Bias and Moral Authority in Psychohistorical Writing

Vamik Volkan is a prolific contributor to psychohistory who once again explores the details and mechanisms of one of the central ideas psychohistorians use in their understanding of large group behavior—the intergenerational transmission of trauma. Together with the concept of unconscious reenactment, it lies at the heart of how we explain much of the history of large group conflict and violence. My response will focus on an issue that applies to much psychohistorical writing about large group relations, including much of Volkan’s work: the issue of bias.

In this paper Volkan illustrates two of the mechanisms he has identified in earlier publications, the notions of “chosen trauma” and “time collapse,” by recounting some of the events in the Balkan conflict involving the Serbs and their leader Slobodan Milošević. Professor Volkan’s analysis of Serbian actions is quite critical: it is that Milošević and his allies deliberately chose to reactivate the Serbian chosen trauma of their defeat at the Battle of Kosovo in 1389 for his own political purposes, thereby unleashing atrocities by Serbs against their historical enemies. This criticism may well be entirely justified: however, I find it to be somewhat problematic because of the issue of bias. I have the same reaction when Americans speak about the evils of Islamic fundamentalists. I feel that there is a problem when a member of one group speaks publicly about the crimes, evil deeds, sins, and alleged psychopathology of members of another group when there is a history of enmity between the two groups.

Of course all should be free to speak about whatever they please, but I am speaking about the question of moral authority—whether one has a claim to be taken seriously or whether one’s speech should more properly be discredited because of bias. In my opinion, it is just not morally legitimate to criticize an individual or group that has harmed members of your group and/or your loved ones, particularly when your group can rightly be accused of committing similar crimes, sins, or evil deeds without first acknowledging that this is the case.

I believe that this can be straightforwardly done. If you want to speak with moral authority about the crimes, sins, and so forth of others, you need to start with pointing out and acknowledging the crimes and sins of your group and what evil they have done to others. Only after this do you have the right to be listened to when speaking of others’ faults.

The Turks, longtime enemies of the Serbs, do not have a very pristine reputation throughout their history with regard to how they treat others. Perhaps their reputation is undeserved, but they are often depicted as cruel and sadistic toward those they conquer or control (i.e. Greeks, Armenians, and Kurds). Similarly, the United States has its own history of genocide and atrocities, for example, our treatment of Native Americans, the institution and deeds of slavery, and a long history of military atrocities from our use of torture during the Philippine rebellion follow-

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ing our conquest in 1898, to Mai Lai and Abu Grahib.

I think Professor Volkan’s creditability would be greatly enhanced if he applied his psychohistorical analysis toward the pathology and irrationalities of Americans and Turks in addition to what he has written concerning so many other nations and groups. The same could be said for the numerous Americans who have been speaking recently about the pathology and crimes of terrorists and Islamic fundamentalists; for me, their arguments would carry more weight if they applied their critical powers toward the actions of their own nation before speaking of the sins of others.

Two other thoughts come to mind. The report of Professor Volkan’s colleague who went to talk peace to the Serbs and was subjected to tales of the historical injuries the Serbs had suffered, sounds like a good illustration of what I briefly discussed in my Work-In-Progress research paper on vengeance, which I presented at the Psychohistory Forum on April 8^th and which will be published in the Journal of Psychohistory in September. It is an example of concerns about justice trumping the desire for peace. As I argued in my paper, conflict resolution is not likely to happen as long as the parties feel that their injuries have not been fully acknowledged and that some revenge or reparation has not occurred. Until that is done, justice has not yet been served, and peace is unlikely to break out. Negotiators and mediators working for peace need to keep this in mind.

Lastly, there is the issue of the “red scarf.” I applaud Professor Volkan’s wish/hope that psychoanalysts and psychohistorians might be in a position to warn of the inflammatory uses to which symbols such as Prince Lazar and the Battle of Kosovo can be put; that they can ignite cruelty, violence, and atrocities. My immediate association is to the American flag. The interesting book, Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Totem Rituals and the American Flag, argues that “. . . American patriotism is a civil religion of blood sacrifice, which periodically kills its children to keep the group together. The flag is the sacred object of this religion; its sacrificial imperative is a secret which the group keeps from itself to survive” (Carolyn Marvin and David Ingle, 1999, the quote is from the publisher’s blurb). Thus it seems quite clear to me that the American flag is a prime example of a Volkanian red scarf. The psycho-anthropologist Eli Sagan speaks of the American flag as a sacred symbol of our secular religion. Wouldn’t it be something to see Dr. Vamik Volkan on television talking about how dangerous a symbol the flag is and how we should consider banning it—or at least lock it away?

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