If Not Now, Then When? The Latent Vulnerablity of Alienated Children

Intimate Partner Violence: New Perspectives in Research and Practice Edited by Elizabeth A. Bates and Julie C. Taylor

3 “VICTIM CAST AS PERPETRATOR”
Men’s experiences of the Criminal Justice System following female-perpetrated intimate partner violence by Jessica McCarrick

Introduction

At the time of writing this chapter there are waves being made at a government level to redefine and transform how we respond to domestic violence. A government press release (Prime Minister’s Office, 2017) highlighted improvements in prosecutions and convictions for domestic violence, but referred to the lack of consistency in the use and effectiveness of different law enforcement measures across the UK. In response to the government plans for a Domestic and Abuse Act, Mark Brookes from Mankind Initiative Charity (Brookes, 2017) emphasised the importance of improving the principles of inclusion, equality, and fairness.

He also highlighted the lack of recognition of male survivors within Government policy, which perpetuates the service gap for men across the UK. This lack of recognition is exposed by the terminology used within the 2016–2020 domestic abuse policy “Ending Violence Against Women and Girls Strategy” (Home Office, 2016). This gendered language begins to demonstrate some of the barriers that male victims of domestic violence are faced with.

My interest in this area began during my first year as a Trainee Counselling Psychologist when I completed domestic violence training in a local organisation. Although this organisation was designed to protect women and children, I was still struck by the staunch philosophy that men were the aggressors and women the victims. The philosophy throughout this training was heavily influenced by the feminist paradigm with gendered language being used throughout. As a curious student, I questioned the gendered angle and my critical mind began to wonder about the flipside of the intimate partner violence (IPV) debate. As chance would have it, I later secured a placement in a service which provided psychological therapy and support to men and women who had experienced IPV (sadly this service later closed due to insufficient funding). The experience of working with male survivors further developed my understanding of IPV as an issue to be worked with from the perspective of the individual, rather than their gender.

In my clinical practice, I have worked with both men and women who have experienced IPV, which developed my perspective on the experiences of both. However, it was the apparent lack of services available to men, the narratives around not being believed, and being falsely accused of perpetration due to the simple fact they were male that bolstered my passion for researching men’s experiences.

The current chapter shall begin with an overview of the history of IPV research and policy development, before moving on to discuss my research which explored men’s experiences of the UK Criminal Justice System (CJS) following female-perpetrated IPV (McCarrick, Davis-McCabe, & Hirst-Winthrop, 2015). The chapter will conclude with an overview of the positive developments within IPV campaigning, research, and policy in recent years and recommendations for continued progress.

History of intimate partner violence: research, policy, and practice In 1976, the Domestic Violence and Matrimonial Proceedings Act (1976) was introduced in Parliament, which gave police powers of arrest in domestic violence situations. The wording of this document appears to be highly influenced by feminism, with the person being arrested being referred to as “he”. Seemingly, since this time, public policy response to domestic violence has been defined by activists as the socially sanctioned control of men over women (Dutton & Corvo, 2006). During this time of social change there was a development of “ultra-feminists” who aimed to define women as a victim group who were oppressed by men (Pizzey, Shackleton, & Urwin, 2000). The beliefs held by this group were so extreme that Erin Pizzey was condemned by the ultra-feminist movement following her announcement that 62% of the women who had found refuge in shelters were as violent as their male partners (Pizzey et al., 2000). Indeed, the notion that women could also be perpetrators was so controversial that early researchers discussing this received death threats (Straus, 1999).

Dutton and White (2013) described the IPV perpetrator as a bullying, domineering man who intimidates and assaults a non-violent woman. These ingrained societal beliefs around gender and IPV were revealed by a video filmed by the Mankind Initiative (2014) on the streets of London in 20141, which shows public reactions to an IPV incident when the perpetrator was male compared to female. The difference between the two scenarios is palpable, with the female victim eliciting looks of shock and intervention from members of the public trying to protect the woman. The male victim, however, elicited looks of amusement from some onlookers, whilst others turned away to ignore the acts of psychological and physical abuse. Indeed, research has found that gender bias is highly influential in affecting people’s perceptions of the severity of IPV. One such study found that acts were more likely to be perceived as psychologically or physically abusive by the public if executed by men (Sorenson & Taylor, 2005). This result remained consistent across all socio-demographic groups.

More recent research (Hine & Arrindell, 2015) has demonstrated that IPV vignettes are judged to be more acceptable and more humorous when the victim was male and the perpetrator female.

Additionally, this study highlights that people are more likely to assign blame to the victim when the perpetrator is female and the victim is male. It could be argued that as female-perpetrated IPV has not yet been acknowledged to the same extent as male-perpetrated IPV, social norms are less defined as to how to comprehend and respond to such behaviour.

Furthermore, professionals are not immune to such bias, with research highlighting that psychologists and family court judges hold gender bias about IPV (e.g. Muller, Desmarais, & Hamel, 2009). Hine and Arrindell (2015) argue that current attitudes about men and masculinity, and the emphasis at a government level on “Violence Against Women and Girls”, has contributed to a “cycle of silence” whereby these crimes are concealed from the public psyche.

The gender paradigm within the literature and society overall has evidently had a powerful influence upon public policy and responses to IPV. In addition, masculine roles emphasising self-sufficiency, emotional control, and power are a dominant force within socialisation, and minimises the likelihood of men seeking help (Addis & Mahalik, 2003). Brown (2004) referred to men being caught between the “proverbial rock and a hard place” as men are less likely to receive police protection due to societal beliefs that men can protect themselves, yet if they protect themselves in self-defence they are highly likely to be charged with an offence (Cook, 2009).

There have been several initiatives since the 1990s aimed at improving CJS approaches to IPV. These initiatives include an emphasis upon pro-arrest, and increases in prosecution and conviction. In a study conducted in the North East of England, Hester (2009) reported that the majority of IPV perpetrators recorded by police were male and their victims were predominantly female.

Dutton and White (2013) also referred to the issue of under-reporting of IPV by male victims, due to the socialisation of men which reduces the likelihood of men seeking help. George (2007) argued that prejudice against male victims is extreme and has led to under-reporting by police, with more men being put into the CJS if counter charges are made against them. Cook (2009) reported that in some cases, men’s calls to police during an episode of IPV were not responded to. In other cases, men were ridiculed by police or wrongly arrested as the primary perpetrator. Statistics reveal that on average, the police receive contact from somebody requiring assistance for IPV once every 30 seconds (HMIC, 2014a; 2014b), which illustrates the importance of research into police response to inform public policy and support positive action. A HMIC report concluded that the overall police response to domestic violence in the UK is “not good enough” (HMIC, 2014a; p. 6). Although this report refers to both male and female victims, it emphasises that women are more likely to be victims than men. This statement is reflected in many IPV policies, studies, and media campaigns, with male victims receiving only a cursory nod. It is likely that this adds to the stigma that men face when reporting IPV and compounds their invisibility across society.
Despite the shortfalls highlighted in the HMIC report, it is important to highlight the complexity of the picture that frontline police officers are faced with when responding to domestic violence calls, particularly when both parties are claiming to be the victim.

Decisions made by frontline police are often based on information available to them on the scene to make an accurate assessment, as well as accessing any history of counter-allegations. The use of body-worn cameras is a development which police forces across the UK have begun to implement. The cameras are switched on prior to attending an incident, with the overall aim of improving objectivity in the overall decision made by the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS).

However, it could be argued that the ingrained societal belief that men are mostly perpetrators of IPV could continue to influence the interpretation made of video footage by CJS professionals. The aforementioned gender bias which cuts across all layers of society highlights the need for research which promotes the voice of male survivors. Given the need for further research in this area, a study which explored the experiences of men who had contact with the CJS following female-perpetrated IPV was conducted (McCarrick et al., 2015). It was anticipated that the qualitative nature of this study would help promote an understanding of men’s experiences and give a voice to men subjected to this hidden crime.

Aim and Methodology

The aim of the study was to analyse the experiences of men who had experienced female-perpetrated IPV, and had subsequent contact with the CJS. A qualitative method was utilised using Interpretative Phenomenological Analysis (IPA) to gain a rich and detailed understanding of participants’ experiences.

Participants

Smith, Flowers, and Larkin (2009) suggest between four and ten participants as a reasonable sample size for IPA doctorate studies. In line with this recommendation, six participants were selected for interview. The following inclusion criteria was used: male, over 18 years old, have experienced female-perpetrated IPV (as defined by the Centers for Disease Prevention and Control, 2013), have had contact with the CJS due to their IPV experiences, and are no longer in an abusive relationship, to ensure safety of participants.

Table 3.1 outlines an introduction to the participants.

TABLE 3.1 Participants
Pseudonym Introduction to participant

Lee is in his early 40s and is eager to change policy for men like him. He experienced eight years of physical and psychological abuse by his ex- wife. His experience of the police was of not being believed and he described subsequently suffering “a nervous breakdown”.

Henry is in his late 40s and experienced four and a half years of physical and psychological abuse by his ex-wife. He was arrested for Actual Bodily Harm after an argument with his wife escalated and he pushed her in self-defence. Henry felt the abuse he sustained had not been taken into consideration.

Martin is in his late 50s and experienced three years of abuse which began when his ex-partner became unemployed and began misusing alcohol. He described having hot plates of food thrown over him and being threatened with a knife. Following an incident where Martin was physically assaulted, she rang the police and he was subsequently arrested.

Robert is in his early 60s and described a 20-year period of physical, financial, and psychological abuse by his ex-wife. He described incidents including being stabbed and attacked with a lamp until he was unconscious. Robert described his experience of the CJS as being underlined with the perception that “battered husbands don’t exist”.

David is in his late 40s and experienced four years of control and psychological abuse by his ex-partner. He described several incidents where his ex-partner rang the police following arguments which resulted in David being arrested. He concluded that he felt the psychological factors of the abuse were not considered and felt he was not believed.

Chris is in his late 50s and described physical violence and psychological control and abuse throughout his 11.5-year relationship. His ex-partner made an allegation of harassment against Chris. He wasn’t arrested, but described sensing a “lack of empathy” from the police and felt they didn’t listen.

Findings

Three main themes emerged following analysis of the interviews (see Figure 3.1), which were connected by an umbrella theme of “trauma”. Trauma encompassed the overall feel of the six men’s experiences, and appeared to stem directly from the original IPV, but was compounded (and in one case helped) through their contact with the CJS. For these participants IPV caused an intense and devastating impact on many dimensions of their lives, including a shattered sense of self due to their masculine identity being challenged; their relationship with friends, families, and colleagues being affected due to being “cast as the perpetrator”; a decline in their mental health; and in some cases loss of their careers, ability to trust others, and form new relationships. Throughout the interviews there was a sense of the men needing a space to process their traumatic experiences of their relationships. Where a traumatic event has been brought about by another person there is likely to be heightened feelings of betrayal, abandonment, a perception that others are malicious, and that the world is a dangerous place (Martens, 2005). This appears to fit with the participants, whose experiences were of being abused by their female partner and subsequently being treated like a guilty perpetrator, or not having their experiences believed and validated due to gendered societal beliefs about IPV. Henry and Chris referred directly to the shock they felt because of their experiences with the CJS. These experiences added a layer of further traumatisation, with their “unsafe world” having no protection from outside, and no sense of secure base from which to begin to stabilise and process the trauma.

HENRY: I just felt helpless. I was shocked that he took no interest in it.
CHRIS: I’m going to sound a bit of a drama queen, but I was in a kind of state of
shock.

Chris used an interesting choice of words to describe his experiences, which appear to minimise his own emotions and condemn himself for not being “masculine”. In line with the lasting psychological effects of living through a traumatic event, Lee described the long-term impact of his experiences. His loss of trust and faith in authority highlighted his feelings of vulnerability and of not being protected by the system.

LEE: I had a nervous breakdown. I now suffer long-term health problems. I’m not able to have faith in any member of authority now.

Victim cast as perpetrator

The first theme of “Victim Cast as Perpetrator” encapsulates how the men were assumed to be, or were treated like, perpetrators (see Figure 3.2). This related to experiences with their partner, the CJS and within wider society, and developed from a narrative in which the men reflected upon their experiences of being treated like a perpetrator, despite being the victim of IPV and feeling dismissed. Subsequently a vicious cycle of abuse was maintained as their abusive partners could successfully use gendered stereotypes to their advantage, placing their male partners in the perpetrator role, and thus further isolating them from sources of support.

By partner

Participants referred to their partners’ allegations of IPV despite this being a reversal of the truth.

CHRIS: The minute I got in contact she was calling the police on me, you know, claiming I was unhinged and that I was harassing her and that she was getting threats.

MARTIN: It’s just a big pot of confusion … you know, this woman I thought I was in love with, who I was due to marry, has put me in this situation where I’ve been manhandled and thrown into a police cell for a false charge.

It appears that the female partners were using gendered stereotypes of IPV to their advantage, to cast their partners as the perpetrator (Dutton & White, 2013). These findings appear to suggest that the pro-arrest policies may also be affected by such stereotypes.

Interestingly, participants spoke more about their experiences of being falsely accused of perpetrating violence, rather than coming forward to police as a victim themselves. Given the minimal recognition given to male victims at the time of conducting the study, it is likely they were reluctant to report abuse for fear of not being believed, or the stigma attached to being a male victim. This is supported by statistics which reveal that men are significantly less likely than women to tell anybody about the IPV they experience; indeed, only 10% of men will tell police (compared to 23% of women), 23% will tell somebody in an official position (compared to 43% of women), and 11% will tell a health professional (compared to 23% of women; Man-kind Initiative, 2017). These figures highlight the discrepancies in reporting behaviours between men and women whilst emphasising the under-reporting of IPV overall.

By CJS
There was an overriding sense of feeling unfairly treated by the CJS and being cast as a guilty perpetrator despite a lack of evidence. It became apparent that experiences with the CJS could either help or hinder men. This sub-theme highlights the critical role that CJS professionals have, and how psychological outcomes can be impacted positively or negatively by their responses. Martin and Lee highlighted the gender bias experienced by police which influenced experiences and feeling cast as the perpetrator:

MARTIN: I just feel like I’m caught in a web of lies you know, with the law on her side, because they haven’t looked into the rest of it, because there’s two sides to every story isn’t there?

LEE: They prefer to be blinkered, in the fact that, no disrespect to yourself, but whatever a female says is true and whatever a man says is a lie and that is my whole experience in the last 3 years.

Positively, Henry referred to a police officer who was helpful and validated him in an otherwise traumatising situation. Interestingly, this response served as a protective factor as it allowed him to reflect and think whilst in the police cell, where he asked for a pen and paper to write down his experiences. It is noteworthy that without this support, Henry may have reacted in a defensive manner which could have led to more punitive consequences:

HENRY: I remember him saying specifically “learn from this” and he said he had colleagues in the police who’d had the same, much of the same experience, so he was reassuring in a sense.

These findings reflect the conclusions drawn in a literature review of the effectiveness of protection orders issued in incidents of IPV (Russell, 2012), which highlighted that female perpetrators who violated their protection orders were less likely to be convicted and arrested than male perpetrators who did the same. Ultimately, this theme highlights the necessity of maintaining neutrality and abiding by the presumption of innocence until proved guilty. The hidden nature of this crime and the common ambiguity between victim and perpetrator highlight the need to tread carefully and make a thorough assessment which considers all dimensions of IPV, including emotional abuse.

By wider society

Participants described being cast as a perpetrator by society, or their own perception that people would not believe them. This belief appeared to be intrinsically linked to their gender role. The tendency for the general population and various professionals to rely on gendered stereotypes in IPV situations has been found in various studies (Hine & Arrindell, 2015; Sorenson & Taylor, 2005; Follingstad, DeHart, & Green, 2004; Muller et al., 2009). Lee referred to the “whole country” not believing him, perhaps indicative of the powerful gendered messages within society regarding IPV and illustrative of how this message has the potential to perpetuate victimisation:

LEE: Well, to have a whole country not believe what you’re saying is a great weight on someone’s shoulders, even though you can prove what you’re saying, no-one can ever comprehend that unless they’ve been in that situation.

Henry referred to his experience of being isolated from social support due to abuse sustained by his partner and being cast as the perpetrator:
HENRY: It was a big shock, I felt betrayed. I was shocked that my wife has been trying to turn people against me and I felt as if I’d lost something dear.

Although Henry experienced isolation and adversity from his peers, he also had a more positive experience of a supportive friend who believed him and validated his experiences. This support was invaluable and highlights the importance of raising awareness that IPV is not a gender issue, to develop understanding and increase support within society.

Nevertheless, this positive experience was somewhat of an anomaly in the experiences of the men overall, who all described feeling isolated due to being cut offfrom their social networks. Thus, the subjective experiences of male victims need to be made more visible within society through qualitative research and media campaigning, just as the subjective experiences of female victims have been (Coorey, 1988).

Masculine identity

This theme developed from the role of masculinity in the men’s experiences of female-perpetrated IPV (see Figure 3.3). It is indicative of the socialisation of men to “be strong” (Mahalik, Good, & Englar-Carlson, 2003) and “emotionally stoic” (Addis & Mahalik, 2003) which influences the under-reporting of male victims (Steinmetz, 1978). Mahalik et al. (2003) also discussed the link between masculinity and aggression, with societal norms stating that men are usually the violent perpetrators. These norms are present despite statistics suggesting that of those who experienced IPV, a higher proportion of men (37%) endured force than women (29%; Office for National Statistics, 2016). Although these statistics do not clarify whether the perpetrators of this violence were male or female, it is noteworthy that the number of females recorded by the CPS and convicted for domestic violence crimes has risen from 806 to 5,641 during the period 2004/05 to 2015/16 (Man-kind Initiative, 2017). The increase in arrests of women highlights some positive developments, however despite this the CPS continues to frame this crime as “Violence Against Women and Girls”.

Own masculine identity

Participants often referred to their physicality and strength when discussing their experiences. Martin highlighted the small physical size of his ex-partner in comparison to his own size and strength, and reflected on the shock he felt when his partner perpetrated violence:

MARTIN: I’m quite a big bloke yeah and she’s not big, she’s an average sized woman about 5”3 … but, when she goes she just turns into a monster you know? She just comes at you like a bat out of hell sort of thing, it’s really, really quite scary.

Chris and David reflected on the loss of their masculine identity, particularly regarding their physical appearance and their perception of being “tough”.

David reflected upon his declining self-care during the abusive relationship and how this impacted upon his self-worth:

CHRIS: Although I considered myself somewhat of a tough cookie, it didn’t prevent me from ending up in therapy.

DAVID: I wasn’t looking after myself, I was neglecting myself and I wasn’t keeping myself in shape.

The interviews revealed a sense of emasculation and confusion around one’s identity as a male victim, which is reflective of the way in which men are socialised to hide their problems, be strong and emotionally stoic (Goldberg, 1979; Addis & Mahalik, 2003). These findings also support the socio-psychological factors which make men vulnerable to female-perpetrated IPV, such as male socialisation which teaches boys not to hit girls, even in self-defence (Brown, 2004; p. 94). Where the abuse had been primarily psychological, such as in David’s case, there seemed to be a further layer of confusion as to whether they were the victim or not. This supports previous research which reported that men are more likely to consider themselves a victim if they have been physically abused (Gadd, Farrall, Dallimore, & Lombard, 2003).

Criminal Justice System view of male victims

Participants discussed experiences of not being believed by the police and wider CJS. There appeared to feel a sense of injustice linked to their gender, with the men speaking of disparities in treatment by the CJS. Lee explained his experience of the CPS and his belief that they were only interested in a statistical result at the expense of the “deeper story”:

LEE: I felt the CPS and the Police needed to get a statistical result so they could show the world they were dealing with domestic violence against women rather than the deeper story, which was in fact, it was me who was the victim and my daughter and step-son who were being abused by their mother … and it just wasn’t believed.

Chris referred to the “black and white” attitude of the police and other men referred to their beliefs that police were influenced by gender stereotypes present within IPV research, policy, and practice. This supports previous research which highlights the “one size fits all approach” in the CJS based on the assumption of male dominance and female victimisation (Dutton & Corvo, 2006). The ease of relying on such stereotypes is heightened due to the gender paradigm which has emerged within IPV research and the influence of value-laden theories prevailing over scientific accuracy (Dutton & Nicholls, 2005).

Societal view of male victims
Participants discussed inequality between the genders in relation to IPV, with their experiences of being treated unfairly or not being believed. Robert experienced the influence of these beliefs around gender roles within IPV, which seemed to immobilise him from seeking help and led him to retreat into an isolative state:

ROBERT: You couldn’t just stand up and say, “I am a battered husband” because battered husbands just didn’t exist. Battered women did, but battered men … nobody believed it.

Robert spoke further about people’s perceptions of his “dear, sweet wife”, which further added to his experiences of not being believed. Lee explained his wish for change at a government level and referred to his wish for IPV to be considered from a human rights perspective, which echoes the response by McNeely, Cook, and Torres (2001) that domestic violence is a human issue and not a gender issue. He further referred to his feeling of segregation, which supports findings from previous research which highlighted the “non-normative” experience of being a male victim and how this is a barrier to help seeking behaviours (Addis & Mahalik, 2003).

Ultimately, these findings offer an alternative perspective to IPV statistics which report significantly lower numbers of male victims (e.g. Office for National Statistics, 2016). When considering the prevailing stereotypes surrounding IPV which lead to under-reporting by men, as well as men’s experiences of being falsely accused, it is possible that the statistics are masking deeper issues which could be understood with a greater emphasis on gathering more qualitative data from all victims of IPV.

36 Jessica McCarrick

The pressure cooker
This theme developed from the experience of psychological distress that the men described (see Figure 3.4). This distress was precipitated by the original abuse perpetrated by their partners and perpetuated by further victimisation within the CJS.

The psychological impact contests previous researchers’ suggestions that “intimate terrorism” is gendered and relates to the exertion of male dominance over women (Johnson, 1995). The men in the current study experienced physical violence, financial control, threats, isolation, and other means of control, which all fit the definition of “intimate terrorism”. The lived experiences of the men in the study highlight that the psychological impact was in line with that of intimate terrorism.

The experience of the intense emotional experience was likened by David to a pressure cooker, which illustrates the magnitude of the psychological impact of IPV.

Pressing the trigger
Men spoke about their feelings of anger, both towards their abusive partners and the CJS. Some of the men referred to a trigger point, with some feeling that they could have become the perpetrators themselves due to the intensity of this emotion. Three of the men referred to the high intensity of their anger and how it could have led them to be violent. There was also a sense that the anger the men experienced felt uncontrollable and destructive to their selves:

MARTIN: It made me feel like I wanted to go round and commit the violence that she claimed I had, but, obviously, that’s not realistic, but that’s what it makes you feel like, that’s the kind of emotion is sets up.

DAVID: You can’t switch off and you can’t be normal and you’re always like … anxious and frustrated and angry.

CHRIS: You’re sitting in a room somewhere, probably at home, hating this person and … the only person you’re hurting is yourself.

Previous research has reported that depression manifests itself differently in men, such as through anger or aggression, attributed to masculinity norms that view sadness as a weakness, which is socially unacceptable for men (Martin, Neighbors, & Griffith, 2013).

When the societal expectations and gender norms for men are considered, it appears that the anger experienced by the men in the study is a manifestation of their emotional pain, due to their lived experiences. These experiences appeared to be directly related to decreased psychological health, with reference made to anxiety, and not being able to switch off from anger, with Chris adding that the emotion was so intense that he eventually “sought help” for it.

The feelings of anger appear to be a response to the abuse they had lived through by their ex-partners and perpetuated by their experiences with the CJS.

Interestingly, the analysis of Henry’s interview did not reveal similar themes of anger, which may be due to individual differences. However, it is also worth noting that this could be reflective of the positive experiences of being listened to and validated by his friend and the police officer, which allowed him a better space for reflection and decreased his need to act out defensively.

Walking on eggshells
The DSM-5 (American Psychiatric Association, 2013) attributes several symptoms to a diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). In the current study, the men spoke of several dimensions to their experience which are attributable to PTSD symptoms. Henry’s experience reflects the symptom of recurrent, distressing dreams which relates to a traumatic event:

HENRY: I had a nightmare that the police were actually after me and tried to pin a very serious crime on me. I think it was murder and they found something, they dug something up.

Robert and Henry also described their difficulties with sleep, which is in line with the PTSD symptom of sleep disturbance. In Henry’s case this sleep disturbance had begun due to a direct aspect of the abuse by his partner who would actively prevent him from sleeping.
ROBERT: I used to be unable to sleep and trying to carry on holding down a responsible job and yet not being able to sleep … it’s very difficult.

HENRY: A nurse diagnosed me with something called acute sleep deprivation and I told my wife that and she would still prevent me from sleeping.

The men in the study reflected on their experiences of depression, having constant “dark thoughts” and contemplating suicide. The men also highlighted a diminished interest in significant activities, with one explaining that he begun to avoid leaving his house. Henry described his fears of the police coming after him whereas Martin and David discussed this in relation to the control they were under by their abusive partners. This highlights the “parallel process” which occurred, whereby the men felt threatened both at home by their partners and outside their homes by the police.

End of my world
Participants reflected upon the losses they had experienced because of the violence. The enormity of this loss was captured by David, who referred to it feeling as though it was “the end of my world”. These losses were varied, with some representing the impact of the controlling nature of their abusive relationships.

A dominant aspect was that of isolation, with the abuse leading some of the men to avoid future relationships due to their fear of abuse recurring and their sense of trust being shattered. Whilst David spoke about losing friendships, Robert referred to the loss of the relationships with his children. Both losses were a direct consequence of the controlling behaviours of their abusive partners:

DAVID: I lost my friends, seeing them regularly, being able to chill with them, relax with them, talk to them. I lost me, keeping fit, which made me feel good.
ROBERT: You end up retreating into your own world.

Other men in the study discussed loss in other regards, including the loss of ik careers, the loss of their sense of self and identity, and the loss of their relationships with their abusive ex-partners:

MARTIN: It’s just a big pot of confusion … you know, this woman that I thought I was in love with, who I was due to get married to, has put me in a situation where I’ve been manhandled and thrown into a police cell for a false charge.

CHRIS: I’m still single. I’m having … well I don’t even try anymore. The relationships I’ve tried to have in the intervening period, I’ve just found I have too much baggage with me really … and too much fear.

Migliaccio (2002) highlighted the impact that IPV has on men’s self-esteem, which hinders their ability to leave the abusive relationship and perpetuates their isolation. These findings were supported by the experiences of the men in the current study, highlighting the intense psychological impact of IPV, due to the control and abuse which is further exacerbated by gendered societal beliefs.

A period of social change?
In the time since this study, there have been signs of social change, for example, best practice guidance has been published by Stafford Borough Council and Stoke on Trent City Council on how to work with male victims of IPV. These guidelines highlight the importance of believing the person disclosing the abuse and adopting a non-judgemental attitude. Guidance for supporting male victims at this local level highlights a step forward in responding to IPV in a less gendered manner. However, the guidance also highlights the lack of male refuges in that local area, with male victims having to declare themselves as homeless to escape an abusive relationship.

Indeed, across the UK there are only 19 organisations which offer refuge or safe house provision for men, having a total of 78 spaces and only 20 which are dedicated to male victims. Areas including London, Lancashire, South East England, East Anglia, North Eastern England, and Northern Ireland have a distinct lack of safe house provision for men. This emphasises the need for the current government plans to increase spending in domestic violence and open more safe refuges for men across the UK.

Even more recently, Northumbria Police and Crime Commissioner Vera Baird has provided funding for organisations to increase therapeutic support for male victims of domestic violence (Northumbria Press Release, 2015). The research described here revealed the importance of funding services which are accessible to male victims, so they can receive specialist support tailored to their emotional and psychological needs. These services may also benefit from group interventions overseen by a skilled clinician, where men can share experiences and thus lower their sense of isolation and stigmatisation.
The study also identified the prevalence of CJS re-traumatisation and how this can be experienced as invalidation; a finding that indicates a need for police training to be reviewed enabling a less gendered response to IPV. Just as an increase in research around violence against women developed our awareness of the magnitude of this epidemic (Watts & Zimmerman, 2002), the same must now be done for men. The discourse around IPV needs to move away from gendered language and begin discussing this crime in terms of the psychological, developmental, and societal drivers which perpetuate the problem. Ultimately, an inclusive discourse will enable victims’ voices to be heard regardless of their gender. Small pockets of good practice have developed across different sectors in the UK, however what is crucial is top-down support from a government level in terms of policy change and funding. Only then can the grass-roots organisations and community police responses be fully facilitated to provide a timely, effective, and supportive response to men affected by IPV.

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• Self-analysis and gradients of functioning in the analyst

This highly original approach to the problem of therapeutic factors in psychoanalysis will be of interest to all practising and training psychoanalysts and psychotherapists.

Antonino Ferro is Full Member of the Italian Psychoanalytical Association
and the International Psychoanalytical Association. He is a child and adolescent
psychoanalyst and is especially concerned with adults with serious pathologies.

SEEDS OF ILLNESS AND THE ROLE OF DEFENCES

As an approach to the problem of the therapeutic factors in psychoanalysis, it seems to me helpful to consider first the seeds of illness and the defences deployed by patients.

We may accept the view of Bion (e.g. 1962, 1963, 1965) that every mind, at birth, needs another mind in order to develop. This development takes place through an interplay of projections and introjections. Primitive anxieties and sense impressions are evacuated into the mother’s mind (by projective identification) and, after ‘processing and decontamination’ by the maternal α function, returned to the child in the form of representable elements (α elements) together with the method for processing them (the α function).

The child’s primitive projection of evacuated anxieties and sense impressions calls for a process of reception, transformation and return that includes the ‘instructions’ for developing the ‘unknown factor’ capable of changing β into α elements. In the normal course of this process, which is repeated over and over again, the α function gradually becomes operational in the child’s mind.

From then on, and to an increasing extent in ‘non-emergency’ situations, the system operates as follows: proto-emotions and proto-sense impressions – i.e. β elements – are transformed by the child’s α function into α elements through the correct functioning of this introjected unknown (the α function).

The α element is the proto-visual (or proto-auditory, etc.) component of thought; its existence shows that what was exerting pressure in β form has been transformed into a visual pictogram (Rocha Barros 2000). For instance, the first pictographic reflection of a primal experience of rage and revenge might be ‘a blood-filled swimming pool’.

Alpha elements are formed constantly and constitute the building blocks of waking dream thought – that is, of the proto-visual matrix that constantly ‘films’ sensations and sense impressions, turning them into images that cannot be directly known.

The proto-visual film (a sequence of α elements) produced in this way by the α function must undergo further operations in order to attain the status of thought and narrative image, and hence of internal or shareable discourse.

The ‘narrative derivatives’ (Ferro 1998a, 1998b, 1998c, 1999e, 1999f, 2001b) of this waking dream thought act as ‘carriers’ towards the knowable by means of operations whereby a narrative fabric is woven. These operations are bound up with the development of and of , and the possibilities extend from narrative unravelling (Ps) to clear-cut woven structures (D) and the interplay of ‘negative capability’ and the ‘selected fact’.

This second level entails the sufficient development (which is always consequent upon a good enough relationship) of more elaborate mental qualities, such as that of through repeated experiences of micro-being in unison, or of which discovers possible ways of existing if it encounters an elastic and available . It also entails the development of ‘negative capability’ and the ability to withstand Ps (mediated by the experience of the emotions present in the other’s mind), and of the ‘selected fact’ and of D – i.e. the capacity to mourn – which always takes place by way of the encounter with the capacity to mourn
(the presence of the third party) in the other’s mind.

Two loci of pathology can readily be distinguished on the basis of this simplified schema: (a) severe pathology in which the α function is lacking, and (b) pathology due to maldevelopment of , Ps↔D and/or NC↔SF (i.e. container/contained; paranoid-schizoid position/depressive position; negative capability/selected fact).

All type (a) pathologies involve a primal deficiency in the formation of the visual pictogram, in which the ‘mind’ itself may even have failed to form. This situation may be likened to a cine camera with no film stock: the basic frames out of which the eventual movie should be composed are lacking. In type (b) pathologies, on the other hand, ‘α elements’ are formed, but the apparatus for processing them is deficient. The film is exposed, but then either it is not developed (there are no ‘narrative derivatives’) or the directorial function required to edit the vast number of frames shot – the Ps↔D work – is lacking, or else there is no place to keep the developed film (absence of ), and so on.

However, besides type (a) and type (b) pathologies, there is another possibility. Here the quantity of sensory stimulation, whether exteroceptive or proprioceptive, outstrips the capacity of the α function to form α elements. We then have a ‘traumatic’ situation, in which the quantitative level of stimulation (β elements) exceeds what can be transformed into α and rendered thinkable. This may be referred to as type (c) pathology, due to accumulation and trauma, in which trauma is occasioned by any situation that gives rise to more β than can be transformed into α and then processed and woven into emotions and thoughts.

There are of course an infinite number of possible combinations of (a), (b) and (c).

In an excess situation of type (c), in which there are more β elements than can be metabolized, various defence mechanisms may be deployed to cope with them. (It is obviously not easy to distinguish between an excess of β and a deficiency of the α function or of Ps↔D, or NC↔SF.)

The first defence mechanism is the formation of undigested facts (partially processed β elements stored in ‘lumps’) waiting to be transformed by an α function: I have termed these ‘balpha’ elements (Ferro 1996a, 1999a), and they are bound up with the transference.

We are familiar with other defence mechanisms – for example, splitting (in which the amount of β that cannot be processed is split off and projected); disavowal; negation; psychosomatic disorders; hallucinations; characteropathic acting out; perversions; psychic dismantling; or narcissism.

I am discussing defence mechanisms and the resulting symptoms together for the sake of simplicity; they could also be classified by severity, time of onset and ease of transformation.

Take, for example, ‘narcissism’. This is a successful defence mechanism that operates when there is no ‘place’ to weave and elaborate proto-emotional states, which are then split off, projected and caused to be experienced by others, who are treated in spite of themselves as subsidiary α functions. The hard core of ‘narcissism’ coincides with an agglomerate of compacted balpha elements.

As stated, the common element in all defences is that they allow an excess of β elements to be managed in normal or catastrophic situations. (Let me say in passing that, as a species, we constantly face an excess of β elements and that, on the social level too, we devise strategies to evacuate, split off, hyper-control or phobicize the quantities of proto-emotions and proto-sense impressions that we are unable to transform into ‘poetry of the mind’ – i.e. into thoughts, emotions and affects. Wars, oppression and racism are some of these mechanisms, the investigation of which does not, in my view, fall within the competence of a psychoanalyst – for in order for there to be a specific ‘analyst’, there must also be a specific ‘patient’ and a specific ‘setting’, and if one of these elements is lacking, the other two cannot exist either.)

Of course, we all constantly deploy every single defence mechanism, but these defences become pathological only when they become ‘established’ in the place of flexible mental functioning. Whereas on the one hand they are a source of (sometimes very severe) pathology, on the other they are nevertheless a successful means of warding off even worse mental catastrophes, such as swamping of the mind, total mental dysfunction or even the complete failure of mental development.

The relevant therapeutic factors here would be ‘reparative positive’ elements to counterbalance the negative ones discussed above, which we can now reconsider in terms of type (a), (b) and (c) pathologies, bearing in mind that most patients are in effect chimeras of types (a), (b) and (c).

In accordance with the same scheme, there are type (c) analytic treatments, in which the patient’s α function and apparatus for thinking thoughts are intact, but burdened with an excess of ‘undigested facts’ that give rise to transferences and projective identifications, which can be resolved only if the analyst can help in the process of assigning meaning or new meaning. These are the relatively few patients deemed analysable by classical criteria, who can tolerate classical interpretations because they have ‘a place’ to put them and ‘means’ of working them through, with the result of enrichment.

There are also type (b) analytic treatments, in which the undigested contents can be tackled only after work has been done on the mental functions that are lacking – e.g. a deficiency on the level of or of Ps↔D oscillations. These concern borderline and narcissistic pathologies in which the α function is operational but its products are unmanageable; in this case, a classical interpretation often generates more persecution than growth, because there is nowhere to accommodate it and no ‘way’ of using it.

Then there are type (a) analytic treatments – research analyses – in which the α function is significantly deficient, so that the β→α work must be ‘redone’ (or, in this case, done for the first time) by the transformation of ‘discrete quanta’ of β into individual α elements, so that individual α elements can be formed and the method of forming them can be introjected.

In these cases classical, or elaborate, interpretations merely constitute further sensory stimuli that give rise to evacuation, as Bion himself points out when he states that even ‘thoughts’ can be evacuated like β elements if the capacity to receive them is lacking (Bion 1962).

For an autistic child, a point-by-point, frame-by-frame elaboration would make more sense than a complicated and elaborate exhaustive interpretation, which would merely be an evacuation of the analyst’s truth in the absence of a receiver.

I shall attempt in the following chapters to illustrate clearly the appropriate techniques for working on levels (c), (b) and (a).

In passing, I should like to make a brief comment about the ‘death instinct’. It is in my view a real entity, but only in the sense of a transgenerational legacy of accumulated β elements which it has not been possible to transform and elaborate. In other words, I do not believe in a death instinct as such, but consider that there are transgenerational amounts of β elements that outstrip the present capacity of our species to elaborate them. When things go well, we call this accumulation the psychotic part of the personality which each of us shares with all mankind. In other cases, we refer to it as destruction, or the death instinct; but surely this is merely the residue over and above what it has been possible to elaborate in thought. The issue here is purely quantitative, as our capacity for mentalization still falls short of our requirements, so that the ‘discarded material’ remains active, exerting pressure, and often causes us to act out, commit acts of violence, or fall victim to psychosomatic or mental illness.

Another concept to be reflected upon anew, if we are to be ‘in unison’ with the patient, is ‘omnipotence’, whereby the patient, for example, exercises, or attempts to exercise, absolute control over the object. In my opinion, this style of relationship is a ‘necessity’ for the patient, for two main reasons.

In the first case, total control over the world and within relationships serves to minimize sensory and proto-emotional afferences where the α function is deficient (as in autistic ‘control’). Here, the control avoids the genesis of potentially unmanageable proto-emotional states (precursors of emotions); the patient is like a tightrope walker inching her way along the thinnest of cords knowing that the slightest breath of wind could be fatal.

Second, jealousy and the need for possession may be concealing a ‘shipwreck syndrome’, in which, owing to early relational shortcomings, the subject needs the object just as a shipwrecked non-swimmer needs the plank he is clinging to.

In the first situation, the patient cannot tolerate the slightest change; she keeps everything around her, including inanimate objects, ‘under control’ and tyrannizes everyone so as to prevent changes that might give rise to proto-stimuli, which would be unmanageable.

In the second situation, the patient exercises possessive and jealous control out of the fear of ‘sinking’ or drowning if he does not ‘cling’ to the object. ‘I’m like a flight controller,’ one of these patients said, ‘and if anyone wants to leave me I’ll cut their legs off.’

The concept of ‘frustration’ also calls for clarification. Let us consider the example of a negative response to a demand. The problem is not so much the mourning thereby involved, but that ‘frustration’ entails a change in the subject’s state of mind, with the generation of sense impressions versus proto- emotions. If the α function is insufficient, the turbulence arising cannot be managed, so that, because it cannot be ‘pictographed in the form of α
elements’, it becomes a source of ill-being that can be relieved either by evacuation or, in favourable circumstances, through successive cycles of ‘mental rumination’.

In the case of violence against the self, I also regard defences as the lesser evil.

They are like a lizard that ‘sheds’ its tail: although mutilated, the creature saves most of itself. Splitting, for instance, is an instance of violence against the self, but the splitting off of unmanageable parts is often the only way to survive. If this is true of mutilation involving parts of the self, I believe it applies in the same way – where an appropriate capacity for mentalization is lacking – to many forms of self-mutilation and self-harm. In anorexia, for example, emotions of uncontainable violence are split off and ‘starved’ because this is the only possible way of managing them so as to save what can be saved.

The aim of this eulogy of defence is, of course, to understand the profound reasons for its existence. Obviously, it can only be a starting point for finding other strategies to save the mind that involve less sacrifice of the self, of the internal world or of the body.

Psychic suffering often has its origins in the trauma of availability/non-availability, or, better, the gradient of availability, in the other’s mind, together with the type and quality of emotions present, with which, as Bion would say, the mind of the other is suffused. If the analyst’s mind is cluttered with emotions different from those expected by the patient (by virtue of the patient’s pre-conception), the encounter will, because it lacks ‘fulfilment’, be traumatic, even if there is no actual non-availability or rejection, but only a failure of the
pre-conception (expectation) to ‘mesh’ with the actuality (fulfilment).

Following a situation of this kind, which he described as a ‘lack of interaction’ and ‘lack of
response’ (i.e. on this level the other’s mind ought – mostly at least – to ‘respond’, and to
respond in accordance with expectations), one of my patients dreamed that, while walking
along a road he knew from his childhood, he could see a flood in the distance. The rising
waters were not so threatening that he was in danger of being swept away, as they were far
off. Perhaps some glaciers were melting. He was there with his children, whom he was
protecting, but then along came a gang of ‘characteropaths’, who were also not particularly
dangerous, and although the gang kidnapped them, there seemed to be a happy ending.

The lack of response – the failure to ‘mesh’ – is a wound, but seems also to be a frustration that can melt something that was previously frozen and unnarratable.

Furthermore, the wound is tamponed by the characteropathic keloid. Other keloids, in my view, include erotization, excitation and narcissism.

When one of my patients, Luigi, was able to regain contact with his ‘primal sense of
emptiness and loneliness’, he was able to relinquish the ‘superabundant stoppers’ he had
used to close off the profound ‘hole’ in his being so that he could live. The superabundant
stoppers had been certain harsh character traits, narcissism and a tendency to Don Juan-
ism. Once the ‘breach’ had been found, the analysis was able to repair this ancient wound,
which must have resurfaced in the transference, so that these hitherto essential defensive
strategies could be dispensed with.

In most cases, the trauma with which psychoanalysis is concerned is the (often repeated) micro-trauma of the mismatch between expectation and reality:

analysis allows this situation to be repeated in the presence of someone with whom the patient can ‘see’ and ‘repair’ the primal damage – which may also have affected the development of the apparatus for thinking or even the apparatus for the formation of the visual sub-units of thought itself.

This of course immediately raises the issue of the psychoanalytic model to be espoused and of the resulting theory of technique.

A change of setting had been agreed with a male patient, who thereby lost the sense of the
continuity of our meetings. He began one of his sessions by telling me how he had come
to blows with someone who was trying to steal his car. This patient was a seriously ill
characteropath with a tendency to evacuation.

How was this communication to be seen? It could be regarded as a manifest illustration of oedipal conflictuality and interpreted as such. Another possibility was the repetition of something that could not be remembered, in which case the need would be to overcome the patient’s resistances and defences so as to remove the veil of repression preventing the traumatic memory from resurfacing. On another level, it might be considered that the aim of the analysis was to make the upward-pressing unconscious fantasies conscious, thus
‘detoxifying’ them, so that the patient’s ‘rage’ at the analyst, who had deprived him of something by which he set great store, could be interpreted.

Alternatively, if the priority was the patient’s mental functioning and encouragement of his capacity to think (development of ), the analyst could seize on the emotion of ‘having been ill-treated, which had generated more emotions than he could manage’. This would acknowledge the traumatic event, the emotions generated by it, and the difficulty of metabolizing them. In this way, the analysis would remain on the level of the ‘manifest text of the patient’, who would then feel that his own view was shared and that he had an analyst
who was relieving him of a burden instead of one who weighed him down with ‘truths’ about himself.

In such a situation, the analyst will of course bear in mind that intolerance of change is a sign of incapacity of the α function and of to metabolize and cope with change-induced proto-emotions. From this last viewpoint, the focus will be not so much on historical or fantasy contents as on how to develop the patient’s capacity for transformation and containment, through the experience of micro-being in unison.

If a female patient said: ‘With the money I give you, you buy your wife designer clothes,’ this
remark could be heard in different ways. It could be construed as an oedipal scenario of
exclusion and rage; as an alternative fantasy scenario dominated by envy of the parental
couple; or, more ‘simply’, as a communication in which the patient is telling the analyst that
she feels he is giving her ‘designer interpretations’ for her adult parts, which can mate with
the analyst in an adult way, but that there is also a part of herself that is still excluded and
alien, which she does not yet feel to be ‘held’.

The same would apply if a woman patient came for her Monday session and said: ‘Did we
see each other on Friday?’ This could be seen as a devaluation of the analyst, an ‘evanescence’ of the internal object, or a valuable intimation that ‘we didn’t see each other’ on Friday – that is to say, that a real encounter did not take place.

Of course, even if we start from the aspect with the greatest relational significance in the
present (‘there is a part of me that feels that it is not getting anything from you; on Friday
you were not able “to see me” – i.e. to allow an encounter to happen’), this must sub-
sequently link up with the patient’s fantasies and history. However, these fantasies, when
‘processed and metabolized’ in the here and now, will undergo transformations that will, by
the process of Nachträglichkeit, inhabit the patient’s internal world and history in a new way.

In field terms, we are concerned with what happens in the session – with narrations, narremes, proto-emotions, sense impressions and the apparatus for elaborating and managing all of these. The aim of analysis is to facilitate the development of the ‘potentialities’ of the patient’s mind laid down in the species as pre-conceptions, which, however, require appropriate ‘fulfilment’ through the encounter with the other’s mind.

The focus will then be on the functional or dysfunctional working of the patient’s mind, the functional or dysfunctional working of the analyst’s mind, and the functional or dysfunctional working of the relationship to which the encounter between the two minds gives rise – allowing development (in both patient and analyst) or causing involution (in both patient and analyst).

Once the capacity to form pictograms (visual images) and to weave them into narrative sub-units through their derivatives has been developed, attention can turn to the contents; however, this process should in most cases be only initiated by the analysis, and then be continued by the patients for themselves.

The situation may be likened to the problem of washing laundry. Once there is an electricity supply (the α function) and a working washing machine (the apparatus for thinking thoughts), everything else can be done without the appliance engineer and the electrician.

The same applies to the relationship in the present. If the engineer provides us with a camera that produces ugly, inadequate photographs, there is no point in working on these poor-quality images or trying to identify the people and landscapes they depict with a view to determining how distorted they are. It would be much more sensible, as everyone would expect, to get the camera working properly instead.

Stefano

Stefano began to wonder about ‘people’ he kept on meeting, who, he thought, were follow-
ing him. From the analytic context, it was a fairly obvious course to suggest to him that he
was coming into contact with a variety of different aspects of himself and that perhaps he
ought not now to be still trying to understand ‘who’ the analyst was in whom he had for so
long deposited these aspects of himself, but should instead be wondering ‘Who am I?’

There followed a dream in which the patient had three enormous baskets of plants; he
had a place for two of them, but not for the third, which was different. It was easy to put it to
him that he might be thinking of aspects of himself as things that could be integrated even if
there was not a space for them all.

Next day he needed to communicate something to me urgently: for the first time he had
discovered – in an underground railway carriage – that depth, height and thickness existed.
Having previously lived in a totally flat world, he was now bowled over by this discovery,
whereby he now saw the whole world differently, with a space, depth and three-
dimensionality he had not known existed. I immediately thought of Edwin Abbott’s Flatland
(1899), a fine tale of a two-dimensional world, and told him that he seemed to have moved
on from plane geometry to its three-dimensional, or ‘solid’, counterpart. Stefano went on to
say that the many surfaces of himself could now link up with each other and acquire the
dimension of thickness; previously he had always thought of himself in either one way or
another, or in yet another. I told him that, now, thickness and depth belonged to him too and
to his internal world – so he could think of himself as a boarding-house that could ‘accom-
modate’ the various parts of himself, including those he feared and despised most. Now he
need no longer be like the two-dimensional figure in one of his dreams who beat everybody
up, evacuating emotions that then came back to persecute him since he could not ‘keep
them inside’. All this, he opined, was due not to the analysis but to the ‘drug’ he had taken,
even if he was afraid of appearing ‘ungrateful’ by saying so. I told him that the boarding-
house must also contain a room for ‘ungrateful’ people, and that the important thing was
that the ‘miracle’ had happened; it seemed to me immaterial which ‘saint’ was responsible
for it.

Here, I felt that Stefano was voicing an important truth: what had helped him to emerge
from Flatland was not the interpretations – the strictly analytic activity – but the ‘drug’
represented by all the mental operations I had performed in the sessions over the years
without immediate interpretations ensuing from them, by my assumption of his anxieties
and by the gradual transmission to him of the ‘method of dealing with them’.

This leads me to reflect on the analyst’s mental functioning in terms of all the ‘non-interpretive’ operations – for interpretation, whether saturated or unsaturated, is merely the last act in a series of processes of transformation and searching for meaning. When conducting supervision groups on clinical cases I increasingly find myself reversing the dictum ‘think before you speak’ into ‘speak before you think’, because one can then make contact with the dream- like functioning of the mind, which can create more connections and meanings than any ‘reasoning’. After all, our task is to discover a new and original
meaning in ‘facts’ that are in themselves silent.

A little girl was brought along for a consultation because she had suffered for years from
intense pains in one of her legs, which ultimately prevented her from sleeping; sometimes
she would scream out in agony. An organic cause had already been ruled out. The mother
then told me that she often became irritated and swore at the girl. She said that she (the
mother) had serious problems with her teeth; it was impossible to fit any appliance because
she ground down all her prostheses until they ‘broke’. The girl was also afraid of anything
that burst or exploded, like balloons or fire-crackers; the mother added that sometimes
she was so exasperated that she would have liked to kill her children. She said that her
daughter often played a game in which a chick was left without a mummy because, when
the hen was with the cock to start a family, along came a ‘baddie’ and killed the hen. She
went on to describe her own sad experience as a girl with a mother who was always
depressed and never devoted any time to her.

A link immediately formed in my mind. Unknown to herself, the mother was inhabited by
a ‘pit bull terrier’ which constantly bit ‘her daughter’s leg’, making her scream with pain. For
me, this was like a scene from a film, which I could see before me although its phases were
in the wrong order: the bleeding leg and the biting pit bull terrier. In other words, this was
the story of a little girl who was wounded and in pain because her mother’s mind was so
occupied with the pit bull terrier that she had no room in it for her daughter, who, instead,
was a burden she would rather have had dead. However, it was also the story of her own
childhood: inside her was a ‘transgenerational’ pit bull terrier, inherited from the contact
with her depressed mother (Faimberg 1988, Kaës et al. 1993).

Naturally, all this could not be expressed so directly, but it was a hypothesis that made sense of the situation and organized the field.

The analyst’s α function had formed images; the ‘apparatus for thinking thoughts’ had woven a possible narration (the fruit of a reverie); and what had appeared meaningless began to assume a possible organizing structure. Once this dish had been prepared in the ‘analytic kitchen’, it had of course – if confirmed – to be served up in the ‘analytic restaurant’ in the appropriate form and at the appropriate time.

Let us now turn to an issue that has received increasing attention in recent years – namely, that of the analyst as a person. This problem has in fact been almost completely solved by the work of Willy and Madeleine Baranger, starting with their famous paper of 1961–62. The thesis is that, in field terms – even in older formulations that were surely much less sophisticated than today’s – the presence and constellation of anxieties and defences in the analyst ‘co-structures’ the field together with the patient. Apart from the work of the
Barangers (Baranger and Baranger 1961–62, 1964, 1969), the relevant literature includes two Argentine publications (Kancyper 1990, 1997) and my own earlier contributions on the subject (Ferro 1992, 1993c, 1994b, 1994c, 1994d, 1994e, 1994f, 1994g, 1996d, 1996e, 1999c, 2000a, 2000c, 2003).

The important aspect here is the part played by the analyst’s mental functioning day by day – for the analyst’s mode of functioning in the session, characterized by greater or lesser receptivity, greater or lesser reverie and greater or lesser narrative competence, partly determines the form assumed by the session itself.

Again, whereas on the one hand the analyst’s mental ‘dysfunction’ is a painful fact for the patient, on the other it is a precious and inexhaustible source of information on the mating of the two minds and on the patient’s constant renarration of everything that occurs.

On one occasion when I was emotionally blocked with a woman patient, instead of adopting my usual attitude of receptive listening, I found myself interpreting like a river in full
flood. The patient failed to turn up for her next session. She later told me that, because the
Ticino was in flood, many roads were not negotiable, and she had felt it wiser to stay at
home until the blockage caused by the inundation was over. She then told me of her
intention to take a ‘t’ai chi’ course. What better way could there be of telling the analyst to
keep quiet (taci in Italian) than by skipping sessions and then playing a linguistic game with
the similar sounds of ‘t’ai chi’ (slow, relaxing gymnastics) and taci (pronounced almost
identically in Italian)?

At about the same time, a male patient of mine dreamed of a man who was becoming
increasingly lean and dry and a butcher attacking some cows with a big knife, causing
them to scream out in pain. He associated to the dreams (or rather, he interpreted them for
himself) by saying that in the last few days I had seemed to him drier and ‘sharper’ than
usual and that this had caused him a lot of pain. In this way, by giving me a beating, he
succeeded in putting me in touch with the origin of ‘my blockage’ and helped me, without
any self-disclosure on my part, to regain the appropriate mental attitude.

However, does this mean that the analyst’s mental attitude ought to be totally stable at all times? It certainly does not. Does it mean that we can or should allow ourselves to be ‘treated’ by our patients? Once again, definitely not.

It actually means that we must be aware that our mind is a variable of the field and that the patient, once again as our best colleague, can help us (usually unwittingly) by drawing our attention to a ‘bursting of the banks’ or ‘ill-being’ on our part, for which we are bound to assume responsibility. We must then work with ourselves to regain our usual attitude as quickly as possible.

My supervision work has increasingly convinced me that, the more that analysts are dominated by an ego ideal (Widlöcher 1978), or rather by a demanding analytic superego, the less they will be able to place themselves in the service of their patients, tolerating their defences and their receiving capacity and accepting the indications that patients give; instead the analysts will act as a ‘crusader’ of the presumed truth in their possession, ‘anointed’ as they are by some psychoanalytic theory or other – usually a highly orthodox one – which they espouse in a kind of orgiastic and complaisant primal scene. If not prepared to join in the game, the patient is seen as defensive, resistant, aggressive, envious
and unsuitable for analysis.

It is not unusual for young, or even not so young, analysts to be filled with this sacred fury. Hard work is necessary to make them once again capable of listening to the patient’s productions modestly, attentively and respectfully, ‘without memory or desire’, and in particular without fearing that the creativity sometimes required constitutes culpable heresy (Kernberg 1993).

I should like to mention here an exciting clinical case that came to my attention. It concerned the therapy of a boy with Asperger’s syndrome, in which the flexibility, creativity and courage of an analyst who was anything but naïve made for growth and profound transformation; however, the analyst had needed for a long time to forgo many of his usual interpretive strategies in order to find the right way of ‘reaching’ this patient authentically and thus enabling him to develop.

It is no coincidence that it is often child analysts who are most capable of ‘creative transgressions’, because little patients (and indeed seriously ill patients) are refractory to any form of ‘education’ (Ferruta et al. 2000; Norman 2001; Vallino Macciò, 1998). For this reason, I would recommend every analyst to have the experience of at least one child analysis. In this connection, it is surely significant that in the last few years nearly all psychoanalytic societies have succeeded in organizing comprehensive training courses in child and adolescent analysis.

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