In the third part of the TV documentary, The Blair Years, Tony Blair discussed his faith and the need he had felt as prime minister to keep it private: "You talk about it in our system and, frankly, people do think you're a nutter." Church leaders, such as the Archbishop of York, welcomed Blair's comments, claiming that they highlighted "the need for greater recognition to be given to the role faith has played in shaping our country". John Hutton, secretary of state for business, enterprise and regulatory reform, went still further: "I think it would be good if we could get to the point where if someone is a person of Christian faith ... and wanted to talk about it openly, there wouldn't be screaming headlines about the 'nutters' ... which I think demeans faith and personal integrity."
What none appear concerned about is the way in which Blair and Hutton's comments demean the struggles of thousands of people who suffer from mental health problems.
Perhaps this is in part because the use of words such as "nutter" is so commonplace. "Mad", "crazy", "lunatic" are used so universally to express disparagement that their meaning has become all but synonymous with contempt. Even just raising the issue, one runs the risk of being thought oversensitive. "But that isn't what they meant!" people say. "They weren't even talking about mental health." But if that isn't what they meant, then why did they say it?
Perhaps I am oversensitive - I'm a nutter after all. Sometimes I do this experiment. I take a sentence someone has said - Blair's will do for an example - and substitute the word in question for a similar derogatory epithet denoting perhaps sexuality or race or physical ability, then try it out in my head to see how it sounds. The outcome is almost invariably an obviously offensive statement. It's as though switching the target instantly turns up the volume. Psychophobia - my own term, because the dictionary doesn't contain one - appears to be inaudible.
But it certainly isn't inaudible to psychiatric patients. Pretty much every day I am faced with multiple decisions about whether to challenge language or let it go. Usually I let it go; I've got a life to live after all. When I do challenge, I try to do so with humour, but it always feels slightly awkward. Neither approach entirely removes the uncomfortable sense of my own difference.
A few years ago, I attended an anti-war rally at the Friend's Meeting House in London. There was a huge range of people there of all ages and from a great variety of cultures and backgrounds. The sense of so many different people all coming together, united in peaceful purpose, is something I find tremendously reassuring. George Galloway got up to speak. "George Bush hears voices!" he announced. Cue general hilarity and applause before he went on to explain that Bush believed God had told him to go to war. In the midst of the laughter, I felt utterly alone, though there will, undoubtedly, have been others in the same position.
Perhaps the greatest irony is that "psychophobic" language is so often used by those seeking to challenge discrimination in other areas, as indeed Blair was. Take this from Julie Burchill, writing in this paper in 2002. In a passionate piece defending the victims of "racial and homophobic attacks", she states that "the past 40 years have seen filthy rich barristers and judges gaily letting the same psychotic pond-life back on the streets who the police have been sweating blood to try and contain".
You can laugh, cry, gnash your teeth - I've tried them all - but what is the solution? Some in the psychiatric community, most notably the campaign group Mad Pride, have tried to address the issue by reclaiming language in much the same way as Gay Pride and Black Pride before them. I sympathise with their objectives, but for me to state that I'm "glad to be mad" is simply inaccurate.
I do believe that the words we use affect the society we create, and that is why what we say is so important. But our words are just the most graspable part of deep-rooted, unspoken fears and beliefs. Ultimately, it is those we need to challenge.
· Clare Allan is a writer and novelist