Given those facts, do you think it’s possible literal, real, metaphysical Satanic influence is guiding the British leaders?
Preposterous! More probably, snatched Britons are merely acting out their emotional issues, as I explained about an adult Spanish woman who transfers the hatred she feels toward her abusive parents toward her parents’ culture.
Below, what I wrote by the end of 2009 when analyzing her. I apologize in advance that, since most of the original entries in Spanish don’t appear below (it would triple the length of this post), my English translation appears disjointed or disconnected at some places:
Today’s suicidal ethos throughout the West is unimaginably deeper than anything that the common Western patriot, or even the most sophisticated intellectual, has ever glimpsed in his wildest dreams. While intellectuals in the white nationalist movement are good in describing the predicament that the West faces today, at the same time they are clueless about the basic etiology of the whys of the ethnic and cultural self-hatred behind some of our people. Why is this so?
I have written a book from the viewpoint of depth psychology and cannot summarize my findings in this entry. Suffice it to say that the most extreme cases of cultural and ethnic self-hatred go back to the way we were raised by our parents, and the defense mechanisms that we unconsciously built in response to the family dynamics. Although I believe this is the universal cause of extreme self-hatred, in the sense of hatred toward our parents’ culture, in this article I will use a single case-study to illustrate why a westerner that I know hates her culture to the point of desiring its destruction. I analyze her not as a personal vendetta, but in the hope that those who defend our culture and ethnicity will become aware of what Alice Miller calls the forbidden knowledge.
Below, my translation of what I wrote in Spanish in several entries elsewhere:
First entry (6 October 2009)
It’s incredible what a broke guy does to get out of poverty. After the tragedy that occurred in my family, the central subject of my series of books Hojas Susurrantes, I ended up without profession or a job. Through the internet I met a woman from Gran Canaria, Teresa, who proposed to marry me so that I may obtain work permit in Spain. Though we never married, and although there was never intimacy between us, Teresa initiated the paperwork as if she was my employer so that, with time, I could obtain the work permit. Since I originally believed that this was altruistic help I accepted in order to break away from my family’s future inheritance and, finally, be free to publish my Hojas Susurrantes about them.
This idealism moved me to embark on a trip to Gran Canaria. Neither Teresa (“Tere”) nor I suspected that the 2009 economic crisis in Spain would severely worsen during the time I stayed there. Thousands of the island’s canary citizens lost their jobs. I was not even a Canarian and under those circumstances I lived ten months in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria…
But thanks to the unemployment I educated myself. I used those long months to read lots of articles in the blogosphere about the islamization of Europe, and even about the extinction of the white race (if the present suicidal birth-rate trend among Caucasians continues). Since in good faith I always talk about my projects and readings, I committed the mistake of telling Tere that I was involved in the counter-jihad movement; that is, the movement in the blogosphere concerned about the islamization of the West.
What a blunder… In the following months that I lived in Tere’s flat, unable to get out because of lack of a job, Tere harassed me with phone calls, e-mails and, when she visited Canaria (she works in Madrid), even personally. But I’m getting ahead of our story.
The days in which Tere gave me a tour in her island I witnessed how she approached the employees of the shops with questions in very bad mood. When I confronted her about this sort of behavior she replied that we were too susceptible; that she was a courageous woman and that the people simply misunderstand her passion. In a couple of e-mails she told me that her moods formed part of “her always critical and questioning nature.” She also wrote:
“It’s true that I can be very intense or passionate in discussions, something that some people misinterpret as irritation or anger.”
In these entries we will see what these “misinterpretations” really were, and why I consider her case a perfect paradigm to understand the West’s suicide in general and Europe’s in particular.
Second entry (12 October 2009)
Why do I use my time in something apparently so irrelevant like writing about the hysterias of a leftist woman? Simple reason: because we lack what in The Divided Self Laing called a “science of the persons.”
After Romanticism the genre of confessional autobiography cropped up. Unfortunately, by pretending to approach the subject on the basis of abstract principles, psychoanalysis, academic psychology and psychiatry usurped the study of the inner self and approached our souls from the impossible viewpoint of objectivism. This category error permeates the academia insofar as to understand concrete people it’s necessary a subjective history of these people.
Oliver Sacks recognizes this in his area of expertise, neurology. In a recent entry in another of my blogs in Spanish I refer to Sacks’ Musicophilia. And in another of his very acclaimed books, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, Sacks complained that in classical neurology we will find a thousand descriptions of the pathologies that correspond to the left hemisphere of the brain for a single pathology about the right hemisphere. He adds:
And yet, as Luria says, they are of the most fundamental importance. So much so that they may demand a new sort of neurology, a “personalistic,” or (as Luria liked to call it) a “romantic,” science; for the physical foundations of the persona, the self, are here revealed for our study. Luria thought a science of this kind would be best introduced by a story—a detailed case-history.
Sacks approaches the hardware problems of the despised right hemisphere of the brain, the hemisphere of the emotions; Laing and I, on the other hand, approach software problems: the cognitive distorsions through which some see the world. Sacks’ field of study is the damaged brain. Laing’s field, like my own, are the damaged minds. One studies the hardware, the other the software. In another of my blogs I have delved deeper into it.
So why do I post a long entry about a leftist that I met, a woman with no societal influence except her vote to Zapatero’s party? As I said, the reason is simple. The best way to illustrate the failures of judgment should be, according to Laing and Sacks, personalistic. But in the psychology departments I wouldn’t be allowed to enter into this type of incursion about a non-notable person.
I would like to quote Sacks again to illustrate this astronomical mistake in academic psychology. In the chapter about the man who, due to a neurological problem—his eyesight abilities were perfectly OK—mistook his wife for a hat, Sacks wrote:
Neurology and psychology, curiously, though they talk of everything else, almost never talk of “judgment.” And yet, judgment is the most important faculty we have. An animal, or a man, may get on very well without “abstract attitude” but will speedily perish if deprived of judgment. Judgment must be the first faculty of higher life or mind—yet it is ignored, or misinterpreted, by classical (computational) neurology. And if we wonder how such an absurdity can arise, we find it in the assumptions, or the evolution, of neurology itself. For classical neurology (like classical physics) has always been mechanical. Of course, the brain is a machine and a computer—everything in classical neurology is correct. But our mental processes are not just abstract and mechanical, but personal, as well—and, as such, involve not just classifying and categorizing, but continual judging and feeling also. If this is missing, we become computer-like, as Dr P. was.
“Doctor P.” was the curious patient who, due to a neurological problem that made him to forget what human faces were, mistook his wife for a hat. (In the above quotation I didn’t use ellipsis between the unquoted phrases.) What Sacks says after the above quote hits the nail:
By a sort of comic and awful analogy, our current cognitive neurology and psychology resemble nothing so much as poor Dr P.! Our cognitive sciences are themselves suffering from an agnosia essentially similar to Dr P.’s. Dr P. may therefore serve as a warning and parable—of what happens to a science which eschews the judgmental, the particular, the personal, and becomes entirely abstract and computational.
As a remedy to this hemiplegic neurology, Sacks recommends the study of the brain’s right hemisphere. Nevertheless, unlike the left hemisphere, the right one cannot be studied with IQ-like tests, but through personalized case-histories. Sacks thus illustrates the neurological dysfunctions in the diverse areas of the right hemisphere. His work showed me stuff about the mind that I hadn’t fully digested a few years ago when I read another of his books, An Anthropologist on Mars. Incidentally, all of my Sacks books were gifts by Tere! On this one I must be grateful to her…
The above are key quotations to make my point. Just as present-day neurology is hemiplegic, the humanities are hemiplegic too, including almost everything published to date about ethno-masoquism in the West. While a few psycho-biographies about the pathologies of politicians are available, it is considered improper to analyze a casual acquaintance.
I believe that this is a gigantic mistake, as my study of Tere will demonstrate. To analyze a staunch far-leftist woman is, in the “software,” the “hardware” equivalent of analyzing the brain lobe of someone who mistakes his wife for a hat.
The original post was too long. I’ve moved “entries” 3 to 12 (and part of the 14th and last entry). Below I keep what is essential to make my point:
Thirteenth entry (28 October 2009)
I’ve already said that Teresa used my economic dependency to harass me about my political views when I wanted to avoid her as if she was the plague itself. The following e-mail excerpts are examples of such harassment. Angrily she wrote:
19 August 2009
And why do you elude person-to-person confrontation? Do you know what’s the problem with you? You constantly send contradictory messages and the other person doesn’t know how to behave with you.
18 August 2009
But your obsession and visceral hatred that you exude in these [YouTube] videos cannot but confirm the idea, already stated in my previous e-mail, that the subject [my exposé of radical Islam] is no more than a scapegoat for your rages and hard feelings about your family. And it’s a pity that ultimately my efforts to help you to come here, and to spread your ideas about psychiatric coercion, have ended in the promotion of the opposite values of liberty, equality and solidarity which I’ve always struggled for. [In the moved posts omitted here I already talked about Tere’s fallacy of identifying anti-psychiatric activism with the “progressive” policies of the left.]
Incidentally, today I was thinking about one of your videos of the “Alice Miller” series where you bitterly criticize your cousin, the filmmaker, because he didn’t dare to comment anything about your book after you gave it to him.
I don’t know if you noticed it, but you did exactly the same when I recommended you to watch the film that I so much identify with—and that had affected me so much that I wasn’t capable of watching it again with you—, titled The Secret Life of Words. Your only comment was a laconic and brief “Not too bad” and only when I questioned you about it you immediately passed on talking about banal subjects with absolute indifference. How can you demand that others do what you don’t do? [I’ll respond to this hysterical demand, that I should have played the role of Tere’s “Doctor Heart”, below.]
17 August 2009
I’ve just watched one of your videos where you say that you’d like to go to the USA and subscribe the Republican Party. HOW CAN YOU BETRAY YOURSELF AND YOUR IDEAS IN SUCH A WAY? I’d like to know what would those right-wingers of “gates of viena” [sic, a counter-jihad blogsite] say about your ideas about traditional family…
24 June 2009
I’ve glanced through, in leaps and bounds just for a change, your English blog. How obsessive!!!! [in June of 2009 most of my entries were about the islamization of Europe]. Isn’t there any other subject of your interest? And in leaps and bounds, some words catch my attention.
“The Reconquest”? It’s as clear as day that you didn’t suffer the Francoist dictatorship and all of its grandiloquent paraphernalia “for God’s empire”!! [Tere reduces ad absurdum my concern about Europe’s islamization in the 21st century with a 20th century chapter in the history of her country.]
23 June 2009
And it’s a stupidity on your part if you think that in Muslim countries the only schools that the children go are usually the Koranic madrassas. [I never said this] In Morocco, for example, the French lyceums have a great tradition and prestige. [Judge by yourselves my dear readers. In the tone she spoke to me, “stupidity on my part,” Tere demanded at the same time that I played the role of her “Doctor Heart”...]
17 June 2009
“…the social engineers that import millions of Muslims to Europe.” But what paranoid conspiracy nonsense is this? [Tere quotes what I wrote in my blog but omits the context because, as she herself acknowledged, she only “glanced through in leaps and bounds” my entries.]
Teresa ends up in the Fruit Cake Hospital
This is the most important section of my analysis [taking into account the analysis I omitted here because of the length of the original post]. It has to do with my hypothesis that an unprocessed hatred toward the abusive family transmutes into depression, as I explain in my essay “On depression.” Within this framework, suicide or suicidal ideation are perfectly comprehensible. Indeed, suicidal ideation is what at the beginnings of the new century Tere suffered when she was committed in a psychiatry ward of a public hospital of Las Palmas. This is the story:
By the end of 2002 Tere contacted my through internet for the first time. In that year I still didn’t have a webpage. But I had translated to Spanish several anti-psychiatric articles authored by Lawrence Stevens. Tere liked especially one of those articles in which, following Tom Szasz, Stevens said that suicide ought to be “a civil right.”
Tere rarely writes in English. Instead of contacting the author she contacted the translator—me—, and through a series of e-mails she revealed an interesting story that I believed from 2002 to 2009, when my trip to her native island disabused me. I confess that since we met in the internet Tere was so fascinated with my anti-psychiatric work that, for years, she paid the bill of my (now defunct) antipsych webpage.
The day that I left her island for good Tere was in her flat of Las Palmas. On her own initiative, she showed me the file of the psychiatric ward in which she was committed not long before she contacted me in 2002. Although it was written in almost illegible handwriting by the nurses and physicians of the hospital, the file demystified the story that Tere had detailed in her e-mails of 2002, as well as in 2003 when she visited Mexico.
In the idealized story, Tere was casually passing by near a bridge in her island when a policeman believed she would jump from it and called the ambulance, which unjustly took her to the hospital. A female doctor, her story goes, had her in an observation room and Tere protested that the detention was taking too long. This moved the doctor to arbitrarily commit her. Once involuntarily committed in the psychiatric ward she was drugged with Valium, again against her will. The tranquilizer produced a terrible side effect, paralyzing her muscles and Tere believed she would die. She wasn’t allowed to leave the ward for days and days… (If she was cut off the outside world it was because she didn’t want to give the doctors but a single phone number of a girlfriend, who to boot was never at home.) Once her brother took her out of the hospital, Tere was so scared that decided to move to Madrid. Even though she owns a flat in Las Palmas (where I would live years later), Tere preferred to share an expensive flat in Madrid in her obsession to get away, at all cost, from the betrayal she suffered in her native island.
This is Tere’s tale. Originally it made such an impression on me that I mentioned it in my webpage without mentioning her name, as a typical case of psychiatric commitment of a sane person. However, when Tere showed me the psychiatric file, I discovered that her tale was a fabrication.
In the diverse documents that Tere showed me, what first caught my eye was the police report. He testified that Tere told him she was measuring the bridge’s height. Tere hadn’t told me this little detail! What I remember now is that even in her idealized version Tere said she rudely talked back to the policeman when he asked her, alarmed, where exactly was she going.
And until now I start to connect the dots. Remember how Tere treated the employees of Las Palmas? The point is that such behavior provides a very different reading of the facts. The policeman knew that another person had killed himself a week before by jumping off the bridge. Now, confronted with a rude woman talking about measuring the bridge’s height in the middle of a freeway road, he called the ambulance. I remember that Tere herself confessed me that the reason she talked rudely to the policeman was because of what the police symbolized in her mind when she was much younger, especially due to the character of the Francoist police.
So we’ve got Franco once more [mentioned several times in the above-omitted entries]. It’s evident that Tere projects her teen experiences to the present, and onto completely innocent people. Nowadays the Spanish police are very different from Franco’s police, and even more in the Canary Islands. The Canary people in general, and the Spanish police in particular, are kind. However, due to her eternal retro-projections Tere didn’t see any provocation coming from her rude answer to the policeman, who only fulfilled his duty after the recent incident. On the contrary, and like other persons with an attitude problem, Tere projects her traumas onto the people in her immediate surroundings, however innocent they may be. For example, in one of her most provocative e-mails Tere wrote:
Are you sure you are not projecting toward the Islamic subject your unresolved rage and revenge thirst for the harm you got in the family during your teens????????
Tere’s head of concrete impedes her seeing that I’m not projecting but describing what’s happening in Europe. That’s not projection. Tere’s words are a projected self-portrait onto the people she happens to encounter. If there’s someone whose “rage and revenge thirst” is unresolved, it is Tere’s. It’s she the one who suffers from “family harms.”
This is not the first time when someone projects onto myself her self-portraiture. Analogously, the first event in the chain that ended up in her commitment, the policeman’s call to the ambulance, had been a diametrically-opposed incident to the story Tere had made me believe. Let’s now see what happened after that.
According to Tere’s tale, the commitment had been an arbitrary action of female the doctor in charge of the admissions. Only until I arrived to the island I learnt that Tere’s suicidal ideation had been something very real. From Tere herself I learned that she was measuring the bridge’s height to make sure she would die after jumping off! Tere told me this personally in Canaria: not even by e-mail. She had to check up the height because a couple of her acquaintances had jumped off from not sufficiently tall buildings and had, pathetically, survived. But there were even more surprises in her file…
One of the things that surprised me the most is that Tere made a few little tantrums asking to leave the hospital, confronting the nurses with the words:
“I can take my life whenever I want!”
“I can take my life when I feel like doing it!”
Although I don’t have the file with me, I remember those phrases. When I read the police’s report—that Tere intended to measure the bridge’s height—, or the nurses’ report—that she made tantrums about taking her life—, amazed, I asked Tere: “But did you tell them those things?”
Candidly Tere assented and rationalized her conduct as the legitimate reaction before the commitment. There were other phrases of this kind, but I don’t remember them exactly. Since Tere only let me see the file in her presence, I couldn’t annotate what I read. But I can state that the file transmitted a very vivid image that Tere made a fool of herself in the hospital, lachrymosely demanding her right to kill herself. That had been the real cause of her commitment, not the malevolence of the Canary authorities, the version of the story that I had originally swallowed.
When Tere showed me the file it didn’t cross her mind that the revelation would radically transform the idea I had about her case. Tere showed it to me under the impression that I, who for a couple of years had done anti-psychiatric activism, would solidarize with her cause. She never perceived that by showing it to me her old tale would crumble.
A person in his right mind would have kept up a straight face, even someone who would commit suicide. There are be people in their right mind that commit suicide. Tere’s file, on the other hand, registered temper tantrum after temper tantrum in the psychiatric ward, aggravated by the side-effect of the Valium that impeded her to breath normally and even “to open the anal sphincter” when going to the toilet, as Tere confessed a Scientologist who does some activism against involuntary psychiatry. Even though Tere let me read only a fraction of the file, her acting out was so obvious that I wonder why wasn’t she punished with much stronger psychiatric drugs. As I said, the Canary people that I met were very kind; this might explain why they didn’t administer her neuroleptics.
I never told Tere a word about how her file had changed my mind. Still, each time that the file reported one of the amazing phrases attributed to Tere, I asked incredulously: “Did you say that…?” Tere continued to assent without perceiving how the new revelations would change my previous opinion.
Tere’s file refreshed my memory on another subject. When in 2002 I read the long tale that Tere had written, I gathered that in the previous days to her fateful visit to the bridge she was extremely upset about a lawsuit against her previous employer, a rather long and tiresome lawsuit process she had initiated. Tere’s frustration about it drove her to visit the bridge.
In September 11 of 2009, the day I escaped from her island, to my surprise those lawsuits were mentioned in the psychiatric file that I saw. And after watching Tere aggressively arguing in her island with innocent employees the first days we arrived to the island, a behavior she would later repeat with me for sure, the dots connected by themselves. For example, Tere told me that she had reproached, angrily, her detention addressing the female doctor in charge of the admissions in the psychiatric ward. I didn’t tell Tere what was in my mind when she confessed this little incident, but it seems pretty obvious that this resulted in a one-way ticket to the ward. Who on earth dares to talk rudely to the one in charge of admissions within the psychiatric ward itself? Only someone so overwhelmed by her emotional issues that acts out her suicidal ideation in front of the thoughtpolice!
To understand this analysis of Tere it’s useful to become familiar with my analysis of Andrew Solomon (already linked above). Just as Solomon displaced the rage he felt for his mother on one of his friends, breaking his jaw, Tere does something similar. Of course, women are not tough guys by nature. Instead, they frequently discharge their rage verbally: what Tere did at the stores; with me, with the policeman at the bridge, with the powerful psychiatrist in charge of the admissions, and I assume that with her former employers too, against whom Tere filled up angry lawsuits.
In one word: hysteria. Tere has a medical degree. She knew perfectly well the dynamics of the psychiatric institutions in her native island. She has no valid excuse about how would the authorities of her island react before her acting out her emotional issues.
During the ten months that I stayed in her flat, Tere was there about two months in her holyday days. When she told me that her parents hit her as a child, I suggested her to do a serious mourning to process the trauma: say, something like writing an autobiography like the one I had written. For Tere, that was absolutely out of the question. She told me several times that that wouldn’t do any good to her.
Tere never confronted her parents. She doesn’t talk about her family traumas with her two brothers either. Nor does she reproach anything to her silent relatives. She keeps everything to herself. It’s understandable, therefore, that the volcano of rage she carries inside explodes in other ways.
Tere’s case is typical. I have given my two sisters the bestseller of Susan Forward Toxic Parents, which incidentally I recommended to Tere a few years ago and she did purchase a translated copy of it. Forward tells her clients that graduate in her therapy to write a letter to the perpetrator, the parent who abused her clients when they were younger. Of the many people that I know that have read Forward’s book—Tere included—, no one has followed Forward’s advice. The fears of touching the parent inundate even the minds of those who, like Tere, have already half a century in this world. And in the case that the parent has passed away, as I explained in my essay on Solomon, Forward advises reading a vindictive letter in front of the parent’s grave to obtain inner peace. But Tere didn’t settle the score with any of her parents in the form of long epistles (cf. the first book of my series of five, Letter to mom Medusa).
Tere’s attitude is typical. All people whom I’ve tried to communicate with tell me that they already got over it and that writing long, reproaching letters—let alone sending them to their parents—is out of place. It’s risible that Tere answered back that she vehemently dislikes writing when she apparently didn’t dislike writing the psychodrama of her involuntary commitment, and even sending it to her intimate friends. Those who suffer from chronic bad temper are capable of anything except addressing their bitterness at the source that caused it.
In my Solomon essay I said that substitutive hate, the one directed onto scapegoats, is infinite. In the case of Tere that means nothing less that her bad tempers and brawls don’t finish just there. Tere needs, in addition to that, to hate the culture that was deaf about how she was abused in her teens. Tere herself confessed to me that she hated the society because of that betrayal, and that when she was committed her old memories of physical abuse at home assaulted her mind. According to her own words, the commitment had been a —:
“Now I know…!”
—that what was done to her as a child was true. But Tere, who has written op-eds to the newspapers complaining about psychiatry, doesn’t write a single word advocating the child’s right not to be parentally abused or about her own childhood, where her real pain lays. It’s no mystery that she transfers her rancor to parent symbols such as the authorities, as we saw with the police. But the policeman who impeded her reaching the bridge is not her father. Nor her mother. Nor her deaf relatives. It was Tere herself, not the file, who told me that when the policeman asked her where was she going, she responded adamantly:
“To the bridge!”
The hard answer detonated a chain reaction from the forces of law and order. And each time that Tere had the opportunity of repressing her bad temper and keep a straight face, she did nothing but escalate her acting out provoking even more the island’s authorities.
I wouldn’t have written this comparatively long analysis were it not for Teresa’s hatred for the West in general and traditional Spain in particular, and her craving for my culture’s destruction. We already saw [in the omitted entries] that she told me she really loved the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the Moorish immigration that is taking away what force remains of Christendom in Spain, that she thinks that every single Western family is noxious, and that she wishes that “everything collapses.”
The sad thing about cases like Teresa’s is that there are many of them. What moves me to write this article is that in the nationalist movement there is no psychological analysis whatsoever, not even in the slightest form, of why leftist people hate their civilization. I believe that this case illustrates it. The volcano of rage that Teresa carries inside never explodes in the form of speaking out about her real aggressors. Never. She re-directs it to the culture that, in her mind, symbolizes her family: the Francoist Spain and everything related to conservatism. Teresa gives a damn about the fact that in other cultures the treatment of women is far worse that what she got as a child. That’s irrelevant. What only matters is the destruction of the culture that crucified her. Period.
Teresa and I have the same age and we both suffered in Catholic families at the same time. Comparing the two biographies it’s evident that I was a victim of more serious parental abuse than what she got.
But I don’t desire the destruction of my civilization. Before trauma, even big time trauma, there still exists individual responsibility. That someone devotes himself to speaking out about child abuse (like me), or contributing to destroy the West through voting for Zapatero and by hating those concerned with the Islamization of the Europe (like Teresa), only shows that there’s indeed something like surrendering our will to evil.
If leftist feminists were good persons, the first thing they would do is to feel compassion for the girls in Europe whose genitals have been chopped off at their parents’ request. But these women do exactly the opposite: they hate the System dissidents who pity the pubescent Muslims, as Teresa hated me in her quoted e-mails.
“A little woman chasing after her revenge would over-run fate itself” wrote Nietzsche. Teresa and the rest of the little women that feel extreme hatred toward our civilization chase after an unconscious revenge. With so many voters like her in Spain and in the Western world, so many Body-snatched Pod whites like in the 1956 film, the fate of the West looks grim indeed. Teresa’s suicidal ideation, aborted by the psychiatric institution that she loathes so much, transmutes itself into the suicide of our civilization since, alas, instead of killing themselves many other empowered women have become West haters too.
But there is something in which Teresa and I are in agreement. I believe that the policeman should have let her jump off the bridge…