Showing posts with label pop psychology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop psychology. Show all posts

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Landmine




I recently read online that a well-known American actress has "come out" as a former Scientologist, while promoting her film that accuses the cult of brain-washing and coercion, which definitely fits the profile for cult status. Former members are shunned from the community after they leave, like the practices of the Amish and Hasidim. It's an intensely painful way of assuring "brand loyalty", because once someone questions their commitment to certain doctrines within the religion, their families are immediately pressured by the rest of the group to conform the questioning family member back to their faith under threat of ousting, too, and failing that, they turn their backs on non-conformists for the rest of their lives.

Brutal, isn't it? But, the members of these groups point out that this is the way they maintain their traditions over the centuries (not that Scientology has a long history), and if an individual disagrees so strongly with their beliefs, why stay? They're free to go! The Amish have an adolescent rite of passage called "Rumspringa" that allows for freedom of expression through a temporary relaxation in their strict rules about smoking and drinking and dating, as long as it's done outside of the community's boundaries. Once that time period ends, the teenager has to decide whether they want to return to the community and re-affirm their beliefs, or leave for the world outside. 

It sounds deceptively simple, until you realize that by leaving their homes, they will never see their Amish family again, unless it's a quick "hello" from a car parked in front of the family farm by a lonely son waiting for his brother and sister to return from church in a horse-drawn buggy, because the Amish don't use electricity. Their shunning extends to the entire community, too; their parents will never know their children with the "English" (their word dating back to Colonial times for Americans living outside of Amish country), nor when their beloved grandmother passes away, or how many children their sister has with her husband. 

There are no birthday cards or anniversaries, weddings or funerals. To them, you cease to exist as if you had died, but you haven't. It's the particular pain of a deeply indoctrinated belief system that doesn't allow for sustained inquiries, because under the surface of their strict faith lies the doubt of their members who know they won't hold up for long under the scrutiny that serious challenging brings. That's not to say they aren't religious, moral, or ethical in their beliefs. 

When an emotionally disturbed man walked into an Amish school with a gun (they're pacifists who don't believe in weapons) and murdered their children, they issued one statement to the public about healing, then tore down the schoolhouse and built another one away from the site of the massacre. There were no lawsuits or ongoing prosecutions, no threats to sue or vows of revenge. They acknowledged what happened and moved on from it, in a powerful expression of forgiveness and faith. I think it made a lot of Americans see the other side of their lives, besides the rather tawdry reality shows on t.v. about ex-Amish and their struggles outside of the community.

For the bipolar receptionist at a small family firm I worked for, there were no other sides to her life or her faith. She was prone, vulnerable, and suffering. When her youngest brother pulled her into his quick-moving world of martial arts McDojo's and "Landmark" seminars, she fell hard for both pyramid schemes like a drowning woman clutching at a rope tossed to her in high seas during a really bad storm. In lieu of actually healing from her serious brain disorder(s), she'd been fed a steady pop culture diet of group therapy, rehabs, extremely expensive pharmaceuticals, and, yep, more talk therapy, but no cure. In the wake of healing, the hard-pushed and deceptively marketed products of the world pulled her under, into her next psychotic break from reality, because the pressure of a fully-functioning adult life was too much for her to bear.

When the members of her Landmark group sensed blood in the water after she started attending their "sessions" and "classes", they moved in on her with great force. I'd pulled away from her after her unrequited crush on a 19 year-old at the dojo that quickly became obsessive officially kicked off her down-spiral towards illness again, because I could see she wasn't handling the intensity of fight training well, and given her psychosis, exposing someone as sick as her to violence was like putting a match to gasoline to watch it explode. It seemed cruelly unnecessary. 

Whereas her brother and her new friends from the group benefited from the est-style seminars, she quickly became entangled in their network overmuch, staying on the phone for hours at work with Landmark members who put the "hard sell" on her to find more people so she could afford more classes, in classic pyramid-scheme style. One of the more memorable images from that time period was a story she told me about all-day "lectures" with severely restricted, member-supervised food and bathroom breaks, while they were shouted at from onstage by the senior people in the organization running the show. They decided when a member had enough, or if they needed more pushing. If they found their extremely personal reveals acceptable, they would ring a large bell that everyone in the auditorium could hear, yelling "BREAK THROUGH! BREAK THROUGH!", like the proverbial Pavlov dog salivating at a dinner bell. She never had a chance.



Friday, April 29, 2016

Role-Play


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Humans are visual by nature. As predators, hunters, gatherers, and agriculturists, our eyes take predominance over any other sense we have, by careful evolutionary design. We wouldn't be as successfully human without our forward-facing eyes. It's made more than one artist become uptight with me, because as a visual communicator, I understand that how we see is of critical importance. It's like a child's game we played as kids: would you rather be blind or deaf? Neither!

And yet, after very little thought, I always gave deaf as my answer, because as a prolific reader, writer, and artist, I wouldn't be half as good as I am with less vision. Like the saying goes, I guess my “prayers” were answered (and no, I never really prayed for that), because I have inherited my father's poor hearing and my mother's once-excellent vision that she needed to see as a young microbiologist. She often bragged that she had better than perfect vision, which is 20/20, topping out in the eagle-eyed range of 10/15.

Unlike her inflated IQ scores, I never doubted the sharpness of her acute "mom" eyes. She was so rigid about her housekeeping that she could tell who had been in the room and what we had moved at a quick glance. It was unnerving, but having "eyes in the back of your head" becomes the super sense that older humans develop after their other senses wane with age. You just know it, right? You can feel when something not right, not that you have your glasses on, granny.

But, that's how every masterful mother has ruled her roost in her small absences, and so it was of great interest to me when I discovered the world of pop psychology, rife with its labored over-acting and defined roles. It was, like, if you didn't perform rote actions lifted from a script, some of the more disordered humans around you just can't figure out what to do. It was unnerving to me. Can you imagine not knowing how to translate what your eyes, ears, nose, and mouth take in, before you knew just what they did? I couldn't, and so began my somewhat uncomfortable fascination with the learning impaired among us, or the seriously mentally ill, as subsets of the typical human experience.

Still, that type of focus has not been without some serious drawbacks, which we found out together as a t.v.-viewing society. With attention came a freak-show madness, wrongly telegraphing to the worst brains watching out there in "T.V. Land" that we care(d) more about their bad brains than their humanity, which is very far from the truth. I wanted results! I want healing for you, not a spot on a popular program. Doubt me? Witness the amount of famous entertainers who've recently passed away from alcohol and drug addictions, usually in combination with very serious medical conditions like manic-depression. 


Do you really think that's a coincidence? We recently lost a pioneering female wrestler who just nabbed a coveted spot on the show "Intervention" that came too late for her, because she died of an overdose before she could make her "debut" on a series that makes money from sicknesses like hers. What, she couldn't go to rehab without some photogenic doc from the boob tube to hold her hand while the cameras rolled? The show producers will simply pick up the next fragile "star", like, the day she died, people.

I know. I've worked with "media types" my entire career. You know what they care about? Your next bestselling book, emphasis on sales. The numbers, bro. They care about the amount of product you push on the buying public (addicts included) more than you, and that's the problem. Entertainment is fun, but what do you do when the music stops and the curtains close? Who are you then? And, who's fighting that fight with you after your last curtain call, when the backroom counts out ticket sales that you get a small cut of, which you don't really care about, because you're whacked out on pills. Besides, it is absolutely abnormal to want that kind of attention day after day. 

"What are you, drunk or something, or high on drugs?" That's what my parents joked about when we ran wild around the house making noise, and it was not a flattering assessment of our characters. If you can't sit down to "mellow out" on your own, what happened to you? You can't always be "on"! Performing is great and all, but a lot savvier producers than you can whip talent into a tizzy just to film it, because (let's be honest) there are actually millions of skinny, bobble-headed, big-teethed, fake blondes spray-painted orange in the world. 

If you burn out, "The Machine" can easily discard you to buy another one (production queues are based on a factory-model, even for you sensitive "creative types" out there), especially a phony personality, because you are totally, completely, and utterly replaceable. Bland "genericans" don't have an actual place in the history books, yo. If you have a soul, you can't actually be bought, so the next time your therapist in group asks you to "act out" a scene with them while the cameras are rolling, you need to immediately get real with it, by finding a new doctor quickly. You need to talk about the real, and you need to talk it out, and you need to get real. Get real with it. Really.