Recently, like millions of others around the world, I listened to a conversation on The Joe Rogan Experience between Joe Rogan and Robert F. Kennedy Jr., aired on February 27, 2026 (1). In the discussion, HHS Secretary Kennedy spoke at length about promoting healthy nutrition and tackling health insurance fraud. While nutrition is undoubtedly an important subject, my attention was drawn instead to another topic — one that lies close to my heart: the use of psychedelics in medical and therapeutic settings, and what I perceive as the implicit threat this poses to our freedom.

About halfway through the conversation, the discussion turns to the promise of psychedelics—particularly in treating veterans with post-traumatic stress disorder, but also in addressing severe opioid addiction and depression (2). Both Joe Rogan and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. express optimism, describing psychedelics as powerful tools that could help individuals lead happier and more productive lives.

Kennedy states that these substances have the potential “to rewire your brain,” referring to the well-documented neuroplasticity observed in the days following psychedelic use, which may underlie their capacity to catalyse behavioural change. Rogan then poses a rhetorical question: “Who could possibly be against this?”

Both men agree that such treatments should be offered within a clinical setting, with Kennedy emphasizing the need for further trials and the development of rigorous therapeutic guidelines before broader access is granted—an effort, as he frames it, to avoid a “Wild West” scenario.

And while I share their enthusiasm for psychedelics, I, both as a physician and an ayahuasqueira, see a profound threat to our (religious) freedom when authority over these substances is placed exclusively in the hands of what might be called the “church of medicine.” The medical-therapeutic framework is founded on a materialist, reductionist view of what it means to be human, one, that leaves no room for spirituality and fails to take seriously the subjective experience of those who engage with these substances.

Just as physical nourishment forms the foundation of bodily health, human cultures across time have recognized that certain plants can facilitate contact with the spiritual world—serving, in a sense, as a kind of spiritual nourishment. And yet, more than what we eat, it is our spiritual life that shapes who we truly are.

To draw psychedelics further into the medical domain—to medicalize them—while the spiritual use of ancient plant medicines in the West remains criminalized (3), risks undermining religious freedom (4).

My firm impression is that the broader implications of the current Western approach to psychedelics are often overlooked—even by those who consider themselves advocates of medical freedom. With the medical-therapeutic establishment at the helm, a vital dimension of human experience is once again at risk of being medicalized (5).

The growing push for clinical trials, conducted in partnership with the pharmaceutical industry and commercial investors, is shaping a model in which patients—under strict supervision, in controlled clinical environments, and under the care of medical or psychiatric professionals—are permitted to consume psychedelics.

Within this framework, access becomes mediated by institutional authority.

At the same time, many of the physicians and scientists leading what is often described as the “third psychedelic wave” are thrilled about the emergence of a significant new market (6). Interest from the pharmaceutical sector, alongside investment from Silicon Valley, reflects growing attention to the commercial potential of combining psychedelics with therapeutic models (7). A glance at the trade shows and conferences where “cutting-edge” psychedelic science is presented suggests that this field is widely regarded to put it lightly as a space of substantial economic opportunity or a new market opportunity to be capitalised on (8).

We must reckon with the fact that many of the substances now classified as so-called psychedelics have been part of human life for millennia. Across cultures worldwide, rich shamanic knowledge and spiritual traditions have developed around the use of plant teachers—including ayahuasca, psilocybin mushrooms, peyote, iboga, and many others—for healing, guidance, and divination (9). This living tradition forms part of our shared human heritage (10).

These are, without question, extraordinarily powerful substances—ones that call for deep respect and reverence. To encounter them within a context that is loving, spiritually grounded, and fundamentally egalitarian—shared with others as equals—would be a profound gift for anyone.

And yet, even the language we use to describe these substances deserves closer examination. What we commonly refer to as “psychedelics” is a relatively recent framing, one that sits within a narrow medical paradigm. In many indigenous traditions, what are often called “plant teachers” are not viewed simply as biochemical agents, but as living sources of knowledge, revered spirit guides —capable of offering insight, guidance, and healing within a relational, spiritual context, through visions and dream states.

The narrow medical framework carries an inherent inequality between the physician or therapist and the person labelled as patient (11). The prospect of having to share one’s innermost stirrings with a sceptic who—at the very moment one is most open and vulnerable, in the days or weeks following the use of a substance capable of inducing profound psychological and emotional openness, and healing —proceeds to evaluate that experience against predetermined stringent therapeutic guidelines is, to me, deeply troubling.

Within the Western clinical model, the psychiatrist or physician is present only as a “sitter,” abstaining from the substance so as to preserve an objective lens. This stands in marked contrast to many shamanic traditions, in which those who guide others are precisely those with deep personal experience of the plant teacher - and who are therefore able to hold a spiritually grounded and safe space within which people can find genuine, lasting healing.

These sacred plants— belong to all of humanity and form part of humanity’s shared inheritance. To place them exclusively under the authority of what can be termed the “church of medicine” risks severing them from that broader human and spiritual context.

We must also remain mindful of recent years, when medical “experts” were entrusted with determining what was best for public health — and how, under the guise of safety, this led to widespread social isolation and restrictions on movement and association that raised serious questions about the protection of fundamental human rights (12,13).

What grounds, then, do we have for trusting that same establishment to define the conditions under which people may safely engage with these so-called psychedelics?

And speaking of these broader concerns, I would like to express my appreciation to both Joe Rogan and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. for their role in bringing questions of public health and institutional trust into wider public awareness. The first time I truly engaged with Kennedy’s perspective was during his appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience in June 2023, in a wide-ranging conversation (14). That moment marked a turning point for me.

During a long drive from northern Minas Gerais toward Rio de Janeiro, my husband and I listened to the entire three-hour conversation without pause. Even as a physician already deeply skeptical of pharmaceutical industry influence - more so, I think, than most of my colleagues - I found his account both moving and thought-provoking. It led me to explore his work more deeply and to begin examining the history of vaccines through a broader range of sources. Central among these was Dissolving Illusions by Suzanne Humphries and Roman Bystrianyk — a meticulously referenced work that remains largely unknown within mainstream medical circles, and that I found impossible to ignore (15). This broader inquiry made me increasingly aware of the complex relationships between public health institutions and the pharmaceutical industry—and of the powerful economic incentives that shape this landscape, ones that don’t necessarily make our health the number one priority.

In the Western world, many of these spiritual traditions remain unfamiliar. Across both Europe and the United States, much of this shamanic knowledge has been lost over the centuries. At the same time, forms of traditional plant knowledge—including herbalism and homeopathy—were marginalized or suppressed and in some cases criminalized in the early twentieth century, particularly as modern pharmaceutical systems became more dominant (16).

As a result, our thinking and discourse are deeply shaped by a materialist conception of what it means to be human. In the words of Terence McKenna: “The rational, mechanistic, antispiritual bias of our own culture has made it impossible for us to appreciate the mind-set of the shaman. We are culturally and linguistically blind to the world of forces and interconnections clearly visible to those who have retained the Archaic relationship to nature.” (10)

Within this framework, we tend to speak of becoming happier and more productive, rather than of seeking connection with deeper or higher aspects of ourselves. Plant extracts are treated as substances or products—divorced from the contexts in which they were traditionally used, and separated from the knowledge and traditions that gave them meaning. They are approached as if they follow a simple dose–response relationship, in which context plays no role.

This, I would suggest, reflects a profound misunderstanding.

And yet, I recognize that enthusiasm for psychedelics. Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Joe Rogan are right to point to their transformative potential.

When I first took ‘magic mushrooms’ in the Netherlands—where they have been legally available in so-called smartshops since the mid-1990s (17)—I found myself thinking: everyone should experience this, at least once. The visual effects I encountered were magical, and the experience itself was imbued with a sense of clarity, openness, and love.

Years later, when I gathered the courage to take a tab of LSD at a music festival, I was met with an overwhelming sense of unity with all that exists—a profound connection to the beauty and abundance of the universe. It is an experience that has stayed with me, and one I would wish for others to encounter.

After such experiences, I began to see how far removed many of the fear-based narratives I had encountered in the media were from my own lived reality.

That same trust guided me years later when ayahuasca came into my life. I did not feel the need to search the internet for others’ accounts; instead, I followed my intuition, prepared myself physically and mentally, and ensured that I had the time and space to fully receive whatever might unfold.

I took a week away from my work as a physician, set out on a long bicycle journey, and spent several days immersed in nature. My first encounter with this ancient medicine of the Amazon rainforest took place in the forests of Veluwe, in the Netherlands, among a group of experienced practitioners for whom this was a deeply spiritual practice. There was dedication, support, and a sense of freedom.

It was the summer of 2020.

I was searching for answers to deeper existential questions. For years, I had questioned the meaning and direction of my work as a physician—wondering whether meaningful change from within the system was truly possible. My work in elderly care had revealed to me how closely intertwined the pharmaceutical industry is with modern medicine, and through independent study I began to recognize recurring patterns of fraud, corruption, and influence in the promotion of prescription drugs.

I eventually specialized in deprescribing—the careful tapering and, where appropriate, cessation of medications. I have written previously on Brownstone about my professional experiences with discontinuing psychiatric drugs (18), in part inspired by the profoundly moving book Unshrunk by Laura Delano (19).

As a young physician in the Netherlands, I witnessed many elderly patients improve dramatically when I was able to substantially reduce or discontinue their long-term use of psychiatric drugs, pain medications, and cardiovascular agents such as antihypertensives and statins. That work was deeply gratifying—recognized by colleagues and appreciated by families.

Yet in the years leading up to 2020, I increasingly found myself questioning the limits of what I could offer. While I was helping people by critically reviewing their often-extensive medication regimens, I began to ask: what did I truly have to offer in terms of healing? My medical training and the contents of my physician’s bag felt woefully inadequate in the face of deeper human needs.

During the lockdown period, I watched many of my elderly patients experience profound social isolation, with visible and lasting effects on their well-being. For a physician who had spent nearly a decade devoted to her patients’ quality of life, this was deeply painful — and, to my mind, a sign that the measures being implemented had lost sight of what public health is fundamentally about. This was also a time of deep personal reflection. I found myself increasingly uncomfortable with the climate surrounding the covid-19 measures — one in which legitimate scientific questions, particularly about the long-term effects of newly developed vaccines, were met with institutional pressure rather than open inquiry, and in which the space for genuine informed consent had quietly disappeared. Unable to serve my patients in the way my integrity required, I ultimately stepped back, temporarily, from clinical practice (20).

Drawing on my knowledge of the harms associated with long-term psychiatric drug use, I initially followed with great interest the growing body of national and international research into the use of psychedelics within medical settings. The early results were promising, and my own experiences had made me deeply optimistic.

How remarkable it would be if we could help free people from years of severe depression through such approaches. Who, indeed, could be against that?

Years later, I came across an article by a group of psychiatrists from Groningen—the city where I was born and where I completed my medical training. Writing in 2022, they warned of the societal dangers of “conspiracy theory” thinking, and proposed that certain people might appropriately be classified within a psychotic spectrum — a framing that, in a psychiatric context, is never without consequence (21).

From that same department, incidentally, “groundbreaking” research into psychedelics is being conducted—often involving patients labelled as “treatment-resistant,” a term that, as Laura Delano has repeatedly argued, deserves critical scrutiny. The underlying logic is difficult to ignore: when individuals do not respond to years of medication and therapy, the failure is not attributed to the limitations of the model or the drugs prescribed — but to the patient. It is the individual who is “resistant”; the treatment cannot be at fault.

In such cases, more invasive interventions are reached for, among them electroconvulsive therapy, a practice whose risks and long-term effects remain deeply contested. Now also psychedelics are being offered within a tightly controlled clinical framework, under the supervision of the same psychiatric system.

For me, this raises deeply troubling questions about power, interpretation, and consent. It is not a model of care I would wish for anyone to be subjected to (22).

But what, exactly, are “psychedelics”? The term—literally meaning “mind-manifesting”—was proposed in the late 1950s in the United States as a neutral label for a broad group of these substances being studied with great enthusiasm by Western scientists (23).

Shortly before that, not coincidentally preceding the turbulent 1960s LSD had been accidently synthesized in the laboratory, and the psychoactive properties of DMT—a naturally occurring compound also found endogenously in the human body—were identified. Dimethyltryptamine is structurally similar to serotonin and is present in both plants and mammals. In time, these substances came to be classified under the most restrictive legal categories (Schedule I) in many countries (24).

Many of the classic psychedelics (LSD, DMT, psilocybin, mescaline) are, in fact, synthetic derivatives of naturally occurring consciousness-expanding substances found in plants, but there are also non-classical psychedelics, including ketamine and MDMA, and many other laboratory-synthesized compounds (25).

In his bestselling book How to Change Your Mind (2018), Michael Pollan offers a compelling account of the modern history of psychedelics (23). His work has undoubtedly contributed to a renewed public interest in—and growing acceptance of—these substances. Notably, he also reflects on his own cautious personal experiences, presenting them in the form of a kind of travelogue, and in doing so seeks to move beyond the studied detachment that has often characterized contemporary psychedelic research.

Pollan also recounts the early involvement of organizations such as the Central Intelligence Agency and its predecessor, the Office of Strategic Services, including their use of LSD in experiments aimed at exploring mind control—sometimes involving both military personnel and unwitting civilians—as well as their extensive influence on public narratives (26).

While these substances were taken up by elements of the counterculture, they were also rapidly stigmatized through sensationalized reporting. Over time, public perception became strongly shaped by narratives of psychological danger and lasting harm—impressions that persist today. As a result, many people still carry a learned fear or unease when confronted with the idea of psychedelics.

Medical and scientific research into psychedelics was also curtailed from the mid-1960s onward and eventually brought to a halt—despite promising results observed in individuals suffering from severe addiction and depression (27). That first generation of researchers expressed enthusiasm not only for the remarkable therapeutic potential of these substances, but also for the profound, often mystical experiences reported by participants—and, in some cases, by the researchers themselves. The so-called “Good Friday Experiment,” conducted by Walter Pahnke in 1963, remains a well-known example (28).

From the mid-1990s onward, cautious efforts emerged to revive this line of research (29), with contemporary investigators keenly aware of the need to distance themselves from earlier controversies and cultural associations (30). This new generation of researchers has sought to emphasize objectivity—long regarded as a central ideal of the scientific method—and it is not uncommon to hear scientists underscore, sometimes with a sense of professional pride, that they have no personal experience with the substances they study.

Since early 2021, Brazil has been our home — we came for both personal and spiritual reasons, drawn above all by the desire to study ayahuasca within its living spiritual context, and we have stayed for the depth of practice and healing that followed. These ceremonial contexts brought me into deeper contact with my own ancestry and opened a direct path into lived spirituality.

In Brazil, a remarkable legal framework has emerged: the use of ayahuasca was officially permitted within spiritual and religious contexts at the end of the 1980s (31). At the same time, and at the insistence of those for whom it is a sacred sacrament, its commercialization was explicitly prohibited (32).

Traditions such as Santo Daime eventually made their way to the Netherlands. In the mid-1990s, the Amsterdam church “Céu de Santa Maria” was established and later obtained legal recognition. For years, it functioned openly and without major interference—until the use of ayahuasca was once again criminalized in 2018 (33).

In this shift, considerations of medical safety appeared to take precedence over the protection of religious freedom.

What distinguishes the Brazilian ayahuasca tradition — and Santo Daime in particular — from most other shamanic contexts is its fundamentally communal and egalitarian character. The medicine is not administered by a healer to a participant; it is consagrated together, as a group, in shared song and prayer. Participation is accessible to all: contributions, where asked, are modest and intended only to cover costs, and those who cannot pay are welcomed regardless. This is a sharp contrast with the commercialized settings and traveling shamans increasingly common across the United States and Europe — and it is not incidental. The communal, non-commercial structure is itself part of the healing.

Many of the most compelling testimonies come from individuals who have encountered these substances—whether described as psychedelics or plant medicines—within intentional, spiritually grounded contexts.

The increasing medicalization of psychedelics, however, raises serious concerns. In the interest of protecting both religious freedom and cognitive liberty, safeguards should be established to ensure that access is not limited solely to those designated as patients or defined within psychiatric frameworks but guaranteed for all people.

Commercialization must likewise be resisted, and Big Pharma kept at the door — not only given the safety concerns and delicate questions surrounding neuroplasticity, but because what is at stake is far greater: cognitive liberty, the right to one’s own inner life, and the preservation of a sacred practice that medicalization threatens to hollow out. The church of medicine — of which psychiatry is a part — must not be allowed to determine, from within its reductionist, materialist framework, what constitutes a ‘safe’ setting. Plant medicines are sacred. They carry a rich shamanic tradition and are, at their core, part of what it means to be human. Psychedelics within a medical-therapeutic context push us further into the hands of the same system that incentivizes profit over health, and symptom regulation over healing. Plant medicines within a ceremonial, non-commercialized context — not reduced to extracted compounds and calibrated doses — are powerful instruments for bringing us back into contact with ourselves and with nature.

“It cannot be said too often: the psychedelic issue is a civil rights and civil liberties issue. It is an issue concerned with the most basic of human freedoms: religious practice and the privacy of the individual mind.”

— T. McKenna, Food of the Gods (1992/ed. 2021, p. 298)

References

1. Rogan, J. The Joe Rogan Experience, Episode #2461 (with Robert F. Kennedy Jr., segment on psychedelics at 1:35–1:47h). February 27, 2026. https://www.jrepodcast.com/guest/robert-kennedy-jr/

2. Williams, S. “Psychoactive drug ibogaine effectively treats traumatic brain injury in special ops military vets.” Stanford Medicine News. January 5, 2024. https://med.stanford.edu/news/all-news/2024/01/ibogaine-ptsd.html

3. Labate, B., Cavnar, C. Prohibition, Religious Freedom and Human Rights: Regulating Traditional Drug Use. Springer, 2014. https://link.springer.com/book/10.1007/978-3-642-40957-8 | Aviles, C.S., Langlois, A. “On the Frontlines: Legal Advocacy, Drug Policy and Psychoactive Plants.” In: Infinite Perception. ICEERS, 2024. https://www.iceers.org/en/studies/legal-advocacy-drug-policy-psychoactive-plants/

4. Walsh, C. “Psychedelics and Cognitive Liberty: Reimagining Drug Policy Through the Prism of Human Rights.” International Journal of Drug Policy. 2016. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/26838469/

5. “Medical Nemesis by Ivan Illich — Unbekoming book summary.” Lies are Unbekoming (Substack). July 5, 2024.

Lies are Unbekoming

Medical Nemesis

I keep being pointed to Ivan Illich. I thought it time to pay attention to his work…

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2 years ago · 67 likes · 37 comments · Unbekoming

6. Aday, J. et al. “Psychedelic Commercialization: A Wide-Spanning Overview of the Emerging Psychedelic Industry.” Psychedelic Medicine. September 13, 2023. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC11661494/ |

7. Psychedelic Medicine Market Size. Business Research Insights. https://www.businessresearchinsights.com/market-reports/psychedelic-medicine-market-123148

8. Psychedelic Therapeutics Market Size, Share and Trends 2025–2034. Precedence Research. https://www.precedenceresearch.com/psychedelic-therapeutics-market

9. Schultes, R., Hofmann, A., Rätsch, C. Plants of the Gods: Their Sacred, Healing and Hallucinogenic Powers. Healing Arts Press, 2001. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Plants-of-the-Gods/Richard-Evans-Schultes/9780892819799

10. McKenna, T. Food of the Gods: A Radical History of Plants, Psychedelics and Human Evolution. First published 1992; this ed. Rider, 2021. https://www.penguin.com.au/books/food-of-the-gods-9780712670388

11. “Confessions of a Medical Heretic (1979) by Dr. Robert Mendelsohn — 50 Q&As — Unbekoming book summary.” Lies are Unbekoming (Substack). January 1, 2025.

Lies are Unbekoming

Confessions of a Medical Heretic (1979)

I’d like to start the year with Mendelsohn…

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a year ago · 96 likes · 38 comments · Unbekoming

12. Baker, C.J. “The Four Pillars of Medical Ethics Were Destroyed in the Covid Response.” Brownstone Institute. May 12, 2023. https://brownstone.org/articles/medical-ethics-destroyed-in-covid-response/

13. Stylman, J. “Echoes of Tyranny: The Forgotten Lessons from History.” Brownstone Institute. October 11, 2024. https://brownstone.org/articles/echoes-of-tyranny-the-forgotten-lessons-from-history/

14. Rogan, J. The Joe Rogan Experience, Episode #1999 (with Robert F. Kennedy Jr.). June 15, 2023. https://www.jrepodcast.com/guest/robert-kennedy-jr/

15. Humphries, S., Bystrianyk, R. Dissolving Illusions. 10th anniversary ed., 2024. https://www.amazon.com/Dissolving-Illusions-Suzanne-Humphries-ebook/dp/B00E7FOA0U

16. Ullman, D. “Rockefeller, the Flexner Report, and the American Medical Association: The Contentious Relationship Between Conventional Medicine and Homeopathy in America.” Cureus 17(7): e87291. July 4, 2025. doi:10.7759/cureus.87291. https://www.cureus.com/articles/370572

17. Regan, H. “Inside a Dutch Smartshop’s Harm Reduction Approach.” Filter Magazine. September 5, 2023. https://filtermag.org/dutch-smartshop-harm-reduction/

18. Bennink, E. “Laura Delano’s Unshrunk: A Story of Psychiatric Treatment Resistance.” Brownstone Institute. July 10, 2025. https://brownstone.org/articles/laura-delanos-unshrunk-a-story-of-psychiatric-treatment-resistance/

19. Delano, L. Unshrunk: A Story of Psychiatric Treatment Resistance. 2025.

https://unshrunkthebook.com/

20. Bennink, L. “Why I Left the Healthcare System.” Strelitzia (Substack). March 5, 2026. https://strelitziahealth.substack.com/p/why-i-left-the-healthcare-system

21.Veling, W. et al. “Are Conspiracy Theorists Psychotic? A Comparison Between Conspiracy Theories and Paranoid Delusions.” European Psychiatry. 2022. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC9568148/

22. “1950s Mind Control Experiments Prompt Warning About Psychedelic Research Today.” Digital Journal. December 12, 2023. https://www.digitaljournal.com/pr/news/ampwire/1950s-mind-control-experiments-prompt-warning-about-psychedelic-research-today

23. Pollan, M. How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression and Transcendence. Penguin Press, 2018. https://michaelpollan.com/books/how-to-change-your-mind/

24.“Legal Status of DMT and Ayahuasca Under the 1971 UN Convention.” October 28, 2025. https://ark.yaogara.org/policy/dmt-un-report-1971

25. Abrahms, Z. et al. “Pathway Engineering for the Biosynthesis of Psychedelics.” Current Opinion in Biotechnology. August 2025. https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S0958166925000588

26. Kinzer, S. Poisoner in Chief: Sidney Gottlieb and the CIA Search for Mind Control. Henry Holt & Co., 2019. https://www.amazon.com/Poisoner-Chief-Sidney-Gottlieb-Control/dp/1250140439

27. Carhart-Harris, R., Goodwin, G. “The Therapeutic Potential of Psychedelic Drugs: Past, Present and Future.” Neuropsychopharmacology. May 17, 2017. https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC5603818/

28. Pahnke, W.N. Drugs and Mysticism: An Analysis of the Relationship Between Psychedelic Drugs and the Mystical Consciousness. Doctoral dissertation, Harvard University, 1963.

29. Strassman, R.J. et al. “Dose-Response Study of N,N-Dimethyltryptamine in Humans. I. Neuroendocrine, Autonomic, and Cardiovascular Effects.” Archives of General Psychiatry. February 1994. https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/8297216/

30. Dyck, E. “What Is at Stake in the Psychedelic Renaissance.” Open Access Government. 2023. https://www.openaccessgovernment.org/article/what-is-at-stake-in-the-psychedelic-renaissance/166435/

31. Labate, B. A reinvenção do uso da ayahuasca nos centros urbanos (pp. 84–87). Mercado de Letras, 2016. https://mercado-de-letras.com.br/e-books-serie-drogas-politica-e-cultura/

32. Labate, B., Feeney, K. “Ayahuasca and the Process of Regulation in Brazil and Internationally: Implications and Challenges.” International Journal of Drug Policy. 2012. https://static1.squarespace.com/static/667377aecd9d7965ef16050f/t/675332b3e855524851b8f21e/1733505715597/Ayahuasca_and_the_process_of_regulation.pdf | Resolução CONAD nº 1 de 25/01/2010. https://www.normasbrasil.com.br/norma/resolucao-1-2010_113527.html

33.Van der Plas, A. “Legal Paper on the Status of Ayahuasca Under the Dutch Legal System.” ICEERS. October 2023. https://www.iceers.org/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/ICEERS-Dutch-Legal-Report.pdf

Author:

Elisabeth (Lisa) J.C. Bennink, MD MA

Elderly care physician & philosopher

“Stay strong & courageous!” This was the message Laura Delano wrote when she signed my copy of Unshrunk: A Story of Psychiatric Treatment Resistance (2025) at the Brownstone Institute event in Connecticut on April 23rd.

As a physician, I have spent years helping patients discontinue medication—particularly psychiatric drugs. The process is far more difficult than it should be. I’ve encountered significant barriers: gaps in medical training, institutional resistance, and a clinical culture that rewards prescribing but offers little guidance on how to stop. This void in psychiatric care is not just a clinical inconvenience—it’s a public health issue.

After reading compelling articles by Jeffrey Tucker and Maryanne Demasi, I was eager to explore Delano’s perspective as someone who has lived inside the system. My intuition was right: what she describes in Unshrunk resonated deeply with what I have witnessed both personally and professionally—a system that locks physicians and psychiatrists into rigid protocols favoring long-term medication, while neglecting adverse effects and failing to offer a viable path to true recovery.

Delano’s memoir is both deeply personal and widely relevant. She traces her journey through over a decade of psychiatric treatment—beginning at age 13—highlighting not just her experience, but a system that medicalizes distress, pathologizes adolescence, and discourages critical inquiry. Her eventual path to healing takes place outside the medical establishment, a decision I understand well from my own experience. There are few roadmaps for those seeking alternatives, and Delano’s story powerfully illustrates both the risks and possibilities of forging one’s own way.

Unshrunk is also a broader indictment of modern psychiatry and raises uncomfortable but necessary questions: Why are so many young people being placed on psychiatric drugs? What constitutes informed consent when patients are rarely told how difficult it can be to stop? These questions are especially urgent in light of the findings from the recent MAHA report, which details the scale and consequences of overmedication in psychiatry.

Delano does more than tell her story. She compels us to reconsider the assumptions underpinning psychiatric care today. Unshrunk challenges the medicalization of normal life experiences and makes a compelling case for transparency, education, and patient empowerment. Most importantly, it advocates for real knowledge around psychiatric drug tapering—knowledge that remains disturbingly scarce in mainstream medical practice.

A Story That Resonates

Jeffrey Tucker, chairman of Brownstone Institute, opened the evening with a compelling introduction. Reading eloquently from the first chapter of Unshrunk, he set the tone for what was to come: a powerful narrative about distorted self-perception, ego doubt, and the fundamental question of how we come to know what is true. Delano’s story takes readers deep into the internal world of a teenage girl navigating adolescence in the privileged, yet often stifling, culture of America’s upper class.

When Delano took the stage, she spoke with conviction and clarity. Her voice carried the weight of experience. The story she told was gripping—raw, vulnerable, and unflinchingly honest. I found myself holding my breath at times, struck by how deeply her journey echoed my own thoughts and observations as a physician. But her story is not just her own. It reflects the lived experiences of countless others who have suffered under the weight of psychiatric labels and medications—many of whom never find the words, or the audience, to share what they’ve endured.

What makes Delano’s account so powerful is not only the depth of her suffering but her ability to look back with honesty, insight, and compassion. She examines her years as a psychiatric patient with a clarity that gives voice to many who have remained unheard.

Her journey begins like so many others: the existential doubts, emotional turbulence, and identity struggles of adolescence. But unlike most teens, whose crises resolve with time, Laura was swept into the psychiatric system. What began as therapy sessions soon escalated into psychiatric evaluations, a cascade of diagnoses, and countless prescriptions of psychiatric drugs; often one used to balance the other in a never-ending spiral—ushering in a decade defined by chemical interventions and diagnostic labels.

This isn’t a story of neglect or malpractice. Quite the opposite. Delano received treatment from top-tier psychiatrists at elite institutions, including McLean Hospital, the prestigious teaching hospital of Harvard Medical School. She was prescribed the newest medications and followed every medical recommendation. She was the model patient. Yet, instead of improving, her symptoms worsened.

After years of playing the role of the “good patient”—enduring more therapy, more diagnoses, more medications—something finally shifted. She began to question the narrative she had been taught: Was her brain truly “affected” by a chemical imbalance, or had she been misled? Could it be that the very drugs she believed would save her were not the solution but part of the problem?

This question goes to the core of a long-standing and controversial assumption in psychiatry. British psychiatrist Joanna Moncrieff, a leading critic of the chemical imbalance theory, co-authored a major 2022 review that found no convincing evidence supporting the idea that depression is caused by low serotonin. While many clinicians are aware of this, the public conversation has lagged behind. In her 2025 book Chemically Imbalanced: The Making and Unmaking of the Serotonin Myth, Moncrieff explores how the idea of depression as a brain disease became accepted dogma, despite the lack of robust scientific support. Her work is a sobering reminder of how medical myths can become deeply embedded, persisting long after their scientific foundations have eroded.

Seeing It in Practice

As a physician specializing in elderly care, I found Laura Delano’s descriptions uncomfortably familiar. During my residency in old-age psychiatry, I became acutely aware of the devastating effects of long-term psychiatric drug use. I witnessed the blank stares, the tremors, the restless pacing—and I began to question: What symptoms were attributable to the original psychiatric condition, and what had emerged as a result of years of medication? Could the two even be disentangled?

Driven by these questions, I began reviewing old paper medical charts of patients who had been institutionalized for decades. I traced their histories back to their first admissions, searching for clues. What had triggered that initial diagnosis and prescription? To my surprise, the presenting issues were often relatively mild, certainly not what one would expect given the severity of their condition years later. This left me with an unsettling thought: Had we actually helped these patients, or had we done harm in the name of treatment?

When I began working in nursing homes in 2013, I was immediately struck by the sheer number of residents on long-term psychiatric medications—and by how profoundly these drugs affected their daily functioning. Often, neither the patients nor their families—and sometimes not even the physicians—recognized the side effects as drug-related. My clinical instincts, shaped by prior experience, made me question whether medication was contributing to their physical decline.

I saw elderly individuals on antidepressants for years after the loss of a spouse—normal grief mistaken for chronic depression. I saw patients who were physically dependent on sleeping pills, drowsy and nodding off all day and struggling with mobility. These patterns repeated over and over. I began spending extensive time with patients, families, and caregivers. I reviewed medical histories, revisited pharmacological literature, and questioned long-held assumptions. Over the years, I helped hundreds of patients taper off medications—psychiatric drugs, opioids, and more.

The results were often remarkable. Patients once labelled as having “suspected dementia” became alert and engaged again. Some recognized their own children for the first time in years. Others, long confined to bed, began to stand and even walk. Not every case was dramatic, but across the board, I saw consistent improvements in quality of life—sometimes subtle, sometimes transformative.

One of the greatest challenges in this work was finding reliable information and mentors. Most of my medical colleagues did not view deprescribing as a clinical priority. Training programs provided limited guidance on tapering, and protocols were either non-existent or overly rigid.

My Own Journey

I understand the impact of psychiatric drugs not only as a physician but also from personal experience. For years, I struggled with severe back pain. Alongside the usual painkillers and opioids, I was prescribed various combinations of antidepressants, anti-seizure medications, and other drugs—often for extended periods. As a teenager, and later as a medical student, I pursued any intervention that promised relief, trusting that my doctors knew what they were doing.

The side effects of both opioids and psychiatric medications were intense and difficult to manage. Finding a workable balance became a constant struggle. Even when I took lower doses than prescribed, I found it nearly impossible to concentrate—reading even a few pages of a book was a challenge. Over the course of a decade, while completing my medical education, I underwent three back surgeries. During that time, I experienced many of the same symptoms I would later recognize in my patients: cognitive fog, emotional blunting, and physical dependency.

That experience fundamentally shaped how I practiced medicine.

Eventually, I found lasting relief—but not through conventional medical pathways. With distance and reflection, I came to understand that my pain was more complex than I’d realized. It wasn’t just structural. In many ways, it was a physical expression of deeper issues—chronic stress, perfectionism, and emotional strain manifesting in my body.

When I gained some financial independence, my circumstances began to shift. I had the space to examine other aspects of my life and health. I learned to slow down, listen to my body, to relax, look inward, and slowly I started moving more freely. I explored different approaches to healing both physically and emotionally. Ironically, I would later learn that many herniated disc cases have better long-term outcomes without surgery at all.

That realization stayed with me. It deepened my skepticism of quick-fix solutions and reinforced the importance of understanding the whole person—not just the symptoms. It also affirmed what Delano’s story brings into focus: sometimes, the path to recovery lies not in more treatment, but in stepping back, asking different questions, and giving the body and mind space to heal.

The Downward Spiral

In Unshrunk, Laura Delano vividly illustrates how, despite receiving care from top psychiatrists, being prescribed the most advanced medications, and engaging fully in therapy, she slowly drifted further away from herself—from the intelligent, athletic young woman she once was. Over the years, as she dutifully followed their advice, her sense of agency and vitality eroded.

She was first prescribed antidepressants and antipsychotics, which soon disrupted her sleep. To address the insomnia, she was given sleeping pills, which left her groggy during the day. To maintain her academic performance—she had been accepted to Harvard—she was prescribed stimulants. Her eating patterns became chaotic. She developed uncontrollable nighttime binges and experienced significant weight swings. In response, her doctors increased her antidepressant dosage to “smooth things out.”

For a time, she managed to keep up appearances. She excelled academically, competed at a high level in squash, and threw herself into college life. She faithfully discussed her emotional and physical ups and downs with therapists, who offered empathic ears and more pills. Each psychiatrist genuinely believed they were helping her. They had her best interests at heart and followed established protocols. However, no one connected her physical symptoms to the medications they were prescribing. There was minimal discussion of effects and side effects, no attempts at tapering or stopping. Whatever symptoms she reported were simply interpreted as evidence that her psychiatric condition was worsening.

Delano’s experience is a stark example of how a system—despite good intentions and expert credentials—can fail the very people it is designed to help. Her story is not an indictment of individual practitioners, but of a model that too often prioritizes diagnosis and pharmacology over holistic care and critical reflection.

The Label That Changes Everything

The diagnosis Laura Delano received as a teenager would come to shape the course of her life. It colored every interaction with doctors, every decision about treatment, and every assumption about her future. After that first diagnosis—bipolar disorder—a cascade of additional labels followed: depression, borderline personality disorder, eating disorder, alcohol dependence. With each new label came a narrowing of possibility.

Delano and her family were encouraged to adjust their expectations accordingly. A long-term psychiatric prognosis was presented as inevitable—chronic illness, lifelong medication, and a managed existence rather than a hopeful recovery. Medication, they were told, would make it manageable.

Right around the time Laura met her first psychiatrist in the late ‘90s, influential child psychiatrist Joseph Biederman—a Harvard Medical School professor and lead researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital—was publishing papers about what he considered a common but underdiagnosed condition: childhood bipolar disorder. This became the label attached to her teenage struggles. His research helped popularize the idea that many children’s behavioral struggles—once seen as developmental or situational—were actually signs of a severe, chronic mental illness.

This became the frame through which Delano’s adolescent experiences were interpreted. In Unshrunk, she cites one of Biederman’s key articles: “Unlike adult bipolar patients, manic children are seldom characterized by euphoric mood. The most common mood disturbance is irritability, with ‘affective storms,’ or prolonged and aggressive temper outbursts.” In this context, what might have once been seen as emotional volatility during a turbulent adolescence was now viewed as pathological.

The implications were enormous. Between 1994 and 2003, diagnoses of childhood bipolar disorder increased fortyfold. Delano became one of the many swept up in this wave—given a serious psychiatric label during a formative period of life, and handed a treatment plan that revolved around lifelong pharmacological management.

What’s most disturbing in retrospect is how unquestioned these labels became. They didn’t just guide treatment; they redefined identity, possibility, and hope. Delano’s memoir shines a light on how powerful a diagnosis can be—not just clinically, but existentially. It is a reminder that names carry weight, and in psychiatry, that weight can be life-altering.

The Epidemic Paradox

During the same years that psychiatric drug use expanded at an unprecedented rate, the number of people disabled by psychiatric diagnoses also rose dramatically. This disturbing trend raises a critical question: if these medications are truly effective, why are we seeing a proportional increase in long-term disability?

This paradox became the driving force behind journalist Robert Whitaker’s groundbreaking book, Anatomy of an Epidemic: Magic Bullets, Psychiatric Drugs, and the Astonishing Rise of Mental Illness in America (2010). Whitaker began to ask what few in the field were willing to: Could the treatment itself be contributing to the worsening of outcomes?

Through extensive interviews and data analysis, Whitaker uncovered a troubling pattern. Individuals who initially sought help for emotional distress were often diagnosed, prescribed psychiatric medications, and then found themselves unable to work, study, or function as they once had. Instead of regaining stability, many experienced worsening emotional symptoms, increasing apathy, deteriorating physical health, and diminishing life prospects. Each new difficulty was met with escalated treatment—more medications, more diagnoses, and often, lifelong dependency.

Whitaker’s careful documentation and sharp analysis led him to propose that we may be witnessing an iatrogenic epidemic—a situation in which the treatment intended to help is, in some cases, perpetuating or even causing the illness.

This idea resonates strongly with Delano’s story in Unshrunk, and with the experiences of many patients and clinicians who have begun to question the long-term impact of psychiatric drug treatment. Are we unintentionally creating a system that disables rather than heals? And if so, what must change?

The Turning Point

Robert Whitaker’s Anatomy of an Epidemic marked a watershed moment for Laura Delano. For the first time, she allowed herself to ask a question that had long lingered unspoken: What would my life have looked like without that first psychiatrist? Without all those pills?

Delano also confronted another reality—her alcohol use had become problematic. Seeking help, she began attending Alcoholics Anonymous. There, she found something she hadn’t experienced in the psychiatric system: mutual support, a sense of equality, and stories of personal transformation that gave her hope. AA’s structure helped her get sober, and in that clarity, she began to consider an even more daunting step—stopping the pills too!

The Challenges of Discontinuation

What followed was a gruelling and poorly supported detox process. Though her psychiatrist agreed to help, he provided little practical guidance. No one warned her of the intense physical and psychological toll that withdrawal could exact after years of medication. She began tapering step by step, decreasing doses over the course of a couple of weeks to months. But without understanding the risks of rapid discontinuation, she experienced a tidal wave of withdrawal symptoms.

Delano describes it with haunting precision:

“So much of the withdrawal experience is unspeakable: there are simply no words in the English language that come close to capturing its otherworldly nature. The experience infused not just my every square inch but all that I could see, hear, taste, smell, touch; all that I believed and valued and thought about. Withdrawal hijacked my reality without my realizing it; it had to, after all, as these drugs altered not just the entire landscape of my brain and body but also my consciousness, my seat of self.”

Despite the intensity of her suffering, she endured. Through sheer determination, she pieced herself back together—finding support outside of psychiatry and holding on to the hope of living a normal life. Only later did she fully realize that what she had experienced wasn’t a relapse of a psychiatric condition, but the physiological consequences of withdrawal. It hadn’t been “the illness returning”—it was the body and brain adjusting to the absence of powerful drugs.

I have seen this same pattern repeatedly in my own practice. Many medical professionals still lack awareness of what psychiatric withdrawal actually looks like. The symptoms—often extreme, prolonged, and debilitating—are frequently misinterpreted as signs of mental illness returning, rather than as the body’s response to chemical disruption. As a result, patients are often remedicated, reinforcing the belief that they cannot function without drugs.

Fortunately, communities of lived experience—particularly online peer-support groups—have developed nuanced knowledge about safe, slow tapering. These groups often recommend an approach known as hyperbolic tapering, where medication is reduced in extremely small increments over long periods, allowing the nervous system time to stabilize at each step. This patient-centred method is beginning to reach medical professionals, but the gap between clinical practice and lived experience remains wide.

Far too often, people trying to discontinue psychiatric drugs are met with disbelief. When they describe their withdrawal symptoms, they’re told, “See how sick you are? You clearly can’t function without medication.”

A New Mission

Robert Whitaker’s Anatomy of an Epidemic didn’t just transform Laura Delano’s personal path—it helped spark a broader movement. One of its most enduring legacies is the website Mad in America, a platform where scientific research and personal stories intersect to challenge dominant narratives in psychiatry. Delano began contributing there through a personal blog, sharing her own experience and helping to amplify voices often left out of the conversation.

Over time, her advocacy deepened. Alongside her husband, Cooper Davis—himself someone with lived experience—she co-founded the nonprofit Inner Compass Initiative, a peer-led organization dedicated to promoting informed choice in mental health care. Their work focuses especially on educating the public and medical professionals about the realities of psychiatric drug withdrawal and the importance of extremely gradual tapering. What began as a deeply personal journey has become a public mission to bring compassion, transparency, and agency back into mental health.

Essential Reading

Unshrunk is a remarkable and urgently necessary book. It deserves wide readership—by patients, doctors, therapists, and policymakers alike. Delano raises uncomfortable but essential questions: What role does the pharmaceutical industry play in shaping treatment guidelines? Why is there so little long-term research into the effects of chronic psychiatric medication use? And why is there such a persistent gap between what patients report experiencing and what the medical system is willing to recognize?

Despite its heavy subject matter, Unshrunk is ultimately a hopeful book. It’s one of those rare memoirs you want to read in a single sitting. Delano makes it clear that recovery—even after years of intensive medication—is possible. Her writing is brave, raw, and luminous with insight. But more than that, the book is a call to action. It urges us to reconsider how we understand mental health, and how often we mistake normal human suffering for pathology.

At a time when psychiatric drug use among children and adolescents continues to rise, Delano’s voice is not just important—it’s essential. Her story gives voice to the many others whose experiences remain silenced or dismissed. “Stay strong & courageous,” she wrote in my copy of her book. That message extends to every reader. Sometimes, true healing requires more courage than we realize.

By Elisabeth (Lisa) J.C. Bennink, MD, MA

Originally published on Brownstone Institute on July 10, 2025.

What I wish for myself and for every human being across the globe is the freedom to speak—about the great and the small, the true and the beautiful. In countries where freedom of expression is curtailed, other fundamental rights quickly come under threat as well. Time and again, history demonstrates how important, how crucial it is to defend the right to speak freely. In repressive, fascist regimes, freedom of expression is the first thing to fall. Often under the pretext that the people or the nation must be protected from “wrong” information or “criminal” ideas.

Recently, I read in the newest book by Marcel Messing (De grootste omwenteling aller tijden, March 2024, page 167) the following quote, attributed to Thomas Jefferson, founding father and former president of the United States: “Whoever wishes to deprive a people of their freedom must begin by abolishing the right to express oneself freely.”

This man understood how inalienable the right to speak should be—and that this right is essential to any democracy. That things can very quickly turn dictatorial when this right is undermined is evident from recent developments here in Brazil.

Shortly after it went online, we watched on BlckBx.tv the interview ‘If Europe Does Not Wake Up, You Will All Be Dead’ by Flavio Pasquino with Naomi Wolf. Wolf, a bestselling author and journalist, former political advisor to Bill Clinton and Al Gore, gained prominence as a feminist. In recent years, she has stood up for the freedom of us all.

Wolf was one of the first, in 2021, to raise questions about declining fertility and menstrual problems in relation to the COVID injections. She was promptly banned from all online platforms. It did not make her any less resolute. Together with her team, she has become a beacon of information. Through her website dailyclout.io, she has brought to light disturbing facts about Pfizer’s conduct regarding the trials and rollout of the mRNA injections.

As one of the major players within Big Pharma, Pfizer bears responsibility for much suffering and excess mortality. In the interview with Pasquino, prompted in part by her newest book, translated into Dutch as ‘Oog in oog met het beest’ (‘Facing the Beast’), Wolf warns Europe. She calls on people to wake up before it is too late.

Wolf’s nuanced account resonated deeply. She does not deal in suggestion and refuses to be drawn into speculation about the how and why. Wolf sticks to what she knows, what has been investigated, and what is publicly accessible and verifiable. This interview is an excellent starting point for anyone who wants to understand what is at stake if we do not confront the beast now.

We had just begun a two-week news and media diet when a good Brazilian friend sent me a message: had we seen the news about the Brazilian edition of the Twitter Files? No, we had not. We have no television in our home, and I limit my screen time to a minimum. In the mornings I meditate; I write daily and read extensively. Our life takes place largely outdoors. From the veranda, the hummingbirds greet me; I watch the toucan glide low through the garden, observe the monkeys leaping through the pine trees nearby, and enjoy the company of the four former street dogs who have found a home with us. We currently live on the outskirts of the megacity of São Paulo, right next to the Morro Grande, a large protected nature reserve of over 10,000 hectares—wonderfully peaceful and green. When we walk down the sandy road, we find trails leading us into pristine Atlantic rainforest as far as the eye can see. A unique place.

Protocolo

Twice before, all my documents were approved and I received a provisional visa, or protocolo—a paper document proving my pending application. After that, it was supposed to be a matter of waiting no more than three months before I would have the permanent card in hand. Everyone who works professionally in this field assured us that once you have the protocolo, in practice you almost automatically and without exception receive the definitive visa. But more than two years after we started this process, I still do not have mine.

Twice, my approved application was unexpectedly rejected without any reason given. Eventually, through a good friend, we made contact with a high-ranking politician who inquired about my case. That is how we learned that “they” had supposedly made a bureaucratic error.

“Really?” we thought. In a world where people with ideas similar to mine have been made persona non grata in many countries, you start to doubt things. I am not a public figure, but I have spoken out. As one of the few physicians, I expressed my well-founded disapproval of the policies implemented worldwide—policies that had nothing to do with health from the very beginning. But during the COVID years, everyone was expected to speak with one voice and to carry out the plans handed down by the WHO without question. Questions were not appreciated, and for a time, there was no room for criticism.

I wrote on LinkedIn, shared some articles on Facebook, and later two pieces of mine were published on the website OverNu.nl. The personal responses were heartwarming, but as far as I know, it did not gain much traction. That was not the point. I was and remain glad that I used my voice, my right to speak. Or would it still come at a cost?

I have not paid attention to the daily news for quite some time now. The Brazilian versions of talk shows are even more high-energy and I experience them as overwhelming and shrill. As a foreign outsider, you see more clearly how much show and fanfare is used to sell the hysteria of the day. It is broadly the same story everywhere, adjusted for the local flavor.

But then that message arrived. My friend asked about the progress of our case and in the same breath continued: “Having seen this, I can well imagine it is no coincidence that you still have not received your visa.” Welcome back to reality.

We decided to pause our news diet and read about what was happening. The American investigative journalist Michael Shellenberger had broken the news about the Brazilian Twitter Files and was giving interviews about it here in comprehensible Portuguese. Since December 2022, when he was part of a team of journalists who released the American Twitter Files, we have followed him regularly—but we did not know he also had a connection to Brazil.

The Dismantling of Free Speech

In short, it comes down to this: in early April 2024, Elon Musk came forward with messages stating that X (formerly Twitter) would no longer allow itself to be used by the Brazilian authorities to censor political opponents. Alexandre de Moraes, a justice of the Brazilian Supreme Court, had ordered X to ban users within two hours. Failure to comply would result in heavy fines. No reasons are given, and X is not permitted to communicate to the outside world that the ban comes from the government—it must say the action is due to X’s internal rules. For Elon Musk, this was the last straw.

Around the same time, Michael Shellenberger published the Brazilian Twitter Files. These reveal that Alexandre de Moraes has, for several years, ordered Twitter (among others) to censor, share private user data, and use content moderation as a political weapon. Journalists, democratically elected senators, members of parliament, and other users have been censored in this manner over the past years—without stated reasons and without trial or legal basis. The Twitter Files show that Google, Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp have fully cooperated with such requests in recent years.

Alexandre de Moraes responded to Elon Musk’s messages within days. Musk will be criminally investigated in Brazil for spreading fake news and obstruction. Brazil’s top public prosecutor wants to prosecute Michael Shellenberger for destabilizing democracy.

We are witnessing in Brazil a rapid dismantling of the right to free expression and other democratic fundamental rights. Just as in the United States and Europe, this is happening under the guise of protecting democracy against disinformation and fake news.

Brazil shows how quickly this process can unfold. For those who want to learn more about the situation in Brazil regarding freedom of expression, we recommend this broadcast by the American journalist Glenn Greenwald.

Before becoming a journalist, Greenwald was a lawyer specializing in freedom of expression. In 2013, he gained worldwide recognition when, as a journalist for The Guardian, he brought Edward Snowden’s story to the world. Greenwald lived for years in Brazil, where, as the partner of politician David Michael Miranda, he was close to the fire. Miranda (who passed away in 2019 at age 37) was the first openly gay politician in Brazil and a fervent opponent of Jair Bolsonaro.

In 2019, Greenwald obtained recordings of telephone conversations between prosecutors of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva and judges. These revealed that Lula had not received a fair trial. In part because of the articles Greenwald wrote about this, Lula was freed. He is now president again.

Greenwald is currently very critical of Lula and the Brazilian authorities. He has his own channel, which can be viewed via Rumble in most countries. Unless you use a VPN connection, Rumble has been inaccessible in Brazil since December 2023. Rumble allegedly does not comply with Brazilian regulations and refuses to ban unwelcome content creators.

Recently, we submitted another application for my permanent visa, and for the third time, my (updated) documents were approved by the federal police. Once again, I received a protocolo as proof that I am legally awaiting my residência.

Before we took this step, our courage had quite sunk into our shoes. All that time, we had not known why my application had been rejected. We began to fear that there was no place in this country for physicians who think differently. You can stay in Brazil illegally (or euphemistically, with an “unregulated status”) for quite a while: you will not be arrested or deported. But for daily life, it is terribly impractical. You are an outlaw, without rights—not a happy position.

Early this year, a friend recommended a reliable lawyer who was also a member of the Santo Daime church we attend regularly. He told us the same story as the politician we had consulted: it had supposedly been a repeated bureaucratic mistake. We shared our concerns, and he assured us that this time it would work out and that my application would reach the right desk. This gave us enough confidence to try once more. He continues to monitor the situation from the sidelines.

Balm

In 2021, we came here for personal reasons. We then felt welcomed and free in the vastness of this joyful and chaotic country. During a study trip exploring ayahuasca and other plant medicines, the spirituality and musicality of the Brazilians were a balm for our souls. During our many journeys across this magnificent country—the size of a continent—from the far south to the Amazon and from the São Paulo metropolitan area to Brasília, we have always been warmly received and have found great support from our friends here. To say that we have taken Brazil into our hearts, this country that means so much to our personal growth, is an understatement.

Out of deep love for this country and with the hope that we may stay here together, I feel called to share our story with the world. In a month, we will visit the Netherlands for the first time in over three years to see family and friends.

We await what the future will bring. We are optimistic by nature, know how to manage wherever we are, and are content with little. But we are also realistic, have our eyes open, and given the recent developments, are not entirely at ease.

But I refuse to be held hostage by that lingering fear. I am a free human being, and our voices deserve to be heard—in the Netherlands, in the world, and hopefully here in Brazil as well. We also hope that what is happening here may serve as a warning—and that people will once again recognize the importance of the freedom of every individual to speak. It is a right we must cherish.

By Elisabeth (Lisa) J.C. Bennink, MD, MA,

May 2, 2024, São Paulo, Brazil

As an alumnus of the University of Groningen, I received an invitation some time ago to attend the university fund’s anniversary celebration. The theme was academic freedom. The invitation struck a chord with me; I felt compelled to respond—but I never received a reply. This has become a familiar pattern over the past three years: silence whenever I send a message or email to friends or former colleagues.

People are busy, I told myself. Or perhaps they are simply not interested in what I have to say. Disappointing, but fine—I let it go, even though it saddened and sometimes discouraged me. These days, I find myself wondering whether my messages ever reached their intended recipients at all. Before 2020, my experience was that people took the time to respond, even when they disagreed with me. And now—silence.

I hesitate about whether to share my thoughts online. The rationalizations and voices in my head telling me not to are loud. I have no doubt about my decisions, but I do question the consequences of publicly sharing my reasoning. The climate for free thinkers has become so hostile that my closest family members worry about me. But I cannot help but speak out—I am sorry. And so I share my story nonetheless, as I sent it to the organizers in October.

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The Erosion of Freedom

The freedom to say what you think—especially in the academic world—is a subject that has been close to my heart since my student years at the University of Groningen. But in recent years, that principle has lost much of its luster. Sadly, I am now a few illusions poorer. I hope there are still people who genuinely care about this, who have an interest in continuing the conversation, and who are willing to listen to my story.

In 2012, I graduated in Medicine, and in 2015, I also received my master’s degree in Philosophy (with honors). From 2013 onward, I worked as a physician in geriatric care, and by 2018, I had earned the title of geriatric medicine specialist. The restrictive measures introduced in 2020—the visitor bans, the testing policies, and so forth—but above all, the impossibility I experienced in discussing these matters with colleagues, affected me so deeply that in December 2020, I decided to resign from my position and take time for my own research and reflection.

Given my combined background, medical-ethical questions in geriatric care have always preoccupied me greatly. The trade-offs between quality of life and health, for instance. Or questions about freedom versus safety in the care of people with dementia. I also specialized in deprescribing medication and was already familiar, in the years before 2020, with the work of Peter Gøtzsche, the co-founder of the Cochrane Library, and Dick Bijl, the former editor-in-chief of the Dutch Drug Bulletin.

These physicians and scientists, both with distinguished careers, were respected within the medical world. But anyone who tries to look up their work today will find a very different picture.

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Skepticism

I noticed that articles by these colleagues, once easy to find, had suddenly disappeared. Moreover, they were now being portrayed negatively. Through my work, I was already appropriately critical of the role of Big Pharma, and what I witnessed made me even more alert. I was also familiar with the failures surrounding the (rapid) introduction of new medications—cases where side effects were later discovered to have gone unreported or were even concealed—and with major fraud cases such as the opioid crisis in the United States.

You will understand, then, that I followed the developments surrounding COVID with healthy skepticism. After all, that was how I had been trained, and it was the quality for which I had been valued throughout my career. My career was flourishing: alongside my freelance work as a geriatric medicine specialist in nursing homes, I collaborated with geriatricians from Martini Hospital, family physicians in the region, and the health insurer Menzis in primary care for the elderly.

On behalf of the professional association, I was invited to advise the Ministry of Health on this topic. I was regularly asked to give lectures. In the fall of 2020, I was even offered a position as medical director at a major geriatric care institution. But in my medical work and in the ethics working group (composed mainly of philosophers) at the medical faculty where I participated, I suddenly noticed the dialogue had vanished. The space to ask questions had evaporated. When it mattered most, there was no academic freedom.

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Censorship

Personal freedom and self-determination have always been crucial to me. And suddenly, those values were being undermined worldwide. Natural immunity was no longer a topic for discussion, because everyone had to get the shot anyway—in many places, even under threat of mandates.

Where was the moral outrage? And why could I find no one willing to listen, no one willing to speak openly with me anymore? It took a long time before I understood what was happening. I had stopped watching television years earlier, and the intense flood of messaging affected me far less than it did most people, I now realize. I sensed that something was deeply wrong and questioned the way newspapers reported on what I was witnessing daily in geriatric care. I could barely recognize myself in their accounts. And now it turns out that the manipulation of the news—and with it, the undermining of (scientific) freedom—went far beyond what I could have suspected at the time.

In the ruling on September 8 of this year, an American court of appeals, in the case of *Missouri v. Biden*, found the U.S. federal government—including Joe Biden and Anthony Fauci by name, the White House, the CDC, the FBI, and other government agencies—guilty of applying censorship on a massive scale. If you are interested, [this article](https://www.wsj.com/articles/censorship-collusion-and-covid-19-fauci-facebook-social-media-pandemic-murthy-v-missouri-supreme-court-9903dd58) describes the background of the case.

This censorship created a climate in which public debate was impossible—and remains so to this day. In a thorough legal ruling by a panel of judges, it is described how various government agencies, in collaboration with major online platforms such as Google, YouTube, Twitter, and Facebook, applied censorship—and continue to do so. Critical voices from the medical community were not allowed to be heard. Scientists, professors, and physicians who were once widely respected ended up on Twitter blacklists and were banned from Facebook, YouTube, and Google; they were subjected to character assassination.

In October 2020, three leading scientists in public health and epidemiology advocated for focused protection. Until then, this had been common sense. It was the established approach for managing infectious disease outbreaks. Their Great Barrington Declaration (GBD) can be read on [their website](https://gbdeclaration.org/). [This article](https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/science/articles/the-mask-mandates-did-nothing) places their story and the devastating, orchestrated reaction against it in perspective.

Two of the GBD’s initiators, Jay Bhattacharya and Martin Kulldorff, together with the states of Missouri and Louisiana, filed this lawsuit against the U.S. federal government. For a concise summary of what emerged from this case, you can read [this article](https://www.city-journal.org/article/the-censorship-industrial-complex).

The scale of censorship by the U.S. government is staggering. It has knocked the foundation out from under our freedom. And how can you conduct an academic debate when information is so heavily curated and one-sided? I have no indication that the situation is any better in the Netherlands. The recent implementation of the Digital Services Act in Europe suggests quite the opposite.

The story of Bhattacharya and the other GBD initiators is not unique. The same fate befell other prominent scientists and physicians. Last year, Stanford Graduate School of Business hosted a conference devoted to academic freedom. I watched several lectures online at the time. Scientists with similar experiences of censorship were given the opportunity to share their stories. The opening remarks by John Cochrane at the Stanford Freedom Conference in November 2022 are well worth revisiting.

I would also like to mention the physician Peter McCullough, who in 2022 co-authored a compelling book with John Leake about his experiences over the past years. McCullough became known for speaking out forcefully in favor of early treatment from the summer of 2020 onward, sharing his clinical experience and research. His story, too, was not allowed to be heard; he was obstructed and censored.

The possibility of early treatment could have undermined the argument that everyone should get the shot. After all, the authorization to bring these experimental injections to market early was granted on the premise that no other COVID treatment existed.

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Informed Consent?

In those first months of 2021, I tried to engage colleagues in conversation about my doubts regarding the limited research data available at the time. I refused to participate in the rollout of the “vaccination campaigns” in nursing homes because I knew there was no room for discussion.

I could not, as I had always done before, openly discuss the pros and cons with my patients and their representatives. In fact, elderly people who refused the shot were threatened with being denied visits from their family members. How is that informed consent?

I felt completely out of place in this unsafe climate, where (academic) freedom was absent. That is why, in April 2021, I left for Brazil with my Dutch husband. Our sabbatical turned into a permanent stay. We have built our lives here, and I have taken a different path; recently, my medical license expired. I will therefore not be present at this anniversary gathering, but I wanted to express my support and contribute in this way.

Of course, I am willing to continue the conversation with you.

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Warm regards,

By Elisabeth (Lisa) J.C. Bennink, MD, MA, December 19, 2023

Minas Gerais, Brazil

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Tags: censorship, academic freedom, covid pandemic, covid vaccines, informed consent, Missouri v Biden

I want nothing more to do with this healthcare system. It has become too harmful to both health and society. And there is no room left to ask questions.

Geriatric care, critical thinking, and asking questions—that was my profession. I am a geriatric medicine specialist and hold a master’s degree in philosophy (with honors). Since 2013, I have worked as a physician, both within nursing homes and later outside of them, staying close to elderly patients while collaborating closely with their physicians and policymakers. I contributed to the professional association’s development of primary care for the elderly. And last year, at thirty-three, I was asked by two healthcare institutions to become their medical director.

But then, a few months later, I chose to walk away. I did so out of the conviction that the medical system inflicts indescribable damage on society, and that nothing can be done effectively inside of it. I no longer wish to be part of it. To remain would be to legitimize it.

Recently, I watched a broadcast from the philosophical channel De Nieuwe Wereld, titled “The Corona Crisis: A Lack of Realism and Normative Reflection.” Like other conversations of its kind, it was a nuanced dialogue with incisive analyses, facilitated by an excellent host and three respected guests, including Dick Bijl, a former family physician and epidemiologist whom I deeply admire. Throughout the conversation returned the core question—the truly interesting subject in the corona debate: How dangerous is this disease caused by the coronavirus, really? Independent scientific research demonstrates unequivocally that it is far less dangerous than the data the public health authorities continue to present to this day. And yes, the coronavirus is approximately as dangerous as the common influenza virus.

But this never came to public light. Instead, a fierce fear campaign was waged, employing censorship and propaganda techniques reminiscent of other countries and other wars. History repeats itself with the implementation of ingenious persuasion tactics and mounting pressure. From the very beginning, government policy—replicated worldwide with a touch of local variation—had nothing to do with public health. I am grateful to everyone who has dared to take a stand against this. For me, there was always a reason to hold back from doing so publicly, especially at the start of what seemed like a promising career. First came doubt: What do I really know, and who am I to grasp what is happening? Then came the difficult conversations with colleagues, friends, and family about this subject—and undoubtedly, the fear of being cast out of the group. But above all, the relentless stream of disinformation, noise, and manipulation wore me down and left me dispirited.

The visitor ban in nursing homes was, to me, an incomprehensible measure. In my field—geriatric care—proximity, living together, and shared rituals like eating together are at least as important as medical care itself. For people in the final phase of their lives, contact with family is the most essential thing. It was heartbreaking and unbearable that this was suddenly forbidden. As a physician, my greatest strength has always been offering support and holding hands. Working with dementia, reducing polypharmacy, and guiding people through the final stage of life were my favorite and most rewarding activities. It feels like a profound loss that I can no longer do this, but for me, there is no other way.

Among my colleagues, I found no outrage. Instead, there was great understanding for every illogical measure and an immense fear that stifled any attempt at conversation. I used to have extensive informal contact with colleagues across the country, but suddenly all continuing education went online and I was no longer able to connect with anyone in my field. There was no shared space.

Moreover, from the very beginning of the madness in March 2020, we were called upon to self-censor by our professional association and medical umbrella organizations. Given the state of emergency, we were told to fall in line, go along with things, and refrain from asking difficult questions. What not everyone realized is that the United Nations also called for anything contradicting the official WHO narrative to be kept out of the news—and that major news outlets openly declared their compliance. In this way, a new reality was created—literally, a new normal. I haven’t watched television for at least ten years, and it bewildered me how, through the sheer power of repetition, the most absurd messages were suddenly accepted as truth by so many.

The mass administration of the experimental injections was where I reached my limit. This is where I draw the line. After most healthcare workers rushed to get injected at the beginning of this year because they were told it was good, there has been no open conversation possible about the legitimate choice to opt out of this medical experiment. Discussion of alternatives (lifestyle and medications) was forbidden, and people were threatened with visitor bans if they did not get the shot. This made informed consent impossible. With this mass vaccination campaign, and the absence of a control group, we will never be able to make an honest cost-benefit analysis.

For me, freedom has never been relative. There is no such thing as “a little bit free,” just as there is no such thing as “a little bit pregnant.” It bewilders me that physicians, philosophers, and other representatives of the intelligentsia suddenly began defending the relativity of personal freedom—and that it became socially acceptable to argue that others should be forced to participate in a medical experiment for the sake of the vulnerable. Equally bizarre are the discussions about the subtle differences between coercion and pressure. The fact that restricting the freedom of perfectly healthy people is fundamentally wrong can no longer be discussed. Over the past years, I have received so many accusations, reproaches, and insults that I became gun-shy.

And so, a year and a half later, we live in a world in which I neither recognize myself nor feel at home. Where in a small country people wag the finger, control its people, and violate its people privacy. A person is no longer allowed to fall ill because the healthcare system cannot handle it. And instead of investing in healthcare workers and hospital beds, money has been lavishly spent to prevent the bubble economy from deflating, and a surreal testing society has been erected. Public funds that could have been used to improve healthcare and strengthen our bodies’ natural healing capacity have been funneled to Big Brother. How to build up our natural immunity is well known—but apparently not desired. Follow the money.

I would rather not speak about the devastation and absurdity of the lockdowns; the damage is too vast and unimaginable. The experimental injections, conveniently called vaccines, were temporarily authorized for a limited group but are now being administered to young people for whom the virus poses no danger. The pharmaceutical industry says it is safe, and they are echoed by scientists and advisors with conflicts of interest. The same manufacturers who have been systematically convicted over the years for scandals resulting in tens of billions of dollars in damage claims (such as the opioid crisis) are given free rein by governments to demonstrate the wonders of science to humanity. It is also known that enormous profits are being made, while no one can be held accountable for long-term side effects (which those responsible will again manage to keep out of sight for as long as possible with their lobbying money).

I do not pretend to know everything, but I do want to always be able to keep asking questions. And that has not been permitted since March 2020. Physicians and scientists who refused to accept this have been cut down. They have been systematically subjected to character assassination.

I have charted my own course. This spring, my partner and I emigrated to Brazil. I learned Portuguese, and we are now building a new life together in freedom. I am not suited for intensive human husbandry. I have made my choices and am glad that I have finally found the freedom to speak out.

By Elisabeth (Lisa) J.C. Bennink, MD, MA,

November 12, 2021 Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil

“Sem liberdade não há verdade nem virtude. [...] tomei a firme decisão de tudo sacrificar pela verdade e pela liberdade.” — Fritz Müller (1852), Blumenau, Santa Catarina, Brazil

(”Without freedom there is neither truth nor virtue. [...] I made the firm decision to sacrifice everything for truth and freedom.”)

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