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Category: Hojas Susurrantes (book)

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Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Children’s tales

The videos I recently embedded about Snow White and Hansel and Gretel—and I’ll embed more about other stories—make me think.

One of the reasons I don’t belong to Men Going Their Own Way (MGTOW), even though I’ve been an incel my whole life, is because it’s made up of effeminate men. Real men try to take power to win back their white women by changing the treacherous laws (like Nick Fuentes advises his Groypers to infiltrate institutions, or like I advise them to read The Turner Diaries).

Something similar could be said about child abuse. One baby step toward solving the problem is to point out that the tales of the Brothers Grimm and Charles Perrault contain great wisdom on the subject, but were censored by changing the original word “mother” to “stepmother” due to the Christian commandment to honour our parents (Greek tragedies, written before the Christian upheaval, depicted horrible mothers without needing to transfer their image to a stepmother).

The pages from my autobiographical book, Hojas Susurrantes, published yesterday in The Occidental Observer, are just the tip of the iceberg of the problem (the “mental health” professions actually side with the perpetrators). These devouring mothers continue to exist today. As I confess in one part of my trilogy, after reading my Letter to mom Medusa a female friend told me that, although infanticide is no longer practised in the West, parents are still allowed to murder the souls of their children (producing broken minds, so-called “schizophrenias,” etc.).

This topic clearly relates to the sacred words, not just the four, but all fourteen. I’ve already mentioned that William Pierce’s problems with his son, Don Black’s with his, and even David Irving’s with his daughter who developed schizophrenia, are—my educated guess—related to having mistreated their children. We can only imagine what would have happened without that mistreatment! Instead of betraying the cause, Pierce’s and Black’s sons, for example, could now be a great force for good; and Irving’s daughter would be alive and able to help safeguard her father’s legacy.

The psychological devastation caused by parental abuse is an infinitely more taboo subject than the most radical racism. The US, for example, allowed George Lincoln Rockwell to flourish (one of his own group assassinated him). This doesn’t happen with the trauma model of mental disorders. There isn’t a single academic department in the world that addresses this topic! That’s why I believe I must continue translating my trilogy.

Ultimately, the goal of this site is to show that the four words are the other side of the fourteen. For example, our friend Tyrone Joseph Walsh, who used to comment here, is now in a UK prison. Before his sentencing, when he wasn’t yet incarcerated, I suggested he flee to Mexico. He refused because Joseph idealised Charles Manson and others who had been imprisoned (Manson was also horribly abused by his mother as a child).

If our friend had written a trilogy like mine, he would be free now (it’s easier to damage the System from outside prison than from inside). The fact is, Joseph didn’t internally process the damage inflicted on him at home when he was a teenager.

Children’s fairy tales, once a literary detective discovers they were altered due to the Fourth Commandment, are very wise. They are a coded language of what I now write in a way that is more understandable to our time. But I seriously doubt that the readers of The Occidental Observer, who are now reading those few pages of my Hojas Susurrantes, can conceive of the size of the iceberg that lies beneath such a small ridge of ice.

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Hojas Susurrantes (book) Sigmund Freud

Good news!

The English translation of some pages from my book Hojas Susurrantes, very critical of an influential Jew, Sigmund Freud, has just been published in The Occidental Observer (here).

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Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Consumption, 6

My brief optimism in those weeks did not last. Soon enough, my mood plummeted back into its soft, sad hole, and my scalpel was in my hands again. This time, I did not tell my parents. I also tried my hardest to be more careful at school, wearing a long-sleeved underlayer and bandaging my arms with elasticated crepe bandages from my mother’s medical cabinet. Though still relatively containable, the damage I was inflicting increased, as did the frequency.

In between, I drifted in moody silence, occasionally breaking into vast floods of tears, up in my bedroom, soaking my pillow, or in the downstairs’ craft room’ sat in the corner on a wooden kitchen chair, the dining room long turned over to my burgeoning library, my computer, and a table of fantasy lead figures with a painting desk to one side. Contained, or so they thought, in my historical reading habits or my miniature painting, much time was still spent by myself, my parents “giving me some space”.

However, sometimes my Dad would come in and tell me to go to bed, his tone more irritable than usual, impatient with me in conversation, and his face grim, exhausted from his gruelling work, and less inclined to talk about our usual spread of cultural interests, or indeed my feelings, curt and prescriptive, asking me simply, “have you self-harmed today?” and accepting my denial at face value, then stomping out. In the evening, murmurs came from their bedroom. Occasionally, voices were raised, and my mother would appear on the stairs in tears. […]

Here we see not only that Benjamin’s parents lacked empathy for what was happening to their son, or rather, what they had been doing to their teenage son in conjunction with the abuse at school. As if that weren’t enough the parents used psychiatry: a fraudulent profession that, without medical evidence, makes big business with Big Pharma by claiming that all mental problems are biomedical. On my Spanish-language website you can read a section in which I expose how Giuseppe Amara, the psychiatrist my mother wanted to use to break my teenage will, had a sort of unspoken slogan: “Family problems, medical solutions”.

Naturally! If someone wants to profit from the pain of others, children included, they will never, ever side with the affected party. They will always side with those who can pay for their services, no matter how surreal it may be to drug a victim of, say, school bullying instead of rescuing the child from the insulting environment. In my trilogy I call this “psychiatric revictimisation”.

In biological psychiatry the environment is never questioned. All the blame is placed on the victim: his brain or genes. That is why Benjamin’s doctor simply prescribed him SRI antidepressants without making the slightest inquiry as to whether the problem had an existential cause, as was the case.

In my case, as I recount in Letter to mom Medusa, shortly after I tried to tell the psychoanalyst in his office what my parents were doing to me at home, Giuseppe Amara prescribed that they bombard my brain with the most incisive neuroleptic (even though I had no psychiatric symptoms)! Although it may seem incredible to unsuspecting readers, this is precisely how psychiatry works: the client, the father or mother, who requests his services is always right, and “he who pays the piper calls the tune” (children can never pay the so-called mental health professional).

But Benjamin did have symptoms. I don’t want to go into the details of how he self-harmed because it is very disturbing. Anyone who wants to find out can obtain a copy of his book. I just want to reiterate what I recently said in the comments section: We explain the internal process of the self-harmer on page 40 of my book Day of Wrath, and anyone who wants to delve deeper into the subject should read the entire chapter, not just page 40. Benjamin’s story continues:

A useless, stupid form, I had no reason now to look for justifications, settled into my pattern. I was simply a sinner, a wretched waste, and each new lunge at myself, conducted with fierce, black hatred and the coldest rage, cemented my necessity to continue. After all, I was evil now, and I had disappointed my parents, let down all around me, and betrayed the words of God. And the only cure for that weakness and that criminal lack of decency was to cut it better, however long it took, to redeem myself through pain, a pain I did not, at any point, enjoy, a terrible sensation wracking my pale, sensitive skin.

I shouldn’t be allowed to escape unpunished, I thought, clear to me; it was only right. I had upset them, scared them and hurt their feelings. My poor parents. What a monster I was. My head filled with rude swear words, names for myself, “the c**t”, “the bast*rd”, “the f**king idiot”. And so the blades went in, one by one then in tandem, clasped between fingers, in wincing gasps of agony and falling skin, and the days went on. “Please”, I pleaded with myself, “mercy”. “F**k you, you pathetic bast*rd”, I answered myself silently, “you did this”, “now shut up!”

This sort of Gollum’s warfare against the healthy part of his self denotes, according to our point of view in Day of Wrath, what Colin Ross calls “the locus of control shift”: something closely related to “the problem of attachment to the perpetrator” whom we are conditioned to love as children. Benjamin then includes another disturbing paragraph about the details of his self-harm, which I will also refrain from quoting. He then writes:

“Benjamin!” my father said in snappy annoyance. “Sit down here now and stop being so antisocial.” So I sat on the black leather upholstery of the sofa for a while and tried to smile a little more, listening to my aunties tell their jokes, pretending I couldn’t feel the detestable sensation under my clothes, an ever-present sting perched there, legs together, quiet and reserved, and riddled with hundreds of sharp little scratches, my burning surface partially skinned and my clothes slightly damp, distracted and cloudy in mind, just waiting to head upstairs again. […]

Shame had become guilt, and I was fused with self-hate, my rigged moral perfectionism inverting the reality of my historical situation, inculcated from such a young age with steady doses of mental poison that I was now at a critical threshold, as if in toxic shock.

In between these bouts of auto-sadism, I was still cogent and in full cognitive clarity, my intellectual faculties otherwise unaffected, and, provided they did not persist in making inquiries or watch me like a hawk (which did not become apparent to them until much later), I found other people did not notice anything was wrong. Though the pupils had heard of my first injuries from Josh, they had no idea of the scale, and I gather most considered it an isolated incident, a ‘fad’ that I would soon grow out of.

When I returned from Ireland in the new year, binning two of my shirts before leaving, washing out the stains from my jacket lining in the sink, and packing my suitcase, I was able to blend straight back into the school environment, continuing my lessons in the commencing term, with a little SSRI tablet a day, and nothing really to add to that, to all intents and purposes getting slightly better, or so everyone thought. Much as it was well understood that “he’s got Depression”, “he did this…” and “he’s ill now”, no one, curiously, had ever paused to ask me how I felt or to inquire what actually was wrong. […]

One day, near the end of the Spring term, not long before my AS exams, I was sitting in the dorm study room with another boy named Gerald, a half- Malaysian pupil whom I had a mild friendship with […] Gerald had caught me crying also, in the dorm and various quiet parts of the school, and soon after began to distance himself again, considering me “nuts” and “a bit of a head case”, disapproving of my distress, and frustrated that I didn’t just “snap out of it”.

Psychiatry is just the tip of the iceberg. The whole problem has to do with a society that wants to know nothing about existential problems—unless they are presented in theatrical tragedies, as the Greeks did, or in modern movies where the plot can be understood even by housewives. But if someone in real life wants to communicate that she suffers from a maddening dynamics with her mother, like the self-harmer woman in the film La Pianiste, she is generally ignored not only by those close to them, but also by so-called mental health professionals.

For example, in my trilogy I recount how my mother, who really was the crazy one in the house, projected her evil onto me and sent me to various professionals over the years. None of them wanted to listen to me. But the most shocking thing is something I confess in the third volume.

Only a very traditionalist priest, whom my mother suggested I go to on the advice of Mrs Eva Grimaldi, listened to me! The reason for this wouldn’t be understood in the least unless the reader is familiar with the critical literature on all mental health professions, whether pseudo-medical like psychiatry, or mere therapy with psychoanalysts or clinical psychologists. (See, for example, Against Therapy: Emotional Tyranny and the Myth of Psychological Healing by Jeffrey Masson, with whom I exchanged a brief correspondence several years ago.)

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Autobiography Hojas Susurrantes (book) Oracle of Delphi

My first book

Those who don’t read Deschner’s series on Christendom’s history on which I am now focusing are perhaps unaware that, within those posts, I interject comments of my own. For example, yesterday I commented on Charlemagne’s childhood as follows:

The autobiographical genre I want to inaugurate, analysing our abusive parents, sheds great light on these issues.

Anyone who has read my De Jesús a Hitler will know that my father was picked on in Catholic schools. The priests perpetrated a tremendous psyop on him (remember that the Jesuits say that if you give them a child at six, mentally he will be theirs forever).

In one of the sources Deschner himself quotes, Charlemagne is said to have been educated in a monastery. That is the key to understanding everything he did when he left that place.

As bizarre as it may seem, analysing the mad father who mistreated us sheds intense light on historical figures who caused the darkest hour that the white man is currently suffering from. But who’s interested in this new literary genre?

Unlike our books on racial issues, the good news is that Lulu Inc. is not censoring my books dealing with parental abuse of their children. That means I will be able to translate each of my books originally written in the language of Cervantes: a series I decided to title From Jesus to Hitler. The first of these eleven books appears below in brown because it is possible, once again, to get a hard copy of it.

From Jesus to Hitler:

Whispering Leaves (Vol. I)

  1. Letter to mom Medusa
  2. How to murder your child’s soul
  3. My childhood
  4. The return of Quetzalcoatl
  5. Whispering leaves

Will you help me? (Vol. II)

  1. Father
  2. Corina
  3. Mother
  4. Leonora
  5. Will you help me?

11. The Grail (Vol. III)
 
Unless death surprises me, I will eventually translate the other ten. Understanding why my father did what he did sheds great light on the subject I am passionate about: deciphering the ethnosuicidal mind of today’s white man, like what I said above about Charlemagne. Once the translation of From Jesus to Hitler is finished, it will be much easier to explain my philosophical ideas. But of course: my visitors would have to know what I have written.

I will now add Letter to mom Medusa to the featured post.

At the moment, my books on racial issues are only available as PDFs. That doesn’t bother me too much because even the thick volume of The Fair Race is comprised of many articles, which means that it is possible to print out one of those articles at home for convenient reading.

That is not possible with From Jesus to Hitler. There are books, such as the volumes of The Gulag Archipelago (whose most brilliant pages are incidentally also autobiographical) that have to be read in book form. Even fiction like LOTR (that is currently being outraged by Amazon) has to be read in book form, as indeed I did with the deluxe edition we see below.

The advantage of dividing From Jesus to Hitler into eleven books is that one can decide, after reading the first, whether it is worth investing time in the second; and so on. Unlike LOTR, in non-fiction it is extremely difficult to write in such an intense way that the reading doesn’t bore but moves us to continue reading a work that exceeds a thousand pages. That’s why it took me so many decades to finish it.

So my books in the From Jesus to Hitler series will not come in PDFs. If you want a copy of the first one you will have to get it by clicking on the brown words in the list above (if you want the whole series in the language in which it was written, click here).

Know thyself and thou shalt know the universe and the Gods, said the inscription on the Delphic Temple. He who knows himself can no longer continue his ethnosuicidal practices. He has freed himself from the Monsters of the Id. He has become what Savitri Devi calls an initiate.

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Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book) Quotable quotes

Toxic parents

‘Narcissist parents lie, cheat, delude themselves and even murder their offspring’s souls to project and maintain a false image of themselves, because admission of responsibility would threaten their false self-image’, wrote someone who understands trauma.

Interestingly, Lulu Inc. is allowing my books dealing with child abuse, so I will try to publish once again the translation of the first of my books on the subject.

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3-eyed crow Hojas Susurrantes (book) Racial right

Why I don’t talk about the news

Talking about the news is a matter for commoners, not the crow.

These days I rarely read entire articles that come from the pen of white nationalists. And indeed, today I didn’t read the entire article that MacDonald published yesterday, ‘Why It’s Important for Trump to Win’. If we imagine that there is such a thing as the three-eyed raven, with all that wealth of knowledge about the human past, then the fact that the most powerful nation spearheads the suicidal passion of whites is seen from the crow’s meta-perspective of all history and its general meaning. Commenting on the news, on the other hand, is myopia.

Unlike the raven MacDonald doesn’t live beneath the weirwood tree; he’s unaware of the history of Christianity (soon I’ll continue with instalment 130 of my Deschner excerpts). He’s clueless about how the religion that instilled the doctrine of eternal torture in whites and forced them to worship Yahweh has been transmuted into runaway self-hatred once it became secular.

Similarly, my visitors are unaware of why debunking psychiatry or understanding the trauma model that I have been promoting on this site is important. Just think of the second paradigmatic case of girls in Colin Ross’s class to understand the self-harming attitudes of today’s white man. That chapter appears less than thirty pages after Paulina’s missive in the original Whispering Leaves book.

If we understand how there are adult women who self-injure—the case of the second girl when she grows up—, we will understand why virtually all whites self-injure today through an ethno-suicidal ideology originated in the Levant. It is this psychohistorical meta-perspective, the third eye of the raven’s vision to use George R.R. Martin’s character, that distinguishes this site from other racialist sites.

And by the way, America delenda est.

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Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Exlibris

Those who wish to read my recent ‘Nobody Wanted to Listen’ series in due order can do so on my Ex Libris page (here).

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Autobiography Correspondence Hojas Susurrantes (book)

Nobody wanted to listen, 11

Epilogue

Every time I tried to draw water from the well, the bucket came out dry in the desert of my acquaintances. Parents or personal tragedies, as a subject, was forbidden throughout society. For decades I couldn’t cover the topic with anyone.

For the human galaxy of those who commit suicide that history has seen, ‘at least one soul in the entire world’ could have saved them, some confessed. But they had no one to show solidarity with them and they killed themselves. How many millions of humans could have written a History of My Mind like the one the poet Kleist threw into the flames before blowing his brains out? Throughout my twenties and thirties something similar happened to me: I couldn’t write when I had everything ready to do so. Nor could I study a career, and what is worse, I didn’t understand why. In addition to the Letter I had written, my will faded away as I tried other enterprises. Then someone appeared in my life.

Caesar:

The day before I received your letter. How long the mail takes!

I have finished reading your book, it is so shocking and disturbing that sometimes I had to stop reading because of the sadness and pain I felt. It made me think and once I started to cry and I better stopped reading it because I was going to wet the pages… I understand your suffering and at the same time I admire your strength. Another lad would have become an alcoholic, a drug addict, a homosexual, a robber or whatnot.

Despite everything, I imagine that your parents love you, as well as you love them. How good it would be if they recognised the damage they caused you and changed their attitude towards you. The past could no longer be changed, but perhaps you would feel better in your self-esteem. (I think deep down they feel remorse, but they don’t want to admit it. How humility is necessary to recognise one’s mistakes.)

November 24, 1998. And you walking through those gloomy streets of Manchester, at midnight, with the solitude of Chirico’s paintings. Like a repetitive nightmare: the teenage Caesar slapped and alone. The one who lost his family and only loved his tree. The Caesar who walked around in his bedroom at his grandmother’s house when he turned thirty…

July 17, 1999. The letter you want to send to your mother (‘Postscript: I will never forget the golden stage that, thanks to you, dad and my siblings, I passed as a child in the house in Palenque’) touched me. I really like that about you.

But I am very sad that there is no reconciliation with your family. I felt a lump in my throat when I read your postscript: you love them Caesar. I can’t understand why your parents harden their hearts—they love you too! How sad that out of pride, for reasons unknown, they don’t come near you. How would it feel to lose their child? I don’t want them to leave this world with that abyss towards you…

Don’t take me wrong, believe me it comes from my heart.

Take care,

Paulina.

Returning to the country after a year in the gloomy and rainy city of Manchester, and speaking with her in person, she confessed to me that upon reaching the passage of my Letter where I put on a jacket when running away from home when my father hit me, she felt like a Thumbelina like the one in the children’s story. That Thumbelina, she told me, although she couldn’t travel back in time to that night in April 1976 and console myself, felt all the intensity of my tragedy. She wanted to be, although at least as small as the character in the story, an inner voice of comfort in my heart during the most crucial night of my life.

Paulina’s compassion was the cure for my soul: the antithesis of all the offenses of so many people over so many years. A single word of comfort can save a life. It’s like seeing life in colour again after centuries of seeing everything in black and white. ‘If at least one soul in the whole world…’ said those who would commit suicide.

But they had none.

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Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book) Psychiatry

Nobody wanted to listen, 10

The pathetic survivors

Finally, I can be told that since the mental health professions are inherently corrupt, I shouldn’t have considered even anti-psychiatrists but only survivor groups. Common sense tells us that, unlike the professionals who are part of the system, in self-help groups we will find the much sought after help. But let’s remember what happened with those filmmakers when I said that the Alcoholics Anonymous therapies were skin deep because they omitted the issue of parental abuse. This omission is endemic in self-help groups and even in less superficial associations than AA and its countless imitations of the twelve steps. For example, in the texts that are circulated in a group called Co-counselling I was stunned by the absolute omission of the role that parents play in the emotional problems of their children. Nothing is more alien from the ideology of this group than to fight for the legislative milestones of those countries that have prohibited corporal punishment of children. And exactly the same can be said for any other self-help group. Needless to say, not attacking the root cause is, as I told the AA believer who went mad at me, an epidermal remedy.

Laing was a philosopher of disturbed minds. But philosophical sophistication often serves as a smokescreen to hide the mistakes of a thinker. In psychiatric survivor circles it is common to hear that Robert Whitaker’s Mad in America, published in 2001, is considered the most educational book against psychiatry ever written. Whitaker definitely gets off the philosophical tower of Foucault, Szasz, and Laing. But in his book, Whitaker doesn’t say a word about whether parents could be the agents of trauma. Mad in America’s deficiency was exposed when a guest in the guest house I lived in, read some passages from the book in my library and came across a favourite Whitaker quote among psychiatrists themselves: ‘Little is known about what causes schizophrenia’. My friend repeated this psychiatric slogan, omitting my footnote: ‘It bothers me that, after quoting Modrow, Whitaker didn’t want to see that the cause of the insanity has been known for decades’. And that’s the ‘best critical book’ on psychiatry, written not by a mental health professional but by an acclaimed journalist.

A word now about the most structured organisation of survivors of psychiatry: Mind Freedom International, which has invited Whitaker to its events (I don’t take into account the activism of the Church of Scientology against psychiatry because it’s mixed with Scientology quackery). This organisation publishes a magazine that bears the same name, Mind Freedom. In its winter 2002 issue, which features a photograph of Breggin on the cover, the magazine listed dozens of books critical of the psychiatric profession. But in the review of Modrow’s book it omitted to mention his central thesis: extremely abusive parents can cause ‘schizophrenia’ in the child. What has Modrow opined about such omission? It is pertinent to point out that, although I have consulted the Mind Freedom page many times, I have never come across a phrase that affirms that parental abuse may be involved in the child’s crisis. This is surprising when you consider that David Oaks, the director of the organisation, had a psychotic breakdown when he was in his twenties; and it is also surprising because a grassroots movement like Mind Freedom doesn’t have to comply with the political correctness of the most academic authors (the contributors to Simon’s journal for example). When I confronted Oaks about this omission, like Breggin he hid behind a wall of silence.

I must say that one of the aspects of Mind Freedom that caught my attention is its insistence on speaking of insanity as something to be proud of: similar to, say, the sexual identity advocated in the so-called gay movement. In fact, from the correspondence he sends me, I realised that Oaks is very interested in having the idea of ‘Mad Pride’ promulgated, including parades, imitating those of ‘Gay Pride’. This is a grotesque idealisation: we can already imagine Modrow feeling proud in 1960 because he was John the Baptist! With honourable exceptions the survivors of psychiatry, including those who demonstrate on the street, appear pathetic. In some internet reviews I recommended books by Szasz, Simon’s journal that Breggin originally created, Whitaker’s Mad in America, and Mind Freedom’s web page. Now I’m not so sure of the wisdom of these recommendations. None of them have dared to see the most terrible event in life: the maddening panic of a child assaulted at home. It is a splendid irony that, like their psychiatric foes, parental toxicity is a taboo subject for many anti-psychiatrists.

In How to Murder Your Child’s Soul I tried to cut a weed at ground level. But the extirpation that I do here reaches a root untouched in my previous book. In our culture it is strictly forbidden to get to the root of evil in the world. Breggin has written that we have to wait for the moment when critics of psychiatry are able to galvanise public opinion. He doesn’t realise that for that moment to come, Miller’s revolution in psychology must first be consolidated. Psychiatry doesn’t re-victimise children who are beaten at home by accident. It does it out of necessity. It is just one of the most recent institutions of an ancient social heritage that recreates evil in each generation. Psychiatry is part of an ancient cultural fabric: from the biblical ‘wise’ Solomon who advises beating the child, to the ‘educator’ Jean-Jacques Rousseau who abandoned his babies in an orphanage. Laing himself abused his family terribly. What people like Breggin don’t want to understand is that it is impossible to convince society of the falsehood of psychiatry if his editors don’t even tolerate the word ‘trauma’ in the manuscripts that come to them. Some of that trauma can be glimpsed in the TV talk show subculture with all the simplicity and vulgarity that these shows represent. But there is no chair in any university in the world that formally addresses the subject.

This is the most astonishing fact that I have come across in Alice Miller’s work.

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Child abuse Hojas Susurrantes (book) Psychiatry Sigmund Freud

Nobody wanted to listen, 9

Ronald Laing and anti-psychiatry

What’s written above leads me to a corollary to my book How to Murder Your Child’s Soul. The universal stubbornness or blindness about the ravages resulting from parental abuse is the cause of the existence of psychiatry. Because parents are taboo, for more than a century the profession has tried to find the source of mental disorders on the wrong side, the body. Parents are not only publicly untouchable: we are not even allowed to see their actions in the solitude of our bedrooms. So, when uncontaminated by social underpinnings, a child dares to say that his parental kings go naked, society completely loses its cool and labels the sane one who has told the truth as crazy. Through the involuntary administration of drugs it assaults the brain not of the disturbed parents, but of the child (analogously, in the former Soviet Union it was the sanest people, the dissidents, who were injected with antipsychotics). This was the tragedy that I tried to denounce in my previous books, and it is perfectly explainable if we start from the fact that the whole society strives to be blind on this matter.

A world that insists on seeing things in photographic negative can only (1) attack the child victim, or (2) ignore the adult in a literary search for his lost time. If such a vision in photonegative didn’t exist, bio-psychiatry wouldn’t exist: our eyes and hearts would make us see the toll that abuse entails. Psychic disturbances would be the province of the psychologist, and it would be seen as nonsense that they would be the province of the physician. It is more than ironic that the greatest critics of psychiatry have contributed, with their blindness, to perpetuate the pseudoscience they try to debunk.

To explain this situation, I would like to mention that in 2005 an American wrote me a letter. After reading ‘Why Psychiatry is a False Science’ published as an appendix to my previous book (the article that Laurence Simon refused to publish), he complained that after so many decades of activism critics of psychiatry hadn’t made a dent in the public conscience. The key to understanding this is that the critics themselves suffer from a blind spot in the centre of their vision: something similar to the black strip that appears on pay-TV channels. If the critics refuse to see what is central, that parental abuse causes neuroses and psychoses, and if it is from this black strip that it is intended to enlighten others, it shouldn’t be surprising that the public conscience hasn’t awakened.

______ 卐 ______

 
Interpolated note for this site:

Exactly the same happens to white nationalists, as Mike has told us on this site: ‘Whatever you want to call it, thinking you can aid in saving the white race while, at the same time, bending the knee to Jewish deities (Yahweh and Yeshua) is some kind of combination of insane, dishonest, cowardly, naive, or very stupid. To bottom line it, it won’t and can’t work’.

I used Mike’s words to debunk MacDonald at the end of my Daybreak.

______ 卐 ______

 
To clarify this point, I will now refer to those professionals who didn’t suffer from this blind spot. Unlike Szasz and Breggin’s epigones, Lidz, Laing, Arieti and others pointed to parents as responsible for the psychoses in their patients. But even these and many other psychiatrists didn’t sympathise with the victim with the integrity and empathy that Miller and I do. For example, in the Letter I quoted Theodore Lidz:

I also find it very distressing that because the parents’ attitudes and interactions are important determinants of schizophrenic disorders, some therapists and family caseworkers treat parents as villains who have ruined the lives of their patients.

Although I barely caught a glimpse of it when I wrote the Letter, now I clearly see in this sentence the typical fears to speak, without mincing words, of parental guilt. By resisting saying that abusive parents are what they are—the villains in the child’s movie—Lidz advised taking the victim away from his parent. The difference with Miller cannot be greater, who advises keeping the aggressor away from home. What’s the point of moving, say, a pubescent girl raped by her father if the aggressor stays at home, waiting for the next little sister to grow up to molest her too? But sexual abuse isn’t the most common.

At the time of reviewing this chapter, as of mid-2008, twenty-eight nations have prohibited corporal punishment of children. The dates indicate the year the legislation came into force, starting with the country that provided the example: Sweden (1979); Finland (1983); Norway (1987); Austria (1989); Cyprus (1994); Latvia (1998); Croatia (1999); Bulgaria, Israel and Germany (2000); Iceland (2003); Romania and Ukraine (2004); Hungary (2005); Greece (2006), Chile, Holland, New Zealand, Portugal, Spain, Uruguay and Venezuela (2007); Costa Rica, Italy, Japan, Malta and South Africa (2008). In Iceland, a country that illustrates Miller’s advice, the penalties for parents go up to three years in prison or a high fine. Note that these countries have omitted to include psychological and emotional abuse, which can be equally destructive, or even more so, since all bruises are internal (think of the Helfgott case and countless other schizogenic parents). Despite these legislative advances, these societies still cannot see other forms of undermining the emotional integrity of the children. Laing, who did focus on internal injuries, was closer to Miller than Lidz when he came to blatantly blame the maddening parents. But like Szasz, Laing philosophised from an ivory tower: cold and distant reason from the victim and his feelings, as was fashionable in the existential philosophy of his time. Much more reached the real person those who, without any philosophical ballast, addressed the issue of domestic violence: a revolution in psychology that began in the 1970s and 1980s and isn’t yet over. In the first chapter of The Divided Self (1960) entitled ‘The existential-phenomenological foundations for a science of persons’ Laing wrote:

It seems extraordinary that whereas the physical and biological sciences of it-processes have generally won the day against tendencies to personalize the world of things or to read human intentions into the animal world, an authentic science of persons has hardly got started by reason of the inveterate tendency to depersonalize or reify persons.

Laing refers to mental health professionals in particular and the social sciences in general.

If it is held that to be unbiased one should be ‘objective’ in the sense of depersonalizing the person who is the ‘object’ of our study, any temptation to do this under the impression that one is thereby being scientific must be rigorously resisted. Depersonalization in a theory that is intended to be a theory of persons is as false as schizoid depersonalization of others and is no less ultimately an intentional act. Although conducted in the name of science, such reification yields false ‘knowledge’. It is just as pathetic a fallacy as the false personalization of things.

In philosophising about the autobiographical genre, I came to these conclusions on my own. Animism and bio-reductionism are antithetical psychopathologies, one primitive and tribal and the other sophisticated and urban. And this objectifying people reminds me of the dehumanised language of the analyst Solbein: ‘Those are common clinical experiences’. [Interpolated note for this blog: See also Krist Krusher’s recent comment on this site.] Laing continues:

It is unfortunate that personal and subjective are words so abused as to have no power to convey any genuine act of seeing the other as person (if we mean this we have to revert to ‘objective’), but imply immediately that one is merging one’s own feelings and attitudes into one’s study of the other in such a way as to distort our perception of him. In contrast to the reputable ‘objective’ or ‘scientific’, we have the disreputable ‘subjective’, ‘intuitive’, or, worst of all, ‘mystical’. It is interesting, for example, that one frequently encounters ‘merely’ before subjective, whereas it is almost inconceivable to speak of anyone being ‘merely’ objective.

So far I’m in perfect agreement with Laing. Remember the passage of the two universes, the empirical and the interior; and that the existence of the subjective universe is so real that it is enough to think about our death to verify it [mentioned in the first part of the book]. However, Laing adds:

The greatest psychopathologist has been Freud. Freud was a hero. He descended to the ‘Underworld’ and met there stark terrors. He carried with him his theory as a Medusa’s head which turned these terrors to stone. We who follow Freud have the benefit of the knowledge he brought back with him and conveyed to us.

As I pointed out in my previous book, for Jeffrey Masson psychoanalysis was born as a betrayal of women. The Oedipus complex was nothing more than a grotesque attempt to cast guilt on the victims who came to Freud’s office to tell him stories of incest. Analytic theory is the diametrically opposite of wielding the head of the Medusa. If there is such a thing as the antithesis of the hero, that was Sigmund Freud: an ethnic Jew who, although he reached the threshold, was afraid to enter the Underworld and face pure terrors (remember my dreams when commenting on Giorgio de Chirico’s painting). Laing, an idol in my twenties, portrayed Freud in photographic negative and saw the dark as bright. Like many intellectuals of his day, Laing was seduced by the apotheosis of the Vienna quack, something in which Szasz was much more cautious.

When I reread Laing, I did so with a renewed mind after reading Masson, Szasz, and other critics of the psychoanalytic movement. In my rereading of the last chapter of The Divided Self I realised that Julie, one of Laing’s patients, was admitted to a psychiatric ward for almost a decade. If Laing himself hadn’t suffered from the scientific objectivity that he criticises, he would have empathised with Julie denouncing those who locked her up. True, in stark contrast to Szasz and Simon, Laing blamed mothers like Julie’s for their daughter’s psychosis. However, in The Divided Self he never made it clear that the mere fact of locking her up could aggravate her condition. In what I am close to Laing is that when reading his essay one is left under the impression that Julie’s mother, more than psychiatry, ‘murdered a girl’. These are the words of Julie speaking parabolically about herself: she meant that her mother murdered her tender soul. Now, the person Julie, not the object of Laing’s essay, needed to be taken away from the psychiatric hospital and from the mother who committed her; to take her to live far from her ‘murderer’. When she began her psychotic crisis at seventeen years old and said ‘a little girl was murdered’ Julie thought that she should inform the police about the crime.

Her delirium was closer to Miller’s posture than to the psychiatric that locked her up. The laws of a nation should seek to lock up the maddening parent, not the victim (who, in a state of florid psychosis, would have to be cared for in a non-repressive enclosure like the one that Laing presided over). In a just society that doesn’t see reality in the photonegative, this would naturally be done through the police. But in her chapter on Julie, Laing never suggests this. In fact, both the word victim and an exhortation of justice are the great absent in The Divided Self. Also, Laing doesn’t denounce the psychiatric re-victimisation of other women clearly maddened by their family. In another of his famous books, The Politics of Experience, he limits himself to reproaching society for misunderstanding psychoses. Sometimes Laing even seems to participate in the universal fear of touching the parent. Speaking of Julie’s mother, Laing mentions one of the fashionable concepts in the 1950s, the ‘schizophrenogenic mother’ but is quick to add that, fortunately in his opinion, there was no other ‘witch hunt’ in history: an equivocal comparison with women labelled witches centuries ago. If there is one thing the world needs, through the law that Miller outlines, it is to bring to justice every parent who murders children souls. The basic pathology of our society is that this crime, and this crime alone, must remain not only unpunished but invisible. For example, Silvano Arieti, Laing’s colleague across the Atlantic, talked a lot about psychotherapy in Interpretation of Schizophrenia. But he never proposed any social engineering to redress the problem of maddening parents; and he didn’t do so despite the fact that Arieti blames them for the psychotic state of his patients.

‘To my mother and father’ reads the dedication of Laing’s The Divided Self. ‘To my parents’, the dedication of Arieti’s Interpretation of schizophrenia (etymologically, schizophrenia means a divided self). Naturally, the most sophisticated thinkers of insanity also had parents. (In my next book we will hear a class about the problem of attachment with the perpetrator that explains the lukewarmness of Laing, Arieti and others.) Not until the middle of The Divided Self Laing speaks openly about abusive parents. In contrast, Miller and I do it from the first page of our writing, and passionately.

After reading The Divided Self, the best of Laing’s essays, I was convinced that there can be no such thing as a science of subjects. Seen from the outside, the subject inevitably becomes an object: an offense for those who want to speak with their own voice. This is precisely the foundational flaw of academic psychology. If science is the study of the empirical world there can be no such thing as a ‘science of persons’, only people writing about their lives. Although Laing had much more heart than Freud, and this puts him on a higher level to understand the tragedy of the person in crisis, he starts from the same objectivist position. His essays and those of Lidz are, at best, a solidary approach to the disturbed subject. It’s funny that in The Divided Self Laing quotes Sartre: ‘I am not fond of the word psychological. There is no such thing as the psychological. Let us say that one can improve the biography of the person’. I would go further. The direct study of a soul in psychotic hell can only come from the pen of someone who, like Modrow, speaks in the first person singular.