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Victimhood and silencing
Sep. 30th, 2006 11:19 amA friend remarked today that it's very difficult to be out about being the survivor of abuse without seeming to claim victimhood.
And I thought about it. And I thought of two reasons for that to be true, both of which are more theoretical than immediate, but that's also what makes them harder to see, and thus harder to deal with.
The first reason is that, culturally, our cognitive models for dealing with abuse frankly suck.
Stephen R. Donaldson talks, in the introduction to the first of his Gap books, about how he'd wanted to take three characters and move each of them around the triangle from hero to victim to villain. And, you know, we can argue about how well he managed that, and whether it was an interesting thing to attempt or not, but what catches my attention is the kind of three way toggle system, which he is both using and trying to subvert--not entirely successfully. What those books--and even more so, the introduction to those books--show is the narrow categorization underlying our cognitive models. Hero. Victim. Villain. If you're not one, you must be one of the others. This is why I don't think Donaldson is successful in his subversion: because he moves Angus and Morn and Nick from position to position rather than arguing that they don't have to inhabit those positions at all. It's structurally really kind of cool, but it also reinforces the binary thinking that got us into this mess in the first place.
Binary thinking? you say. Mole, can you not count?
Oh, I can count, and that's where we hit the second reason it's hard to be out about surviving abuse without being categorized as a victim.
Because "victim" is not a subject position. It is not a place from which one acts or has power, as both "hero" and "villain" are. It is a place in which one is acted upon.
It's an object position.
One could argue, in fact--hell, I could argue, this isn't academia and I don't need to elide myself from my argument. I am arguing that that that's the point of abuse, to make a person an object, to make them silent, to make them unable to act, unable to talk about who they are, about what's happened to them. To make them SHUT THE FUCK UP.
And all too often, it works.
And our culture colludes by refusing to relinquish the cognitive model of "victim." By assuming and insisting that anyone who speaks out is searching for pity. Because pity does not enable agency. Pity reinforces victimhood; it makes sure you stay right where you're put.
Pity is easy. Heroes and villains know how to work it.
What's hard is making eye-contact with someone who is willing to say, "Horrible things were done to me, but I'm better now." Someone who is asserting that having been abused does not erase their subject position. That they're still here. Someone who insists that they aren't a victim, aren't a villain, aren't a hero. That they're a person, just like you are. That what happened to them was not special--it did not happen because they were special, it did not make them special because it happened. That it could happen, could have happened, to you. That you are not exempt.
It's hard to face someone who insists that they don't deserve pity, as victims do, or loathing, as villains do, or admiration, as heroes do.
That they deserve respect.
As people do.
Culturally, we'd rather keep it at a distance, rather keep our nice safe categorizations of heroes and villains and victims. We scramble like mad to keep bothvillains abusers and victims survivors alienated from us, from who we are.
And that's why abuse survivors, when they speak out, have to worry about whether they sound like they are claiming victimhood. Because people assume they are. And they assume they are because they'd really kind of prefer it that way. Because it keeps the lid down on the box.
And it reinscribes the object position of "victim" all over again. Which must make the "villains" very happy. And lets the "heroes" continue to stare nobly into the distance, untouched and untarnished by our common humanity.
And that, in a nutshell, is why that cognitive model needs to die.
And I thought about it. And I thought of two reasons for that to be true, both of which are more theoretical than immediate, but that's also what makes them harder to see, and thus harder to deal with.
The first reason is that, culturally, our cognitive models for dealing with abuse frankly suck.
Stephen R. Donaldson talks, in the introduction to the first of his Gap books, about how he'd wanted to take three characters and move each of them around the triangle from hero to victim to villain. And, you know, we can argue about how well he managed that, and whether it was an interesting thing to attempt or not, but what catches my attention is the kind of three way toggle system, which he is both using and trying to subvert--not entirely successfully. What those books--and even more so, the introduction to those books--show is the narrow categorization underlying our cognitive models. Hero. Victim. Villain. If you're not one, you must be one of the others. This is why I don't think Donaldson is successful in his subversion: because he moves Angus and Morn and Nick from position to position rather than arguing that they don't have to inhabit those positions at all. It's structurally really kind of cool, but it also reinforces the binary thinking that got us into this mess in the first place.
Binary thinking? you say. Mole, can you not count?
Oh, I can count, and that's where we hit the second reason it's hard to be out about surviving abuse without being categorized as a victim.
Because "victim" is not a subject position. It is not a place from which one acts or has power, as both "hero" and "villain" are. It is a place in which one is acted upon.
It's an object position.
One could argue, in fact--hell, I could argue, this isn't academia and I don't need to elide myself from my argument. I am arguing that that that's the point of abuse, to make a person an object, to make them silent, to make them unable to act, unable to talk about who they are, about what's happened to them. To make them SHUT THE FUCK UP.
And all too often, it works.
And our culture colludes by refusing to relinquish the cognitive model of "victim." By assuming and insisting that anyone who speaks out is searching for pity. Because pity does not enable agency. Pity reinforces victimhood; it makes sure you stay right where you're put.
Pity is easy. Heroes and villains know how to work it.
What's hard is making eye-contact with someone who is willing to say, "Horrible things were done to me, but I'm better now." Someone who is asserting that having been abused does not erase their subject position. That they're still here. Someone who insists that they aren't a victim, aren't a villain, aren't a hero. That they're a person, just like you are. That what happened to them was not special--it did not happen because they were special, it did not make them special because it happened. That it could happen, could have happened, to you. That you are not exempt.
It's hard to face someone who insists that they don't deserve pity, as victims do, or loathing, as villains do, or admiration, as heroes do.
That they deserve respect.
As people do.
Culturally, we'd rather keep it at a distance, rather keep our nice safe categorizations of heroes and villains and victims. We scramble like mad to keep both
And that's why abuse survivors, when they speak out, have to worry about whether they sound like they are claiming victimhood. Because people assume they are. And they assume they are because they'd really kind of prefer it that way. Because it keeps the lid down on the box.
And it reinscribes the object position of "victim" all over again. Which must make the "villains" very happy. And lets the "heroes" continue to stare nobly into the distance, untouched and untarnished by our common humanity.
And that, in a nutshell, is why that cognitive model needs to die.
