at his insistence because he was following the will of God. In his first explanation after his arrest, Chapman stated, "I think I have some problems, and I don't know what some of them are."  Perhaps he could find a few of them in the comical song, "Officer Krupke" from the original Broadway hit musical,"West Side Story." Written by Stephen Sondheim, who obviously missed his true calling as a psychiatrist, a quick read of the lyrics might help every judge and jury member cut through some of the confusion:

Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, you gotta understand, it's just our bringin' upke that gets us out of hand--
our mothers all are junkies, our fathers all are drunks; golly Moses, naturally we're punks!
Gee, Officer Krupke, we're very upset,we never had the love that every child oughta get.
We ain't no delinquents--we're misunderstood, deep down inside us there is good!
There is good, there is good, there is untapped good, like inside, the worst of us is good.

Dear kindly Judge, your Honor, my parents treat me rough--with all their marijuana, they won't give me a puff.
They didn't wanna have me, but somehow I was had... leapin' lizards, that's why I'm so bad.
Right! Officer Krupke,  you're really a square, this boy don't need a judge, he needs an analyst's care. It's just his neurosis that oughta be curbed; he's psychologically disturbed.

Hear ye, hear ye--in the opinion of this court, this child is depraved on account he ain't had a normal home.   
Hey, I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived!   
My daddy beats my mommy, my mommy clobbers me, my grandpa is a Commie, my grandma pushes tea, my sister wears a mustache, my brother wears a dress-- goodness gracious, that's why I'm a mess!

Yes, Officer Krupke, he shouldn't be here-- this boy don't need a couch, he needs a useful career.
Society's played him a terrible trick, and sociologically he's sick.  In my opinion, this child does not need to have his head shrunk at all. Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease!

Dear kindly social worker, they tell me get a job, like be a soda jerker, which means I'd be a slob!
It's not I'm antisocial, I'm only anti-work--Gloryosky, that's why I'm a jerk.
Eek, Officer Krupke, you've done it again, this boy don't need a job, he needs a year in the pen.
It ain't just a question of misunderstood, deep down inside, he's no good!
The trouble is he's lazy! The trouble is he drinks! The trouble is he's crazy! The trouble is he stinks! The trouble is he's growing! The trouble is he's grown! Krupke, we've got troubles of our own...