Pourtant, beaucoup de gens se reconnaissent dans ce livre. Annette Wievorka
Je crois plus en Hitler qu’en aucun autre homme. Il est le seul à avoir tenu ses promesses au peuple juif. Elie Wiesel
Les adultes gentils sont les plus dangereux. Il n’y a pas mieux pour vous embobiner. Binjamin Wilkomirski
Définitivement, je préfère les animaux aux humains, et les enfants ne font pas exception ; un enfant peut être extrêmement cruel tout comme l’adulte, tant qu’ils n’ont pas souffert, ils restent cruel, c’est dans les gènes, mais comme toujours, a toute règle il y a des exceptions. Misha Defonseca
Qu’est-ce que cela peut bien vouloir dire quand nous essayons d’inscrire quelque chose dans la mémoire publique ? N’est-ce pas une tentative d’obtenir du grand Autre la reconnaissance d’une souffrance particulière?
Ces mémoires fortement contestés sont le produit de la thérapie dite de “mémoire retrouvée”. L’auteur lui-même admet qu’il n’avait pu retrouver ses “origines” qu’avec l’aide d’un thérapeute et d’une recherche détaillée sur les victimes de l’Holocauste.
L’ultime énigme de son livre est la suivante : habituellement, nous produisons des imaginations comme une sorte de bouclier pour nous protéger contre les traumatismes insupportables ; ici, cependant, l’expérience traumatique la plus ultime, celle de l’Holocauste, est fantasmée comme bouclier. Renata Salecl
La Wilkomirski belge serait-elle aussi victime du syndrome des faux souvenirs ou de la thérapie de mémoire retrouvée?
Plus précisément, aurions-nous affaire avec l’histoire de Misha Defonseca, l’auteure du récit best-seller et succès cinématographique “Survivre avec les loups” à un nouveau cas de “syndrome des faux souvenirs”, souvent liée à la “thérapie de la mémoire retrouvée”, dont la propension à produire de faux souvenirs a donné lieu à tant de procès (notamment pour fausses accusations d’abus sexuels) ?
N’y retrouve-t-on pas des circonstances qui rappellent étrangement celles du célèbre cas de Binjamin Wilkomirski (ou plus récemment en 2004 de l’Australien Bernard Holstein – de son vrai nom Bernard Brougham – qui avait été jusqu’à se faire un faux tatouage d’Auschwitz)?
Ce musicien suisse (de son vrai nom Bruno Dössekker) dont les prétendus souvenirs d’enfant déporté (“Fragments : une enfance 1939-1948″) devinrent rapidement en 1995 un bestseller traduit en neuf langues et objet de nombreux prix littéraires avant qu’il soit quelques années plus tard démasqué comme affabulateur?
Victime, comme l’enfant de femme célibataire suisse, d’un grave traumatisme (la perte dans sa petite enfance de ses deux parents apparemment déportés et assassinés par les nazis pour faits de résistance), elle semble s’être inventée (à travers ses recherches personnelles, voire y compris l’histoire de la famille de son mari juif ?) une histoire rocambolesque et avoir gardé pour les adultes une méfiance quasi-maladive …
En tous cas, c’est, nous semble-t-il, l’une des pistes qui seraient à explorer si on veut un jour mettre au clair ce qui apparaît comme une remarquable cas de supercherie.
Comme en témoigne d’ailleurs l’intéressante étude de cas (hélas non traduite en français) qu’avait fait de l’affabulateur suisse la philosophe slovène (et accessoirement ex-épouse du philosophe et psychanalyste Slavoj Zizek .
Et ce même s’il est toujours difficile de statuer dans ces cas d’expériences et de circonstances limites : comme le rappelle Benjamin Wilkomirski lui-même pour sa défense, le Journal d’Anne Frank a longtemps, on le sait, été mis en doute …
Extraits (traduits au babelfish):
On voit souvent des exemples d’une telle approche thérapeutique dans divers talk-shows. Récemment, Oprah Winfrey accueillait le célèbre écrivain John Gray (l’auteur de “Les Hommes sont de Mars, les femmes sont de Venus”). Gray demande à une jeune femme de fermer les yeux et de se rappeler quelle scène de son enfance est particulièrement traumatique pour elle. La femme se rappelle qu’enfant elle s’était souvent fait traiter de stupide par son père et que maintenant elle souffre continuellement d’une mauvaise estime de soi. Gray demande alors à la femme de retourner mentalement à cette scène originale de son enfance et d’imaginer que son père, maintenant décédé, est à ses côtés. Les yeux fermés, la femme dit alors au “père” qu’il avait tort de la traiter de stupide, qu’elle ne croit vraiment pas à ce qu’il lui dit et qu’elle sait qu’elle est intelligente. Après quelques larmes, la catharsis se produit – la femme ouvre les yeux, Gray la prend dans ses bras comme un bon père le ferait et son traumatisme a disparu. Avec l’aide du thérapeute, la femme a pu non seulement retourner à son passé, mais également recréer ce passé de sorte que le noyau de son traumatisme a disparu.
Ici nous avons ainsi une croyance que le traumatisme du sujet peut être exactement attribué à un événement et avec l’aide de l’imagination du sujet, le traumatisme peut être annihilé. Dans cet exemple, c’est encore le père qui n’était pas à la hauteur de sa fonction symbolique et avec l’aide d’un nouveau père – le thérapeute – les dégâts causés par le père réel sont rétroactivement annihilés. Également crucial est le fait que le père réel “n’a pas entendu” sa fille et n’a pas compris ses erreurs, cependant, la femme trouve alors dans le thérapeute le croyant ultime – celui qui prend non seulement au sérieux ses plaintes, mais est avec sa thérapie capable de réparer le passé. Le thérapeute apparaît ainsi comme une figure quasi-divine - le réparateur tout-puissant compatissant.
Dans les études sur l’Holocauste, on a souvent noté que les survivants ont de grandes difficultés à rendre compte de leur expérience dans les camps de concentration. Les survivants se sentent souvent comme s’ils avaient deux identités: une reliée à leurs vies actuelles, et l’autre à l’expérience traumatique passée. Et cependant elles ont beau essayer de mettre de l’ordre dans leurs vies, elles n’arrivent pas à se débarasser de ce clivage. Les survivants rapportent ainsi souvent qu’ils vivent d’une certaine façon à côté” de leur expérience de l’Holocauste. Un survivant, par exemple, dit : “j’ai le sentiment… que le ‘moi’ qui était dans le camp n’est pas moi, n’est pas la personne qui est ici.”
Alors que Wilkomirski sait que la mémoire de la petite enfance doit ressembler à des fragments dans lesquels des événements de divers périodes et endroits sont mélangés, il n’a néanmoins aucun doute sur l’authenticité de sa mémoire. Il ne souffre non seulement pas d’une identité clivée, mais il ne montre pas non plus de sentiment d’aliénation du ‘moi’ traumatique du passé comme souvent les autres survivants de l’Holocauste. Mais il y a une plus grande différence encore entre Wilkomirski et les survivants de l’Holocauste, à savoir dans leurs relations à ceux qui sont censés écouter leurs témoignages.
Dori Laub souligne que les survivants ne sont pas des témoins authentiques d’eux-mêmes, c.-à-d. qu’ils n’arrivent pas à raconter leurs histoires, parce que l’Holocauste était un événement qui n’a en fait produit aucun témoin, parce que “le fait même d’être à l’intérieur de l’événement… rendait impensable la notion même qu’un témoin puisse exister, c.-à-d., quelqu’un qui aurait pu sortir du cadre de référence coercitivement totalitaire et de déshumanisation dans lequel l’événement avait lieu, et fournir un cadre de référence indépendant à travers lequel l’événement pourrait être observé.”
Laub explique de plus ce manque de témoin en précisant que “l’on doit concevoir le monde de l’Holocauste comme un monde dans lequel l’imagination même de l’autre n’était plus possible. Il n’y avait même plus un autre auquel on pouvait dire`tu ‘dans l’espoir d’être entendu, d’être reconnu comme sujet, d’avoir une réponse. La réalité historique de l’Holocauste était ainsi une réalité dans laquelle s’était philosophiquement éteinte la possibilité même d’adresse, la possibilité d’en appeler ou de se tourner vers un autre. Mais quand on ne peut pas se tourner vers un ‘vous”, on ne peut pas non plus s’adresser à un ‘tu’, même à soi-même. L’Holocauste a créé de cette façon un monde dans lequel on ne pouvait pas témoigner de soi-même.
Les survivants de l’Holocauste ont souvent de grands problèmes à raconter leurs histoires justement parce que la perception du grand Autre comme espace symbolique logique dans lequel leur adresse pouvait s’inscrire s’est effondré dans l’expérience même de l’Holocauste. Ainsi même aujourd’hui, les survivants sentent le manque de l’Autre qui doit témoigner de leurs témoignages.
Mais pour Wilkomirski, le problème n’est pas l’effondrement du grand Autre. Son problème principal est comment régler ses comptes avec les autres individuels (les divers adultes qui ont représenté des autorités dans sa vie). Avec cette obsession de contrer les autorités qui l’ont trahi dans sa jeunesse, Wilkomirski apparaît beaucoup plus comme un représentant typique de notre culture de la plainte que comme un survivant de l’Holocauste pour qui le point même à partir duquel on pourrait adresser une plainte s’est effondré. Quand on se plaint, on présuppose qu’il y a encore un Autre qui peut répondre, tandis que dans l’Holocauste, cette présupposition a cessé d’exister.
Il semble difficile d’imaginer qu’une personne s’invente une mémoire de survivant de l’Holocauste, alors que de nombreuses preuves contestent cette revendication. Néanmoins, on doit préciser que la personne dotée d’une telle mémoire rétrouvée trouve dans son histoire une jouissance particulière. Le fait que la thérapie de mémoire retrouvée expose les dessous obscènes des autorités est habituellement perçu comme la révélation de la vérité cachée, qui apporte la libération au sujet. Cependant, c’est justement le sujet lui-même qui trouve une jouissance particulière dans cette recherche de la jouissance des autorités. La thérapie de mémoire retrouvée prend la jouissance comme vérité de libération, qui peut servir de base à la moralité, mais le résultat de cet effort n’est rien de plus que la promotion de la violence.
Le sujet fantasme au sujet de la jouissance de l’Autre, parce qu’il ou elle essaye réellement de compenser les insuffisances dans le fonctionnement du grand Autre. De même, le sujet prend souvent sur lui-même la culpabilité afin de préserver l’Autre comme ordre cohérent. Le sujet s’attribue ainsi souvent la reponsabilité pour un crime qu’il ou elle n’a jamais commis de sorte que, par exemple, les autorités (père, chef, etc…) ne soient pas exposés dans leur impuissance.
Que dire du problème de Wilkomirski avec le grand Autre? L’énigme ultime de son livre est la suivante: habituellement, nous produisons des fantasmes comme une sorte de bouclier pour nous protéger contre les traumatismes insupportables; ici, cependant, l’expérience traumatique ultime, celle de l’Holocauste, est fantasmée comme bouclier. Mais un bouclier contre quoi ? Peut-être, une comparaison inattendue avec les X-Files peut nous aider ici. Comme il a été signalé par Darian Leader dans son ” Promesses que font les amoureux quand il se fait tard”, le fait que, dans les X-Files, tant de choses se produisent “là-bas” (où la vérité demeure : les étrangers nous menacent) est strictement corrélatif au fait que rien (rien de sexuel) ne se produit “ici” entre les deux héros (Gillian Anderson et David Duchovny). La loi paternelle suspendue (qui rendrait le sexe possible entre les deux héros) “retourne dans le vrai,” sous le couvert de la multitude d’apparitions spectrales de “vampires” qui interviennent dans nos vies ordinaires. Et il en va de même pour Wilkomirski : ici aussi, l’échec de la fonction paternelle a comme conséquence l’imagination de l’événement horrible le plus violent – l’Holocauste.
Ainsi, nous pouvons conclure que le sujet s’invente une mémoire traumatique à cause de la contradiction nécessaire de l’ordre symbolique et, en particulier, en raison de l’impuissance inhérente aux figures d’autorité. Alors que certains prennent sur eux-mêmes la culpabilité de crimes qu’ils n’ont jamais commis afin d’empêcher que l’angoissante impuissance des autorités soit exposée, l’exemple de Wilkomirski et d’autres cas de mémoire retrouvée prouvent que la dissolution générale des structures d’autorité dans la société d’aujourd’hui a eu comme conséquence l’idée que le sujet est essentiellement une victime. Ici, la tentative ne doit plus dissimuler l’impuissance des autorités, mais l’exposer plus loin. Mais, dans un tel effort, nous nous retrouvons souvent avec rien d’autre que la violence et l’obscénité, qui émergent dans les figures de nouvelles autorités comme des gourous, ainsi que certains thérapeutes de la mémoire retrouvée.
Extraits en anglais:
What does it mean when we try to inscribe something in the public memory? Is this not an attempt to get the big Other to recognize a particular suffering?
This highly disputed memoir is the product of the so- called recovered memory therapy. The author himself admits that he was able to discover his “origins” only with the help of a therapist and detailed research on the victims of Holocaust.
Examples of such a therapeutic approach are often seen on various talk shows. Recently, Oprah Winfrey hosted the famous John Gray (author of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus). Gray asked a young woman to close her eyes and remember which scene from her childhood is especially traumatic for her. The woman remembered that as a child she was often told by her father that she is stupid and now she continuously suffers from low self-esteem. Gray then asked the woman to return in her mind to the original childhood scene and imagine that her now dead father is standing next to her. With her eyes closed, the woman then tells the “father” that he was wrong in calling her stupid, that she actually does not believe in what he is saying and that she knows she is intelligent. After a moment of crying, catharsis happens—the woman opens her eyes, Gray hugs her as a good father and from now on her trauma is gone. With the help of the therapist, the woman was able not only to return to her past, but also to recreate this past so that the core of her trauma is gone. Here we thus have a belief that the subject’s trauma can be exactly attributed to an event and with the help of the subject’s imagination, the trauma can be annihilated. In this example, it is again the father who was not up to his symbolic function and with the help of the new father—the therapist—the damage done by the actual father is retroactively annihilated. Equally crucial is the fact that the actual father did not “hear” his daughter and did not understand his mistakes, however, the woman then finds in the therapist the ultimate believer—the person who not only takes her complaints seriously, but is with his therapy able to fix the past. The therapist thus appears as a new God-like creature—the compassionate almighty fixer.
In Holocaust studies, it has often been noted that the survivors have great difficulties reporting on their experience in the concentration camps. The survivors often feel as if they have two identities: one related to their present lives, and another from the past traumatic experience. And however much they try to put their lives in order, they cannot get rid of this split. The survivors thus often report that they somehow live “beside” their experience of the Holocaust. One survivor, for example, says: “I have a feeling…that the ’self’ who was in the camp isn’t me, isn’t the person who is here.”7
While Wilkomirski knows that memory from early childhood must look like fragments in which events from various times and places are mixed up, he nonetheless has no doubt in the authenticity of his memory. He not only does not suffer from the split identity, he also does not show any feelings of alienation from the traumatic “self” from the past as other Holocaust survivors often do. But still greater difference between Wilkomirski and Holocaust survivors is found in their relations to those who are supposed to listen to their testimonies.
Dori Laub points out that the survivors fail to be authentic witnesses to themselves, i.e. they fail in recounting their stories, because the Holocaust was an event that actually produced no witnesses, because the “very circumstance of being inside the event … made unthinkable the very notion that the witness could exist, that is, someone who could step outside of the coercively totalitarian and dehumanizing frame of reference in which the event was taking place, and provide an independent frame of reference through which the event could be observed.”8 Laub further explains this lack of the witness by pointing out that “one has to conceive of the world of Holocaust as a world in which the very imagination of the Other was no longer possible. There was no longer an other to which one can say ‘Thou’ in the hope of being heard, of being recognized as a subject, of being answered. The historical reality of the Holocaust became, thus, a reality which extinguished philosophically the very possibility of address, the possibility of appealing, or of turning to, another. But when one cannot turn to ‘you’ one cannot say ‘thou’ even to oneself. The Holocaust created in this way a world in which one could not bear witness to oneself.”9
Holocaust survivors often have great problems in recounting their stories precisely because the perception of the big Other as the coherent symbolic space in which their address can be inscribed has collapsed in the experience of the Holocaust. Thus even today, the survivors feel the lack of the Other which is to bear witness to their testimonies. But for Wilkomirski, the problem is not the collapse of the big Other. His main problem is how to make even with the individual others (various grown-ups who presented authorities in his life). With this obsession to counter the authorities who have betrayed him in his youth, Wilkomirski appears much more as a typical representative of our culture of complaint than as a Holocaust survivor for whom the very point from which one could address a complaint has collapsed. When one is complaining, one still presupposes that there is an Other who can answer, while in the Holocaust, this presupposition ceased to exist.
It might be hard to imagine that a person invents a memory of being a Holocaust survivor, while numerous proofs dispute this claim. Nonetheless, one needs to point out that the person with such recovered memory finds in his story special jouissance. The fact that the recovered memory therapy exposes the obscene underside of the authorities is usually perceived as a revelation of the hidden truth, which brings liberation to the subject. However, it is precisely the subject him or herself who finds special jouissance in this search for the jouissance of the authorities. The recovered memory therapy takes jouissance as the liberating truth, which can serve as the ground for morality, but the result of this endeavor is nothing but the promotion of violence.
The subject fantasizes about the jouissance of the Other, because he or she actually tries to supplement the deficiency in the functioning of the big Other. Similarly, the subject often takes upon him or herself guilt in order to keep the Other as a consistent order. The subject would thus often claim that he or she is guilty of a crime he or she never committed so that, for example, the authorities (father, leader, etc.) will not be exposed in their impotence.
What about Wilkomirski’s problem with the big Other? The final enigma of his book is the following one: usually, we generate fantasies as a kind of shield to protect us from the unbearable trauma; here, however, the very ultimate traumatic experience, that of the Holocaust, is fantasized as a shield. But a shield from what? Perhaps, an unexpected comparison with The X-Files can be of some help here. As it was pointed out by Darian Leader10 in his Promises lovers make when it gets late, the fact that, in The X-Files, so many things happen “out there” (where the truth dwells: aliens threateni us) is strictly correlative to the fact that nothing (no sex) happens “down here,” between the two heroes (Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny). The suspended paternal Law (which would render possible sex between the two heroes) “returns in the real,” in the guise of the multitude of “undead” spectral apparitions which intervene in our ordinary lives. And the same goes for Wilkomirski: here too, the failure of the paternal function results in the fantasy of the most violent horrible event—the Holocaust.
So, we can conclude that the subject invents a traumatic memory because of the necessary inconsistency of the symbolic order and, especially, because of the inherent powerlessness of the authorities. While some people take upon themselves guilt for the crimes they never committed in order to prevent the anxiety provoking impotence of authorities being exposed, the example of Wilkomirski and other recovered memory cases show that the general dissolution of authority structures in today’s society resulted in the idea that the subject is essentially a victim. Here, the attempt is no longer to cover up the impotence of authorities, but to further expose it. But, in such endeavor, we are often left with nothing but violence and obscenity, which emerges in the figures of new authorities like cult leaders, as well as some recovered memory therapists.
Why One Would Pretend to be a Victim of the Holocaust
Renata Salecl
Other Voices, v.2, n.1
February 2000
The last decade has been the decade of testimonies. Social and psychological theories have widely discussed victims’ traumas and the impact their reports of suffering have on the society as a whole. Discussions regarding the Holocaust have been concerned with the question of how to prevent future generations from forgetting the greatest crime of this century, while public debates on rape and other forms of sexual abuse have tried to bring people to greater awareness of these acts of violence.
What does it mean when we try to inscribe something in the public memory? Is this not an attempt to get the big Other to recognize a particular suffering? And, since we know very well from Lacan that the big Other actually does not exist, how can we then understand this overflow of testimonies? Is there in fact someone to listen to our reports, and if there is, what do we want from that agency?
In dealing with these questions, let me focus on one of the most controversial takes on the Holocaust: Binjamin Wilkomirski’s Fragments, which claims to be an authentic memoir of a three- or four-year-old child’s experience with the concentration camps. The author, now a musician living in Switzerland, believes himself to have been born around 1939 in Riga, Latvia. When he was three or four years old, his family was uprooted from their home, and after a period of flight in which he was a witness to his father’s execution, Binjamin was separated from his brothers and his mother and transported to Majdanek, the first of several camps in which he spent the next four years.
Wilkomirski narrates his memoir from the perspective of a confused, frightened child in disjointed flashbacks, which vividly present life in the camps: the hardship imposed on inmates, the cruelty of the guards, the sickening realities of existence, the fear and guilt. There are powerful accounts in the book of bloodied rats crawling from bodies in the camps; of a woman, possibly his mother, giving him her last scrap of hardened bread; of babies who chewed their fingers to the bone before dying; and of his standing barefoot, ankle-deep in excrement in order to keep warm. Binjamin does not know why he survived. The only explanation that he can provide involves the kindness of an older boy named Jankl who slept with him on his mattress and who taught him survival techniques.
The book moves back and forth between the years within the death camps and the years in Switzerland making no distinction between the two experiences. Binjamin was first the victim of the Nazis’ torture, but after the war he became the victim of the well-intentioned grown-ups who tried to convince him that he did not experience the Holocaust. His foster parents, for example, insisted that he abandon the strategies of self-protection which he had acquired in the Nazi camps. Although Binjamin was able to survive the horrors of the camps, he later felt completely powerless to cope with the banality of good intentions he was forced to endure in freedom. He thus concludes: “Friendly grown-ups are the most dangerous. They’re best at fooling you.”1 Even though people attempted to convince him that the concentration camp had only been a dream, he nevertheless believed that the camp was still hidden somewhere and that guards had merely disguised themselves as harmless people, retaining the ability to kill at anytime.
Fragments became an international bestseller, winning its author numerous awards. Now, it is more or less accepted that the book is a fraud. Swiss writer Daniel Ganzfried, a son of a Holocaust survivor, was first to claim that Wilkomirski was not born in Latvia, as his book says, but in Switzerland in 1941. The child of an unmarried Protestant woman, he was adopted by a Swiss couple who named him Bruno Doessekker. Ganzfried has found a birth certificate and other documents that indicate Doessekker spent the war years in Switzerland and started school in 1947, a year before Wilkomirski says he arrived in the country. To help substantiate his Jewish identity, Wilkomirski told Ganzfried he was circumcised. But Wilkomirski’s ex-wife and an old girlfriend deny this fact.
After this revelation, many other Holocaust scholars have proclaimed the book a work of fiction; however, Wilkomirski still insists that he is telling the truth. He compares himself to Anne Frank whose diary was also for a long time suspected to be a fake.
This highly disputed memoir is the product of the so- called recovered memory therapy. The author himself admits that he was able to discover his “origins” only with the help of a therapist and detailed research on the victims of Holocaust.
It is well known how highly suggestive recovered memory therapy is: the therapist does not listen to the patient’s free associations, but tries to lead the patient to remember some temporally forgotten trauma, which usually concerns an abuse suggested by the therapist himself as the possible cause of the patient’s problems.
When a patient suddenly “remembers” that he or she has been victim of violence in the past, one of the main problems for the patient is how to convince others about the reality of his or her recovered memory and to get some repayment for the past traumas. In the cases of recovered memory of childhood sexual abuse, for example, the patient primarily wants his or her parents or other authority figures to recognize their guilt, to accept the accusations the patient is making and to show remorse for their “crimes.”
Patients of recovered memory therapy usually have great problems with authorities. On the one hand, they complain either about the violence of the existing authorities in their childhood or their passivity in protecting them from the violence; on the other hand, they are quick to accept the therapist as the ultimate authority who is able to construct the most “violent” theories about the cause of their traumas. These problems with authorities that one finds in recovered memory therapy need to be analyzed in the context of the broader changes in today’s society. Was not recovered memory therapy born precisely at the time when we had many dilemmas in regard to the status of authorities in contemporary society? The last decade has been marked by the decrease of the power of traditional authorities (father, state presidents, church leaders, etc.) and the emergence of the figures which appear as the obscene underside of traditional authorities—cult leaders, sexual abusers, etc. As has often been noted in psychoanalytic theory, the father as the symbolic bearer of the law became the popular imaginary replaced by the father of the primal horde, a man who has access to jouissance which is for other men inaccessible.
Recovered memory therapy tries to give an answer to these problems with authority. But the paradox is that its war against traditional authorities exposes precisely their obscene underside. It is not only that parents and teachers are presented as abusers who excessively enjoy, but the therapist him or herself takes on the role of a leader who finds immense enjoyment in inciting the stories of sexual abuse.
Going back to Wilkomirski’s Fragments, we can say that here we also have the case of a man who is deeply troubled by authority. One of the most dramatic points in the book is the description of young Binjamin watching his father being killed by the militia. Wilkomirski writes: “Suddenly his face clenches, he turns away, he lifts his head high and opens his mouth wide as if he’s going to scream out….No sound comes out of his mouth, but a big stream of something black shoots out of his neck as the transport squashes him with a big crack against the house.”2 It is striking that Wilkomirski, who in actuality never knew his father, develops such a vivid memory of the father’s execution. It is as if the father failed in uttering a word, i.e. to represent the symbolic law—from his mouth comes a silent scream and a stream of blood instead of the voice of the authority. One can even speculate that it is because of this failure of the father to act in the symbolic that in his son’s memory he becomes a squashed object. This trauma with the authorities not being up to their symbolic status continues in Wilkomirski’s memoir—the real threat of the book is thus the disbelief in adults and fear of their “compassion.”
Jonathan Kozol3, in his enthusiastic review points out that Fragments “poses questions asked by those who work with spiritually tormented children everywhere: How is a child’s faith in human decency destroyed? Once destroyed, how can it be rebuilt? Or can it never be? What strategies do children learn in order to resist obliteration in the face of adult-generated evil?” Kozol even compares Fragments to Elie Weisel’s Holocaust memoir Night, in which “a fellow inmate confides to Wiesel that he has ‘more faith in Hitler’ than in anybody else. Hitler, he says, is “the only one who’s kept his promises…to the Jewish people.” While Wilkomirski never tells us he had ‘faith’ in any of the brutal ‘uniforms’ of Majdanek, it is clear that he had more faith in the predictability of their behavior, once he understood it, than he ever felt in the allegedly kind people who believed they were befriending him in Switzerland. Indeed, for a long time, it appears, he had no faith that what was called ‘the normal world’ outside the concentration camps was even real.” Wilkomirski thus doubts the reality of the outside world and has great mistrust in the people, while he never doubts the reality of his memory. One can speculate that Wilkomirski’s trauma has to do with some event from his childhood, which is probably related to the fact that he never knew his parents. However, what is of interest for us is the way he had created his fantasy around the most traumatic event of this century—the Holocaust.
Why would one invent being a Holocaust survivor? Although we cannot give an account of the personal motives which caused Wilkomirski’s act, we can nonetheless give a theory of how such testimony is grounded in changes in contemporary society. In recent years the growing obsession with memory and trauma has created an idea that one needs to constantly make oneself heard, while there is at the same time no one who can hear the revelations. It can even be speculated that it is precisely the inexistence of the agency which is to hear the subject that incited the testimony-industry, as well as recovered memory therapy. Lacanian psychoanalysis has widely discussed the changes in the perception of the big Other that happened in contemporary society. Jacques-Alain Miller and Eric Laurent4 have especially analyzed the emergence of the various ethical committees as an answer to the nonexistence of the big Other. As is well known from Lacan, the big Other as a coherent symbolic order does not exist; however, it nonetheless functions, i.e. the subjects’ belief in it has a significant impact on their lives. Today, subjects identify less and less with social institutions, rituals and authorities, and instead are constantly searching for what is supposed to be behind the fictional character of the big Other. However, in this process of freeing the subject from the big Other, one can also observe the subject’s anger and disappointment in regard to the very authority of the big Other. It thus appears as if it was not the subject who recognized that the big Other does not exist and that the authority is just a fraud, but that the big Other has somehow “betrayed” the subject. The father’s authority, for example, revealed itself only as a mask of his impotence; the social rituals in institutions appear more and more as a farce. However, this apparent liberation of the subject from authority can also be understood as a “forced” choice that the subject had to make when he or she acknowledged the impotence of the authority.
The emergence of testimony and repressed memory should be analyzed precisely in light of the subject’s changed relationship towards the big Other. First, one finds in today’s society an emergence of new individualism. The subject is more and more perceived as a creator of his or her identity and identifies less and less with the values of his family, community, or state.
Linked to this ideology of the subject’s self-creation is the perception that there is in the subject a truth, which only needs to be rediscovered, so that the subject will be able to be him or herself. But if some childhood experience shattered the core of the subject’s identity, he or she will be deprived of authenticity. Here we thus come to the problem of recovered memory: in order to reinstall the subject’s equilibrium, he or she has to remember the trauma, which undermined his or her identity. The purpose of therapy in this case is first to discover the original trauma and then to recreate the situation so that the subject’s suffering is alleviated. Examples of such a therapeutic approach are often seen on various talk shows. Recently, Oprah Winfrey hosted the famous John Gray (author of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus). Gray asked a young woman to close her eyes and remember which scene from her childhood is especially traumatic for her. The woman remembered that as a child she was often told by her father that she is stupid and now she continuously suffers from low self-esteem. Gray then asked the woman to return in her mind to the original childhood scene and imagine that her now dead father is standing next to her. With her eyes closed, the woman then tells the “father” that he was wrong in calling her stupid, that she actually does not believe in what he is saying and that she knows she is intelligent. After a moment of crying, catharsis happens—the woman opens her eyes, Gray hugs her as a good father and from now on her trauma is gone. With the help of the therapist, the woman was able not only to return to her past, but also to recreate this past so that the core of her trauma is gone. Here we thus have a belief that the subject’s trauma can be exactly attributed to an event and with the help of the subject’s imagination, the trauma can be annihilated. In this example, it is again the father who was not up to his symbolic function and with the help of the new father—the therapist—the damage done by the actual father is retroactively annihilated. Equally crucial is the fact that the actual father did not “hear” his daughter and did not understand his mistakes, however, the woman then finds in the therapist the ultimate believer—the person who not only takes her complaints seriously, but is with his therapy able to fix the past. The therapist thus appears as a new God-like creature—the compassionate almighty fixer.
It is well known that Freud insisted that there was no direct correlation between trauma and event. Many subjects can experience an event, but only some will develop a trauma linked to it; while it is also possible that the event never happened, but the trauma is nonetheless formed. When analyzing the link between trauma and an event, Freud also points out that the most traumatic thing for the subject is not the fact that an event actually happened, but that the subject did not anticipate it, was not prepared for it. Freud takes the example of a train crash.5 Someone who survived the accident might only later develop a trauma about it and becomes, for example, constantly haunted by the accident in his or her dreams. By creating an anxiety, these dreams try to make up for the lack of preparedness at the time of accident, since for Freud, it is precisely the anxiety of preparedness that presents the last shield from the shock. It is when this preparedness is lacking that the event results in a trauma.
When Lacan deals with the issue of trauma in Seminar I, he points out that “Trauma, insofar as it has a repressing action, intervenes after the fact (apres coup, nachtraglich). At this specific moment, something of the subject becomes detached from the symbolic world that he is engaged in integrating. From then on, it will no longer be something belonging to the subject. The subject will no longer speak of it, will no longer integrate it. Nevertheless, it will remain there, somewhere, spoken, if one can put it this way, by something the subject does not control.”6 Here, of course, we have a different idea of trauma than in recovered memory therapy. While for the latter trauma is something that needs to be discovered with the help of the therapist and then possibly annihilated via a confrontation with the abuser or via a reconstruction of the original situation, which caused the trauma, for Lacan trauma is the hard kernel which has not been integrated into the symbolic: that is why the subject cannot speak about it, or refers to it as something external to him or her.
In Holocaust studies, it has often been noted that the survivors have great difficulties reporting on their experience in the concentration camps. The survivors often feel as if they have two identities: one related to their present lives, and another from the past traumatic experience. And however much they try to put their lives in order, they cannot get rid of this split. The survivors thus often report that they somehow live “beside” their experience of the Holocaust. One survivor, for example, says: “I have a feeling…that the ’self’ who was in the camp isn’t me, isn’t the person who is here.”7
While Wilkomirski knows that memory from early childhood must look like fragments in which events from various times and places are mixed up, he nonetheless has no doubt in the authenticity of his memory. He not only does not suffer from the split identity, he also does not show any feelings of alienation from the traumatic “self” from the past as other Holocaust survivors often do. But still greater difference between Wilkomirski and Holocaust survivors is found in their relations to those who are supposed to listen to their testimonies.
Dori Laub points out that the survivors fail to be authentic witnesses to themselves, i.e. they fail in recounting their stories, because the Holocaust was an event that actually produced no witnesses, because the “very circumstance of being inside the event … made unthinkable the very notion that the witness could exist, that is, someone who could step outside of the coercively totalitarian and dehumanizing frame of reference in which the event was taking place, and provide an independent frame of reference through which the event could be observed.”8 Laub further explains this lack of the witness by pointing out that “one has to conceive of the world of Holocaust as a world in which the very imagination of the Other was no longer possible. There was no longer an other to which one can say ‘Thou’ in the hope of being heard, of being recognized as a subject, of being answered. The historical reality of the Holocaust became, thus, a reality which extinguished philosophically the very possibility of address, the possibility of appealing, or of turning to, another. But when one cannot turn to ‘you’ one cannot say ‘thou’ even to oneself. The Holocaust created in this way a world in which one could not bear witness to oneself.”9
Holocaust survivors often have great problems in recounting their stories precisely because the perception of the big Other as the coherent symbolic space in which their address can be inscribed has collapsed in the experience of the Holocaust. Thus even today, the survivors feel the lack of the Other which is to bear witness to their testimonies. But for Wilkomirski, the problem is not the collapse of the big Other. His main problem is how to make even with the individual others (various grown-ups who presented authorities in his life). With this obsession to counter the authorities who have betrayed him in his youth, Wilkomirski appears much more as a typical representative of our culture of complaint than as a Holocaust survivor for whom the very point from which one could address a complaint has collapsed. When one is complaining, one still presupposes that there is an Other who can answer, while in the Holocaust, this presupposition ceased to exist.
It might be hard to imagine that a person invents a memory of being a Holocaust survivor, while numerous proofs dispute this claim. Nonetheless, one needs to point out that the person with such recovered memory finds in his story special jouissance. The fact that the recovered memory therapy exposes the obscene underside of the authorities is usually perceived as a revelation of the hidden truth, which brings liberation to the subject. However, it is precisely the subject him or herself who finds special jouissance in this search for the jouissance of the authorities. The recovered memory therapy takes jouissance as the liberating truth, which can serve as the ground for morality, but the result of this endeavor is nothing but the promotion of violence.
The subject fantasizes about the jouissance of the Other, because he or she actually tries to supplement the deficiency in the functioning of the big Other. Similarly, the subject often takes upon him or herself guilt in order to keep the Other as a consistent order. The subject would thus often claim that he or she is guilty of a crime he or she never committed so that, for example, the authorities (father, leader, etc.) will not be exposed in their impotence.
What about Wilkomirski’s problem with the big Other? The final enigma of his book is the following one: usually, we generate fantasies as a kind of shield to protect us from the unbearable trauma; here, however, the very ultimate traumatic experience, that of the Holocaust, is fantasized as a shield. But a shield from what? Perhaps, an unexpected comparison with The X-Files can be of some help here. As it was pointed out by Darian Leader10 in his Promises lovers make when it gets late, the fact that, in The X-Files, so many things happen “out there” (where the truth dwells: aliens threateni us) is strictly correlative to the fact that nothing (no sex) happens “down here,” between the two heroes (Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny). The suspended paternal Law (which would render possible sex between the two heroes) “returns in the real,” in the guise of the multitude of “undead” spectral apparitions which intervene in our ordinary lives. And the same goes for Wilkomirski: here too, the failure of the paternal function results in the fantasy of the most violent horrible event—the Holocaust.
So, we can conclude that the subject invents a traumatic memory because of the necessary inconsistency of the symbolic order and, especially, because of the inherent powerlessness of the authorities. While some people take upon themselves guilt for the crimes they never committed in order to prevent the anxiety provoking impotence of authorities being exposed, the example of Wilkomirski and other recovered memory cases show that the general dissolution of authority structures in today’s society resulted in the idea that the subject is essentially a victim. Here, the attempt is no longer to cover up the impotence of authorities, but to further expose it. But, in such endeavor, we are often left with nothing but violence and obscenity, which emerges in the figures of new authorities like cult leaders, as well as some recovered memory therapists.
Endnotes:
1. Binjamin Wilkomirski, Fragments (New York: Schocken Books, 1996), 78.
2. Ibid., 6, 7.
3. Cf. Jonathan Kozol, “Children of the Camps”, The Nation, Oct. 26,1996.
4. Cf. Jacques-Alain Miller and Eric Laurent: “The Other Which Does Not Exist and its Ethical Committees”, Almanac of Psychoanalysis, (Tel Aviv: G.I.E.P, 1998).
5. Cf. Sigmund Freud, “Beyond the Pleasure Principle”, SE X.
6. Cf. Jacques Lacan, The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book 1 (New York: Norton, 1993), 191
7. Cf. Lawrence L. Langer, Holocaust Testimonies: The Ruins of Memory (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1991), 5.
8. Cf. Shoshanna Felman and Dori Laub, M.D., Testimony: Crises of Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis, and History (New York: Routledge, 1992), 81.
9. Ibid., 81, 82.
10. Cf. Darian Leader, Promises Lovers Make When It Gets Late (London: Faber, Faber, 1997).
Voir enfin:
Review of Fragments by Binjamin Wilkomirski
Readers of this review are urged to consult The Wilkomirski Affair : A Study in Biographical Truth, by Stefan Maechler, the definitive report on Fragments, Binjamin Wilkomirski’s invented “memoir” of a childhood spent in concentration camps, which created international turmoil. In 1995 Fragments, a memoir by a Swiss musician named Binjamin Wilkomirski, was published in Germany. Hailed by critics, who compared it with the masterpieces of Primo Levi and Anne Frank, the book received major prizes and was translated into nine languages. The English-language edition was published by Schocken in 1996. In Fragments, Wilkomirski described in heartwrenching detail how as a small child he survived internment in Majdanek and Birkenau and was eventually smuggled into Switzerland at the war’s end. But three years after the book was first published, articles began to appear that questioned its authenticity and the author’s claim that he was a Holocaust survivor. Stefan Maechler, a Swiss historian and expert on anti-Semitism and Switzerland’s treatment of refugees during and after World War II, was commissioned on behalf of the publishers of Fragments to conduct a full investigation into Wilkomirski’s life. Maechler was given unrestricted access to hundreds of government and personal documents, interviewed eyewitnesses and family members in seven countries, and discovered facts that completely refute Wilkomirski’s book.
Voir aussi:
Children of the Camps
Jonathan Kozol
The Nation
Oct. 28, 1996
Fragments.
By Binjamin Wilkomirski.
Schocken. 157 pp. $20.
“Some day, maybe,” wrote Erik Erikson, “there will exist a well-informed, well-considered, and yet fervent public conviction that the most deadly of all possible sins is the mutilation of a child’s spirit; for such mutilation undercuts the life principle of trust, without which every human act, may it feel ever so good and seem ever so right, is prone to perversion by destructive forms of conscientiousness.” It is hard to think of any recent book that demonstrates the truth of Erikson’s belief as powerful ly as Binjamin Wilkomirski’s memoir of the years he spent in Nazi concentration camps and of the immediate postwar years in Switzerland. This stunning and austerely written work is so profoundly moving, so morally important and so free from literary artif ice of any kind at all that I wondered if I even had the right to try to offer praise.
Wilkomirski was 3 or 4 years old, he thinks — there are no certainties within this work — when his family was uprooted from their home somewhere in Eastern Europe. After a period of flight in which he was a witness to his father’s execution, Binjamin wa s separated from his brothers and his mother and transported to Majdanek, the first of several camps in which he spent the next four years.
“Found wandering on the outskirts of Auschwitz-Birkenau in the closing days of World War II,” according to notes provided by his publisher, he was taken to an orphanage in Krakow and subsequently resettled at another orphanage in Switzerland. He still lives in Switzerland, where he is a well-known classical musician.
Fragments records what Wilkomirski calls the “shards of memory with…knife-sharp edges” that remain to him from roughly 1939 to 1948. He does not, however, try to reconstruct an ordered sequence for these memories. “If I’m going to write about it, I have to give up the…logic of grown-ups,” he tells us. “It would only distort what happened.” Thus, for example, we are never told, because the child when he was a child did not know, where he lived before the war. Krakow is mentioned several t imes, and Riga once, though all he recalls with certainty of Riga is “a cry of terror” in “a staircase” and the warning, “Watch it: Latvian militia.” We get the sense of a crowded train, a long journey, “terrible thirst” and “some vague hope” that has “so mething to do with Lemberg.” But, speaking always from the perspective of a child, he says, “I don’t know what Lemberg is. It’s some kind of magic word…. Maybe someone we have to find…who’s going to help.” Help is not going to come. “We never reached Lemberg,” the child tells us quietly.
The details of life within the camp are vividly recaptured. Four boys sleep together on a straw-filled mattress in a bunk. Between two rows of bunks there is a space in which, at first, the children are allowed to defecate. Binjamin learns to stand within the pool of excrement to keep his feet from freezing. Later, a bucket is brought in, but it fills up so quickly that the children, who are plagued with diarrhea, have to struggle upon pain of death to hold their bowels. A child who pees in his bed is exe cuted in the morning.
The guards are seen as “uniforms,” some black, some gray, some “brownish-green,” and are, by turn, good-natured and then murderous. One of the guards, “a powerful, bull-necked man” with “thick, strong arms,” takes off his jacket and plays kickball with th e children, then suddenly lifts the “ball,” a heavy wooden sphere, and smashes it into the skull of a small child, who dies instantly.
Another guard, a female, beckons Binjamin one day: “Today you can see your mother.” Escorted to another building, he’s directed to “a body under a gray cover.” When the cover moves, he sees “a woman’s head” and “then two arms.” The woman, he remembers, “s eemed to smile.” Then, “groping with her hand under the straw” on which she lay, she “motioned for me to come closer.” Unable to speak, “she reached out her hand to me and indicated that I should take what she had brought out from under the straw…. I to ok the object, clutched it against me, and went toward the door.” Only when he reached his barracks did he realize that her gift to him had been a piece of hardened bread.
The book is built on isolated incidents like these, semi-understood but unforgettable epiphanies rather than clearly recognized “events.” Two small bundles are thrown on the floor of the children’s barracks one cold night. Peering over the edge of his bun k, Binjamin sees that they are “tiny babies,” still alive. By morning, the babies’ blackened fingers have become “white sticks” because they chewed their frozen flesh down to the bone before they died.
Binjamin does not know why he survived. The only explanation that he can provide involves the kindness of an older boy named Jankl who slept with him on his mattress. “Jankl was good…. He knew how to steal food…. He always shared. Jankl was my friend. … I owe my life to Jankl.”
The book moves back and forth between the years within the death camps and the years in Switzerland. No line is drawn between the two experiences. The terrors that the child undergoes as victim of the guards at Majdanek are, in fact, exceeded frequently b y those he undergoes as victim of the dangerous solicitude of philanthropic grown-ups. Placed in a foster home in Switzerland, he panics at the insistence of his foster parents that he give up all the strategies of self-protection that he has acquired in the Nazi camps. Those strategies, he has reason to believe, had served him well. With Jankl’s help, he had invented useful tools to deal with evil. But he has no tools, no skills, no strategies, to cope with the banality of good intentions.
It was the Nazis, he makes clear, who taught him the most lasting lesson of his life: “Friendly grown-ups are the most dangerous. They’re best at fooling you.” He had fought hard to adhere to this belief and became frantic when he was compelled to let down his defenses. “I was always being forbidden to stick to the most important rules of survival.” When he stole food in the orphanage, he says, “they always found my hiding places…. Oddly, they didn’t punish me, at least not right away…. What were they planning?”
His foster family later told him that the concentration camp had not been real, that “it was all a dream,” but he was wise enough to have rejected this benighted, unconvincing explanation. His own belief, at least for a long time, was that “the camp’s still there — just hidden and…disguise d. They’ve taken off their uniforms” but “they can still kill.” The flames that he sees through the door of a coal furnace in the basement of his foster family’s home fill him with fear as great as any that he felt while he was living next to the gas ovens. “The oven door is smaller than usual,” he notes, “but it’s big enough for children.”
Fragments will very likely be compared to Elie Wiesel’s Night, an equally understated memoir recollected in a similarly pure and simple style. But Wiesel was 15 years old when he arrived at Auschwitz, so he understood, at least to some degre e, the genocidal context of his own experience. We read Fragments in a different way, participating in the chaos of a child’s desperate incomprehension, his longing to find reference points that might explain the inexplicable. Night remains, for me, the classic work, the quintessential and enduring testament of Holocaust survival. Although universal in its implications, it nevertheless belongs to a narrowly specific time in history. Fragments, on the other hand, is likely to be read a s much by child psychologists as it will be by historians. It poses questions asked by those who work with spiritually tormented children everywhere: How is a child’s faith in human decency destroyed? Once destroyed, how can it be rebuilt? Or can it never be? What strategies do children learn in order to resist obliteration in the face of adult-generated evil? Is it right to ask them later to renounce these learnings? Is it too dangerous for them to acquiesce? But, if they can’t renounce the skills requir ed in a time of darkness, can they ever truly live within the light of normal day? What does “normal” mean in a world that will so easily sequester and destroy those it has first dehumanized? To ask children to believe in goodness, and even more important , in the reliability of goodness, is to assume or to pretend that we believe in it as well.
In one of the most widely quoted passages of Night, a fellow inmate confides to Wiesel that he has “more faith in Hitler” than in anybody else. Hitler, he says, is “the only one who’s kept his promises…to the Jewish people.” While Wilkomirski nev er tells us he had “faith” in any of the brutal “uniforms” of Majdanek, it is clear that he had more faith in the predictability of their behavior, once he understood it, than he ever felt in the allegedly kind people who believed they were befriending hi m in Switzerland. Indeed, for a long time, it appears, he had no faith that what was called “the normal world” outside the concentration camps was even real.
“Over there, in the fields” beyond the camp, the child says, “there was a world once, but it disappeared.” Leaving the camp at war’s end is, for this reason, deeply problematic for the child’s understanding: “How can you go somewhere…that no longer exis ts?” As he finally leaves, he says, “We’re on our way to nothing… the world’s over.”
The book ends with no salutary message and no artificial affirmation about human goodness. Only by writing this extraordinary book, by speaking as a witness to the death of faith, does Wilkomirski win a kind of victory at last and voice a final, although fragile, affirmation. The child, in all but physical respects, died long ago. He died at Majdanek and then a second time in Switzerland. The man survives somehow — we don’t know how, his sanity seems like a miracle — and leaves this gift of nearly perfe ct pain and beauty to a world still willing to destroy the innocent.
Jonathan Kozol’s most recent book is Amazing Grace: The Lives of Children and the Conscience of a Nation (HarperCollins).
Voir enfin:
Creating False Memories
Elizabeth F. Loftus
Scientific American
September 1997
In 1986 Nadean Cool, a nurse’s aide in Wisconsin, sought therapy from a psychiatrist to help her cope with her reaction to a traumatic event experienced by her daughter. During therapy, the psychiatrist used hypnosis and other suggestive techniques to dig out buried memories of abuse that Cool herself had allegedly experienced. In the process, Cool became convinced that she had repressed memories of having been in a satanic cult, of eating babies, of being raped, of having sex with animals and of being forced to watch the murder of her eight-year-old friend. She came to believe that she had more than 120 personalities-children, adults, angels and even a duck-all because, Cool was told, she had experienced severe childhood sexual and physical abuse. The psychiatrist also performed exorcisms on her, one of which lasted for five hours and included the sprinkling of holy water and screams for Satan to leave Cool’s body.
When Cool finally realized that false memories had been planted, she sued the psychiatrist for malpractice. In March 1997, after five weeks of trial, her case was settled out of court for $2.4 million. Nadean Cool is not the only patient to develop false memories as a result of questionable therapy. In Missouri in 1992 a church counselor helped Beth Rutherford to remember during therapy that her father, a clergyman, had regularly raped her between the ages of seven and 14 and that her mother sometimes helped him by holding her down. Under her therapist’s guidance, Rutherford developed memories of her father twice impregnating her and forcing her to abort the fetus herself with a coat hanger.The father had to resign from his post as a clergyman when the allegations were made public. Later medical examination of the daughter revealed, however, that she was still a virgin at age 22 and had never been pregnant. The daughter sued the therapist and received a $1-million settlement in 1996.
About a year earlier two juries returned verdicts against a Minnesota psychiatrist accused of planting false memories by former patients Vynnette Hamanne and Elizabeth Carlson, who under hypnosis and sodium amytal, and after being fed misinformation about the workings of memory, had come to remember horrific abuse by family members. The juries awarded Hammane $2.67 million and Carlson $2.5 million for their ordeals.
In all four cases, the women developed memories about childhood abuse in therapy and then later denied their authenticity. How can we determine if memories of childhood abuse are true or false? Without corroboration, it is very difficult to differentiate between false memories and true ones. Also, in these cases, some memories were contrary to physical evidence, such as explicit and detailed recollections of rape and abortion when medical examination confirmed virginity. How is it possible for people to acquire elaborate and confident false memories? A growing number of investigations demonstrate that under the right circumstances false memories can be instilled rather easily in some people.
My own research into memory distortion goes back to the early 1970s, when I began studies of the “misinformation effect.” These studies show that when people who witness an event are later exposed to new and misleading information about it, their recollections often become distorted. In one example, participants viewed a simulated automobile accident at an intersection with a stop sign. After the viewing, half the participants received a suggestion that the traffic sign was a yield sign. When asked later what traffic sign they remembered seeing at the intersection, those who had been given the suggestion tended to claim that they had seen a yield sign. Those who had not received the phony information were much more accurate in their recollection of the traffic sign.
My students and I have now conducted more than 200 experiments involving over 20,000 individuals that document how exposure to misinformation induces memory distortion. In these studies, people “recalled” a conspicuous barn in a bucolic scene that contained no buildings at all, broken glass and tape recorders that were not in the scenes they viewed, a white instead of a blue vehicle in a crime scene, and Minnie Mouse when they actually saw Mickey Mouse. Taken together, these studies show that misinformation can change an individual’s recollection in predictable and sometimes very powerful ways.
Misinformation has the potential for invading our memories when we talk to other people, when we are suggestively interrogated or when we read or view media coverage about some event that we may have experienced ourselves. After more than two decades of exploring the power of misinformation, researchers have learned a great deal about the conditions that make people susceptible to memory modification. Memories are more easily modified, for instance, when the passage of time allows the original memory to fade.
False Childhood Memories
It is one thing to change a detail or two in an otherwise intact memory but quite another to plant a false memory of an event that never happened. To study false memory, my students and I first had to find a way to plant a pseudomemory that would not cause our subjects undue emotional stress, either in the process of creating the false memory or when we revealed that they had been intentionally deceived. Yet we wanted to try to plant a memory that would be at least mildly traumatic, had the experience actually happened.
My research associate, Jacqueline E. Pickrell, and I settled on trying to plant a specific memory of being lost in a shopping mall or large department store at about the age of five. Here’s how we did it. We asked our subjects, 24 individuals ranging in age from 18 to 53, to try to remember childhood events that had been recounted to us by a parent, an older sibling or another close relative. We prepared a booklet for each participant containing one-paragraph stories about three events that had actually happened to him or her and one that had not. We constructed the false event using information about a plausible shopping trip provided by a relative, who also verified that the participant had not in fact been lost at about the age of five. The lost-in-the-mall scenario included the following elements: lost for an extended period, crying, aid and comfort by an elderly woman and, finally, reunion with the family.
After reading each story in the booklet, the participants wrote what they remembered about the event. If they did not remember it, they were instructed to write, “I do not remember this.” In two follow-up interviews, we told the participants that we were interested in examining how much detail they could remember and how their memories compared with those of their relative. The event paragraphs were not read to them verbatim, but rather parts were provided as retrieval cues. The participants recalled something about 49 of the 72 true events (68 percent) immediately after the initial reading of the booklet and also in each of the two follow-up interviews. After reading the booklet, seven of the 24 participants (29 percent) remembered either partially or fully the false event constructed for them, and in the two follow-up interviews six participants (25 percent) continued to claim that they remembered the fictitious event. Statistically, there were some differences between the true memories and the false ones: participants used more words to describe the true memories, and they rated the true memories as being somewhat more clear. But if an onlooker were to observe many of our participants describe an event, it would be difficult indeed to tell whether the account was of a true or a false memory. Of course, being lost, however frightening, is not the same as being abused. But the lost-in-the-mall study is not about real experiences of being lost; it is about planting false memories of being lost. The paradigm shows a way of instilling false memories and takes a step toward allowing us to understand how this might happen in real-world settings. Moreover, the study provides evidence that people can be led to remember their past in different ways, and they can even be coaxed into “remembering” entire events that never happened.
Studies in other laboratories using a similar experimental procedure have produced similar results. For instance, Ira Hyman, Troy H. Husband and F. James Billing of Western Washington University asked college students to recall childhood experiences that had been recounted by their parents. The researchers told the students that the study was about how people remember shared experiences differently. In addition to actual events reported by parents, each participant was given one false event either an overnight hospitalization for a high fever and a possible ear infection, or a birthday party with pizza and a clown that supposedly happened at about the age of five. The parents confirmed that neither of these events actually took place.
Hyman found that students fully or partially recalled 84 percent of the true events in the first interview and 88 percent in the second interview. None of the participants recalled the false event during the first interview, but 20 percent said they remembered something about the false event in the second interview. One participant who had been exposed to the emergency hospitalization story later remembered a male doctor, a female nurse and a friend from church who came to visit at the hospital. In another study, along with true events Hyman presented different false events, such as accidentally spilling a bowl of punch on the parents of the bride at a wedding reception or having to evacuate a grocery store when the overhead sprinkler systems erroneously activated. Again, none of the participants recalled the false event during the first interview, but 18 percent remembered something about it in the second interview. For example, during the first interview, one participant, when asked about the fictitious wedding event, stated, “I have no clue. I have never heard that one before.” In the second interview, the participant said, “It was an outdoor wedding, and I think we were running around and knocked something over like the punch bowl or something and made a big mess and of course got yelled at for it. “
Imagination Inflation
The finding that an external suggestion can lead to the construction of false childhood memories helps us understand the process by which false memories arise. It is natural to wonder whether this research is applicable in real situations such as being interrogated by law officers or in psychotherapy. Although strong suggestion may not routinely occur in police questioning or therapy, suggestion in the form of an imagination exercise sometimes does. For instance, when trying to obtain a confession, law officers may ask a suspect to imagine having participated in a criminal act. Some mental health professionals encourage patients to imagine childhood events as a way of recovering supposedly hidden memories.
Surveys of clinical psychologists reveal that 11 percent instruct their clients to “let the imagination run wild,” and 22 percent tell their clients to “give free rein to the imagination.” Therapist Wendy Maltz, author of a popular book on childhood sexual abuse, advocates telling the patient: “Spend time imaging that you were sexually abused, without worrying about accuracy proving anything, or having your ideas make sense …. Ask yourself … these questions: What time of day is it? Where are you? Indoors or outdoors? What kind of things are happening? Is there one or more person with you?” Maltz further recommends that therapists continue to ask questions such as “Who would have been likely perpetrators? When were you most vulnerable to sexual abuse in your life?”
The increasing use of such imagination exercises led me and several colleagues to wonder about their consequences. What happens when people imagine childhood experiences that did not happen to them? Does imagining a childhood event increase confidence that it occurred? To explore this, we designed a three-stage procedure. We first asked individuals to indicate the likelihood that certain events happened to them during their childhood. The list contains 40 events, each rated on a scale ranging from “definitely did not happen” to “definitely did happen.” Two weeks later we asked the participants to imagine that they had experienced some of these events. Different subjects were asked to imagine different events. Sometime later the participants again were asked to respond to the original list of 40 childhood events, indicating how likely it was that these events actually happened to them. Consider one of the imagination exercises. Participants are told to imagine playing inside at home after school, hearing a strange noise outside, running toward the window, tripping, falling, reaching out and breaking the window with their hand. In addition, we asked participants questions such as “What did you trip on? How did you feel?” In one study 24 percent of the participants who imagined the broken-window scenario later reported an increase in confidence that the event had occurred, whereas only 12 percent of those who were not asked to imagine the incident reported an increase in the likelihood that it had taken place. We found this “imagination inflation” effect in each of the eight events that participants were asked to imagine. A number of possible explanations come to mind. An obvious one is that an act of imagination simply makes the event seem more familiar and that familiarity is mistakenly related to childhood memories rather than to the act of imagination. Such source confusion when a person does not remember the source of information can be especially acute for the distant experiences of childhood.
Studies by Lyn Giff and Henry L. Roediger III of Washington University of recent rather than childhood experiences more directly connect imagined actions to the construction of false memory. During the initial session, the researchers instructed participants to perform the stated action, imagine doing it or just listen to the statement and do nothing else. The actions were simple ones: knock on the table, lift the stapler, break the toothpick, cross your fingers, roll your eyes. During the second session, the participants were asked to imagine some of the actions that they had not previously performed. During the final session, they answered questions about what actions they actually performed during the initial session. The investigators found that the more times participants imagined an unperformed action, the more likely they were to remember having performed it.
Impossible Memories
It is highly unlikely that an adult can recall genuine episodic memories from the first year of life, in part because the hippocampus, which plays a key role in the creation of memories, has not matured enough to form and store longlasting memories that can be retrieved in adulthood.
A procedure for planting “impossible” memories about experiences that occur shortly after birth has been developed by the late Nicholas Spanos and his collaborators at Carleton University. Individuals are led to believe that they have well-coordinated eye movements and visual exploration skills probably because they were born in hospitals that hung swinging, colored mobiles over infant cribs. To confirm whether they had such an experience, half the participants are hypnotized, age-regressed to the day after birth and asked what they remembered. The other half of the group participates in a “guided mnemonic restructuring” procedure that uses age regression as well as active encouragement to re-create the infant experiences by imagining them.. Spanos and his co-workers found that the vast majority of their subjects were susceptible to these memory-planting procedures. Both the hypnotic and guided participants reported infant memories. Surprisingly, the guided group did so somewhat more (95 versus 70 percent). Both groups remembered the colored mobile at a relatively high rate (56 percent of the guided group and 46 percent of the hypnotic subjects). Many participants who did not remember the mobile did recall other things, such as doctors, nurses, bright lights, cribs and masks. Also, in both groups, of those who reported memories of infancy, 49 percent felt that they were real memories, as opposed to 16 percent who claimed that they were merely fantasies. These findings confirm earlier studies that many individuals can be led to construct complex, vivid and detailed false memories via a rather simple procedure. Hypnosis clearly is not necessary.
How False Memories Form
In the lost-in-the-mall study, implantation of false memory occurred when another person, usually a family member, claimed that the incident happened. Corroboration of an event by another person can be a powerful technique for instilling a false memory. In fact, merely claiming to have seen a person do something can lead that person to make a false confession of wrongdoing.
This effect was demonstrated in a study by Saul M. Kassin and his colleagues at Williams College, who investigated the reactions of individuals falsely accused of damaging a computer by pressing the wrong key. The innocent participants initially denied the charge, but when a confederate said that she had seen them perform the action, many participants signed a confession, internalized guilt for the act and went on to confabulate details that were consistent with that belief. These findings show that false incriminating evidence can induce people to accept guilt for a crime they did not commit and even to develop memories to support their guilty feelings.
Research is beginning to give us an understanding of how false memories of complete, emotional and self-participatory experiences are created in adults. First, there are social demands on individuals to remember; for instance, researchers exert some pressure on participants in a study to come up with memories. Second, memory construction by imagining events can be explicitly encouraged when people are having trouble remembering. And, finally, individuals can be encouraged not to think about whether their constructions are real or not. Creation of false memories is most likely to occur when these external factors are present, whether in an experimental setting, in a therapeutic setting or during everyday activities.
False memories are constructed by combining actual memories with the content of suggestions received from others. During the process, individuals may forget the source of the information. This is a classic example of source confusion, in which the content and the source become dissociated.
Of course, because we can implant false childhood memories in some individuals in no way implies that all memories that arise after suggestion are necessarily false. Put another way, although experimental work on the creation of false memories may raise doubt about the validity of long-buried memories, such as repeated trauma, it in no way disproves them. Without corroboration, there is little that can be done to help even the most experienced evaluator to differentiate true memories from ones that were suggestively planted.
The precise mechanisms by which such false memories are constructed await further research. We still have much to learn about the degree of confidence and the characteristics of false memories created in these ways, and we need to discover what types of individuals are particularly susceptible to these forms of suggestion and who is resistant.
As we continue this work, it is important to heed the cautionary tale in the data we have already obtained: mental health professionals and others must be aware of how greatly they can influence the recollection of events and of the urgent need for maintaining restraint in situations in which imagination is used as an aid in recovering presumably lost memories.
The Author
ELIZABETH F. LOFTUS is professor of psychology and adjunct professor of law at the University of Washington. She received her Ph.D. in psychology from Stanford University in 1970. Her research has focused on human memory, eyewitness testimony and courtroom procedure. Loftus has published 18 books and more than 250 scientific articles and has served as an expert witness or consultant in hundreds of trials, including the McMartin preschool molestation case. Her book Eyewitness Testimony won a National Media Award from the American Psychological Foundation. She has received honorary doctorates from Miami University, Leiden University and John Jay College of Criminal Justice. Loftus was recently elected president of the American Psychological Society.
Further Reading
THE MYTH OF REPRESSED MEMORY. Elizabeth F Loftus and Katherine Ketcham. St. Martin’s Press, 1994.
THE SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF FALSE CONFESSIONS: COMPLIANCE, INTER NALIZATION, AND CONFABULATION. Saul M. Kassin and Katherine L. Kiechel in Psychological Science, Vol. 7, NO. 3, pages 12S-128; May 1996.
IMAGINATION INFLATION: IMAGINING A CHILDHOOD EVENT INFLATES CONFIDENCE THAT IT OCCURRED. Maryanne Carry, Charles G. Manning, Elizabeth F. Loftus and Steven J. Sherman in Psychonomic Bulletin and Review, Vol. 3, NO. 2, pages 208-214; June 1996.
REMEMBERING OUR PAST: STUDIES IN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL MEMORY. Edited by David C. Rubin. Cambridge University Press, 1996.
SEARCHING FOR MEMORY: THE BRAIN, THE MIND, AND THE PAST. Daniel L. Schacter. BasicBooks, 1996.