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Jimmy and Lauren, WashU med students
at the WashU law school "Get Out"
screening and Discussion event
September 14, 2017 |
I'm a little flattered when my San Francisco airport to hotel Lyft driver, E..., looks at me in his inner rear mirror and categorically states that I look much too young for having had "nazi hunter" as my first professional aspiration.
I explain there were definitely original nazis when I was 10 and learning german (language skills being clearly essential for the job I wanted, though not for the reasons I intuited then---another story.)
I also explain that I ended up recycling much of my autodidact curriculum into my current and long term occupation: in particular the thirst to understand human behavior; the language skills not so much but the communication skills, yes.
What I don't quite tell him is that the obsession I had with understanding humanity and its less humane characteristics was educational but traumatic (with me as teacher and student and progressively more isolated from others in both quest and insights) and led me to a long and protracted sunken place.
I am borrowing that term "sunken place" from the brilliant metaphor by Jordan Peele in the movie "Get Out", which we saw last night at the WashU law school as part of a wonderful new series of events, where movies are screened and then followed by a community panel/audience discussion and interaction on topics of vital importance. I had attended such an event with Alba, one of our child psych fellows then, in the spring around "The Talk" from PBS. This film documents the harrowing conversations that American black parents have with their kids, particularly their sons,
every day, in an effort to shield them from the fate of Anthony Lamar Smith and so many others, killed by cops because.... they were black.
Am mentioning Mr. Smith by name because the cop who shot him was acquitted today.
The sunken place is my worst personal nightmare among a few: a place of no power, of paralysis, of broken spirit, body and mind. It is an apt metaphor for the depression I treat in others. It is a state I have visited and fear because, like in space travel, time in the sunken place obeys different rules and one could get trapped in there and not realize how much time is passing by.
Imagine then the power of Marva Robinson's words yesterday. One of the panelists, she is a practicing clinician with clear expertise in trauma and a former president of the Association of Black Psychologists. I asked for comments on the sunken place and she volunteered that for her, it meant the place that any child of our community who is feeling topsy-turvy and insecure because of community events (such as the Ferguson events we St. Louisians are familiar with, though affected by them to profoundly different degrees depending on whether we are black or white.) So imagine a black child (I'm paraphrasing) who is going to school, in an environment where there will be typically no significant debriefing/discussion of community events. Her world is imploding and
it's a non issue for others, who are going about their business.
This is a type of pain I think about a lot as a psychiatrist: similar to the plight of generation after generation of soldiers who finally emerge from the hell of the battle field and find an even greater hell: the sunken place hell of others being completely unaware of what they have been going through and are reeling from. This is described brilliantly in Pat Barker's regeneration trilogy.
Yes, and this is profoundly true: probably as or
more damaging than trauma is the non acknowledgement or non response to it. That creates isolation, disconnection, and leads to the sunken place.
Please, please, please heed that. I'm trying to.
Till Later,
Anne