Not So Much Fun Now
The American Presidential election has been dominated over recent days by speculation about the mental fitness of the two main candidates. First, Donald Trump has picked up on a stray remark by Hillary Clinton that she had “short-circuited” a process over her e-mails when she was Secretary of State so as to suggest that “she wasn’t all there.” On the other side, and perhaps with rather more substance, there is an increasing chorus of voices, including a number from the Republicans themselves, concerned that Trump is “unfit to be President”.
Of even more immediate concern to the Republicans, however, must be the growing evidence that Trump is not only not fit to sit in the Oval Office – he’s not even fit to be a candidate. What’s more, his deficiencies in this regard are likely to be increasingly exposed the longer the campaign goes on.
It is not so much a case of mental illness as of personality type. It is clear that Trump has a very unusual personality, perhaps best described as narcissistic. Those with this kind of personality are entirely self-absorbed. They establish an image of themselves that is often at variance with reality and they use all their energies to try to build and conform to that image. They have no regard or concern for others, except to the extent that they support the image.
The narcissist goes to extreme lengths to feed his ego. He not only welcomes but demands flattery. He is prepared to embellish the truth and to invent stories that show him in a good light. He invents and endlessly repeats complimentary remarks made about him by others, and if others do not this in sufficient numbers, he will do so himself. He insists on being seen as successful, rich and a great lover, even if the facts do not support such opinions.
For Trump, the primary elections were a godsend. They were tailor-made to feed his need for fame and recognition. They allowed him endless television exposure every day across the whole country (and beyond). He had adoring crowds at his rallies, waiting to be roused to anger, amused and above all shocked by the unexpected things he would say. And, best of all, he could confirm his self-image as a winner.
In state after state, he could take on a series of challengers – lesser mortals – who, one by one, were vanquished and fell by the wayside. He took risks, exhibiting a behaviour that would normally have condemned a would-be President as unbalanced, and got away with it – indeed, his supporters rewarded him for it. And then, with only a couple of hiccups at the Convention, he was nominated – quite clearly against the wishes of the Republican hierarchy – as the Republican Presidential candidate. What greater evidence did he need that he was indeed unique and unstoppable?
But the American Presidential campaign is very long. There are still three months to go. And insulting one opponent is not as much fun as insulting sixteen. Nor does it command so many headlines and popular support.
And what does a narcissist do when events contrive to suggest that the self-image is at risk? What does Donald Trump do when the polls begin to show that he is significantly trailing behind his opponent – that he looks more like a potential loser than a winner? What does he do when even some of his own side indicate their reluctance to support him?
What he is most likely to do is to return to the behaviours that earned him such success in the primary elections. But to make yet more outrageous statements, to alienate opinion – even friendly opinion – by showing that he would be prepared to insult and trash friends, allies, neighbours, war heroes, would only confirm in the correctness of their judgment that growing number who regard him as unfit to be President.
And can he really contemplate three months of public attention while someone who demands adulation and who “likes only winners” slowly and painfully comes apart, with only the ability to shock as the last weapon in his armoury? Campaigning was fun while he was knocking out his opponents; but can a Donald Trump personality really bear to go through three months of purgatory while he – and the world – watch the polls turn against him so that ending up as a loser becomes inevitable?
The Republican Party must be asking itself these self-same questions. Many Republican leaders no doubt foresaw this scenario. Their concern will not be for Trump’s psyche but for the damage that his unravelling could do to Republican candidates in this and future elections. The very existence of the Party itself as a contender for political power could be in jeopardy.
So, stand by for some interesting further twists in this saga over the next three months. What is likely to unfold is not quite a Shakespearean tragedy – Trump has significantly more than one fatal flaw – but it is by no means certain that he will last the distance. What is unclear is precisely who will pull the rug from under his feet – his so-called supporters or the man himself.
Bryan Gould
10 August 2016
Why The Despair?
The despair felt at England’s premature departure from the Rugby World Cup is understandable, but also informative. It tells us something significant about the problems facing English rugby, and perhaps English sport more generally.
No one doubts that the “pool of death” was always going to pose a major challenge to the England team. That problem was of course compounded by the last-minute loss to Wales – and suddenly, the match against Australia assumed huge importance.
The reaction of the England team was everything that the Australian coach, Michael Cheika, could have hoped for. Never mind that England had home advantage, that the Wallabies had been beaten by England in four of their last five meetings, that Australia’s last match against a tier-one nation had been a 41-13 loss to New Zealand, and that their two opening World Cup matches – while producing decisive wins – had been against less challenging sides.
The language of England rugby was all about backs to the wall and battening down the hatches. The Wallabies had suddenly assumed superhuman proportions. More than most, the Australians are a confidence team; they were no doubt delighted to see England talk themselves into the role of underdogs.
The match bore out all of these dread premonitions. The Wallabies struck a purple patch – something they often do but usually can’t sustain – and England duly fulfilled their prescribed role as ill-fated and inevitable losers.
But let us not forget that, with 10 minutes to go, England had fought back to be just one score behind. It was the sending off that tipped the scales and allowed the score to blow out in the last minutes. But England have not become no-hopers and the Australians world- beaters in the course of a single match. If England played Australia in another ten matches in the next few weeks, it is unlikely that they would be outplayed again so comprehensively.
It is not so much the fact of the loss, with all its unfortunate consequences for English rugby, but the reaction to it that is revealing. The depth of the despair reflects the fact that English fans have been fed an illusion for years – that England would surf through to a Twickenham final where home advantage would carry them to victory – probably against the All Blacks – on the strains of “Swing Low”.
It is the creators of that illusion who must take the real responsibility for English despair. In the professional era, sport – as we know – is big business. Its profitability, especially in the more populous countries, depends on attracting and retaining mass audiences, an undertaking in which the media are both major players and beneficiaries.
English football is perhaps the prime example of how the media set out to dramatise and romanticise every aspect of the game. The leading players become larger-than-life figures, their exploits endlessly celebrated. The fans become accustomed to a diet of manufactured drama and excitement – and demand nothing less.
The syndrome is on its way to infecting other sports, and English rugby – sadly – is in the process of succumbing as well. Almost instinctively, it seems, English rugby commentators feel that simply acknowledging a good piece of play by England is not enough; viewers expect to hear something of the superlative if it is to be given its due.
A classic instance occurred midway through the first half of the England/Wales World Cup match. The Welsh kicked deep into the English half, the English player gathering the ball – Jonny May – was trapped on his line but managed to get the ball to Mike Brown, who then cleared the danger with a long touch-finder.
It was a competent piece of defence. The television commentator, however, could not contain himself. “There is no other player in the world,” he proclaimed, in a state of high excitement, “who could have done that!” At that point, millions of non-English viewers around the world must have said to themselves and each other – “What?”
So, what is the relevance of all this to the English defeat? The problem is that, as the media and the fans egg each other on and feed off each other, the sport is played in an increasingly unreal context. The English fan is encouraged to live in a kind of fantasy land, in which superhuman heroes will achieve great feats. Completely unrealistic outcomes are routinely expected.
The cult of the hero had a possibly decisive impact on the critical closing moments of the England/Wales match. Chris Robshaw’s decision to kick for the corner rather than attempt a penalty goal was a brave and justifiable gamble.
Where the gamble went wrong, however, was when the five-metre lineout was taken. For the first time in the match, Robshaw called the lineout throw to himself, at number two in the line. That short throw made it almost inevitable that, even when the ball was taken cleanly, it would be immediately driven into touch and the game would be lost.
Why did he do it? Because the Twickenham crowd demanded a hero, and he saw himself as Captain Marvel. Fantasy is not a good basis for sporting performance – or for judging the outcomes.
Bryan Gould
4 October 2015
Coercive Control
There seems to be no let-up in the reports coming in from around the world of shocking violence against women. Sadly, the tragic events in Dunedin seem to add a further New Zealand instance to that shameful catalogue.
Most cases of domestic violence involve physical or sexual abuse; but increasingly, that abuse is preceded or accompanied by psychological abuse as well.
New Zealand was among the more enlightened countries when Parliament in 1995 added psychological abuse, as well as the more familiar physical and sexual abuse, to the definition of domestic violence. As the current advertising campaign against domestic violence “It’s Not Okay” makes clear, psychological abuse can be just as damaging as other forms of domestic violence.
Sadly, though, Parliament’s 1995 intentions have come almost to nought. Counsellors and psychologists, lawyers and judges, have almost uniformly chosen to remain ignorant of, and therefore to ignore, allegations of psychological abuse. One example; whereas the Family Court and its officers would never, in a case of physical or sexual abuse, send the parties to mediation, that is often their first resort in cases which might involve psychological abuse.
The current orthodoxy is that the parties to a relationship break-down should be encouraged to behave as much as possible like a “normal” family, especially where children are involved. Shared parenting is the order of the day. But this is clearly not possible in cases of physical and sexual abuse – and it is no more appropriate in cases where the reason for the break-down was the psychological abuse of one party by the other.
The courts do of course have great difficulty with psychological abuse (or “coercive control” as it is now often called in the literature). It is hard to establish good evidence, because psychological abuse “does not leave bruises”. And, unlike physical or sexual abuse, it does not occur in the form of single and recognisably traumatic events but usually comprises, over many years, an endless succession of small incidents, usually constituting a deliberate and cumulative pattern of behaviour which can do great damage to the victim and other family members.
There is a growing body of research about what constitutes psychological abuse, much of it in the US and some of the best produced by psychologists who actually work with the perpetrators of the abuse. The essence of the abuse is the determination of the abuser to control, bully and dominate the victim – and in the end to destroy her identity as a person in her own right.
Typically, an abuser will seek to isolate the victim. He will forbid her to leave the house except for purposes he approves. He will antagonise her friends so that they no longer visit. He will limit her outside interests and insist that her role is in the home.
He will attack her self-esteem by constantly telling her she is “useless” or “brainless”. He will denigrate her in front of the children. He will treat her as a drudge or minion. He will make unreasonable and constantly changing demands. He will keep her short of money (while spending freely himself); he may insist on being shown detailed receipts for every item of expenditure, including food and other groceries. He will withhold love and affection, except when sex is required.
The victim will begin to feel worthless, and will believe what she is constantly told – that “it is all your fault”. She will feel powerless to change the situation, doubting her own ability to decide and act for herself, and convinced that her partner cannot be challenged.
None of this need involve physical violence, though it might do. The perpetrator is usually able to present a reasonable exterior to his own friends in the outside world. He reserves his abuse for the domestic context. The abuse does not stop with the victim, but will usually affect the children of the relationship as well.
The research shows that if the victim is finally able to summon up the courage to break away, the abuser will often use the post-separation process – exploiting issues like financial support or contact with the children – as an opportunity to try to re-assert control and to punish the victim for seeking to escape. The use of the courts over a prolonged period is a typical weapon to this end. The abuse does not end when the relationship ends.
The Family Court’s preference for sending cases to mediation is meat and drink to the abuser. It is a chance to dominate the victim all over again, to re-create in her that sense that she cannot stand up for herself and that her abuser will always win. The legal process that should be protecting her from the abuser she has escaped from seems intent on thrusting her (and often her children) back into his control.
The only way that the law can be made to work as intended is if those appointed as mediators in such cases are properly trained to recognise and act on psychological abuse. Without it, the law is a dead letter, and we might well ask – why did the legislators bother?
Bryan Gould
16 January 2014.
This article was published in the NZ Herald on 24 January.
The Iron Lady
The Iron Lady? May she rust in peace.
Political Ambition Knows No Bounds
Politics is a funny business, sometimes producing unintended consequences, sometimes revealing human weaknesses that would be better remaining hidden.
A case in point was the unresolved dispute about the leadership of the Maori party. Few could have imagined that the issue could have produced such a bewildering outcome.
The Maori party, like the Greens, had adopted a dual leadership – one assumes as a neat way of avoiding the need to decide between the two candidates who might otherwise have been at each other’s throats. But, as luck and events would have it, the fact that the two leaders were of different genders – and that matter had been decided as a biological (rather than political) fact at a somewhat earlier date – became translated into a “principle” that the dual leadership should comprise one of each sex.
This happy arrangement was disturbed, however, when Tariana Turia – the distaff half of the duo – announced that she would stand down. One possibility immediately presented itself; the other half of the duo, Pita Sharples, might also resign (as he had earlier indicated he would) and bring the dual leadership arrangement to an end, so providing the opportunity for Te Ururoa Flavell to become leader (as the only remaining Maori party MP) in his own right. Te Ururoa Flavell, it will be noted, is a man.
This simple solution was however stymied by Pita Sharples digging in his toes. He announced that he would stay on, and would oppose any leadership bid by Te Ururoa Flavell. Battle (albeit discreetly) was joined.
When it became clear that Flavell was likely to win in any ballot of the membership (which could have been conducted with ease and despatch, since there were by now only 17 members left), what was Pita Sharples to do? Being a Minister mattered enormously to him. He enjoyed the prestige and the perks and was quite understandably unwilling to give them up. He enjoyed the flattery applied liberally to him by the Prime Minister and was able to convince himself (if no one else) that his use of a Ministerial car was essential if Maori interests were to be properly defended.
His problem was that if he was forced to relinquish the leadership of the party, his successor would also have an undeniable claim to take over the Ministerial limousine. The thought of Te Ururoa Flavell stepping into the back seat and instructing the chauffeur as to where to take him was too much to bear.
So Pita Sharples hit upon a brilliant idea. He would remind the party that it had always had two leaders – and that, even if Te Ururoa Flavell took over one of the spots, there would still be one left to accommodate one P. Sharples. But the sharp-eyed reader will already have identified the flaw in the argument; if it was required that the party should have two leaders, it could equally well be argued that it was also necessary that the two leaders should be of different genders.
What was to be done? It was undeniable that Te Ururoa Flavell was a man, leading inexorably to the conclusion that the other leader would have to be a woman. And this, according to most observers at any rate, constituted something of a dilemma for P. (as he had taken to calling himself) Sharples.
Throughout the fateful night, he wrestled with the dilemma. He reminded himself that Henri IV had once asked, “Is Paris worth a mass?” Was a Ministerial post worth a similarly fundamental sacrifice of something he held dear?
As morning dawned, he had made up his mind. There was, in the end, no real choice. He disappeared from public life for a few weeks – and the rest, as they say, is history. Patricia Sharples was elected with acclaim as the other leader of the Maori Party – and the Ministerial car was safe.
Bryan Gould.
25 January 2013