Proof of just how amateurish "real" Twitter accounts are. Here HustleBitch posts a scene where police show up to question a woman about her stance on LBGTQ rights. A questions isn't jail. A question isn't assault. A question isn't murder. In 2011, four different police agencies showed up at the door of Brandon Raub, a decorated Marine from the Iraq wars, lured him outside of his home, took him down in his gym clothes, handcuffed him, arrested and took him away to a psychiatric unit for evaluation all because he made a comment on a gaming platform that he was engaged in with multiple players. John Whitehead breaks down what went down.
John Whitehead at the Rutherford Institute interviews Raub here.
Interesting that she called it a "civil commitment," and not by its more common and frightening term of involuntary commitment, meaning that someone, anyone, can call the County and tell them that they think you're mentally ill.
They'll ask, what evidence do you have?
The malignant narcissist, or Bolshevik snitch, will make it up. "Oh, I saw him peeing in a public park" or whatever.
Doesn't take much. This has happened to people who've made comments in an online forum. Brandon Raub in 2012, thirteen years ago, understands this experience first hand.
you, a neighbor, a security guard, a librarian, a restaurant owner, etc. The most famous gentleman that I know who fell victim to this was Brandon Raub.
One striking example is the case of Kenneth Donaldson in the United States. In 1957, Donaldson was involuntarily committed to a Florida psychiatric hospital by his parents, who claimed he was paranoid. Despite no evidence of severe mental illness or danger, he was held for 15 years, often in appalling conditions, with little treatment. He fought his confinement legally, and his case reached the Supreme Court in 1975, O'Connor vs. Donaldson. The ruling established that harmless mentally ill individuals cannot be confined against their will without treatment, marking a shift in civil commitment standards.
Another extreme instance involves the Soviet Union's use of "psychiatric imprisonment" during the Cold War. Dissidents like Vladimir Bukovsky were labeled with "sluggish schizophrenia"—a vague, politically motivated diagnosis—and confined to psychiatric wards for years. Bukovsky, arrested in 1963 for anti-Soviet activities, endured forced medication and isolation until his release in 1976 after international pressure. This wasn’t about mental health but silencing dissent, showing how civil commitment can be weaponized.
In a more modern U.S. context, consider "sexually violent predator" (SVP) laws. In states like California, individuals who’ve served prison sentences for sex crimes can be civilly committed indefinitely if deemed likely to reoffend. One case is Brian DeVries, committed in 2004 after his sentence ended, based on psychological evaluations predicting future risk. As of recent reports, he and hundreds of others remain in facilities like Coalinga State Hospital, sometimes for decades, with release contingent on subjective assessments. Critics argue this blurs punishment and prevention, raising ethical questions.
Then there’s the case of Typhoid Mary (Mary Mallon), an early 20th-century example. An asymptomatic typhoid carrier, Mallon was forcibly quarantined by New York health officials in 1907 for three years, released, then recommitted in 1915 for the rest of her life—23 years—after she continued working as a cook. Though not a mental health case, it’s an extreme use of civil commitment for public safety, with no real "treatment" offered.
