Die Psychoanalyse als Strafvollzugsorgan

Mit der Psychoanalyse bin ich noch nicht ganz fertig. Bemerkenswert finde ich zuletzt, wie freimütig sich Analytiker dem Staat als Agenturen der sozialen Kontrolle zur Verfügung stellten, während sie gleichzeitig mit dem Anspruch hausieren gingen, sich — im Unterschied zum bösen Behaviorismus — der Emanzipation des Individuums verschrieben zu haben. Wikipedia dazu:

Der Aufstieg der Psychoanalyse popularisierte die Idee von Homosexualität als Krankheit. Dies vergrößerte die Zahl von Homosexuellen, die in Irrenanstalten und Gefängnissen untergebracht wurden. Forscher versuchten, eine Reihe von Therapien zu benutzen, um Homosexualität zu „heilen“, einschließlich Aversionstherapie, Übelkeit erregende Drogen, Kastration, Elektroschocks, Hirnchirurgie und Brustamputationen.

Die meisten dieser medizinischen Menschenversuche wurden zwar nicht von Freudianern, sondern von Verhaltenstherapeuten, Ärzten und Neurologen unternommen. Trotzdem war es wesentlich die Psychoanalyse, welche die Vorstellung von „Homosexualität“ als Krankheit ideologisch begründete und am Leben erhielt. Als die American Psychiatric Association (APA) die Pathologisierung von Homosexualität im Jahr 1973 schließlich stoppte, gab es immer noch genau eine Unterorganisation, die sich dieser Entscheidung hartnäckig und vehement widersetzte: die Amerikanische Psychoanalytische Vereinigung, kurz APsaA, die eine Revision ihrer dogmatischen Anschauungen auch dadurch unterband, dass sie Homosexuelle von der Ausbildung zum Therapeuten rigoros ausschloss. Erst 25 Jahre später brach der Widerstand der Freudianer in sich zusammen. Doch ein Ersatz ist bereits in Aussicht: Statt Homosexualität soll nun „Homophobie“ als Krankheitssyndrom etabliert werden — und das ausgerechnet von Organisationen, die sich jahrzehntelang selbst von der Unterdrückung und Verfolgung Homosexueller nährten.

Wie die repressive Zusammenarbeit von Staat und Psychoanalyse aussah, als letztere durch die Zuarbeit von Richtern und Strafrechtspflegern noch ein Fach mit goldenem Boden war, wird an einer der 15 Biographien deutlich, die Jeffrey Weeks und Kevin Porter in ihrem Buch Between the Acts: Lives of Homosexual Men 1885--1967 zusammengestellt haben. Ich möchte daraus eine längere Stelle zitieren (pp. 83--87):

Alas, something then happened that changed my life too, disastrously. Talk about pride going before a fall. I‘d had a long, trying day in London, got back late, tired and frustrated. I went for a walk in a park, and in the gents I met the brother of a friend. We were simply talking, when two plainclothes policemen charged in, waving torches and shouting, ‚gotcha, gotcha‘. The police behaved badly, and we were kept incommunicado for hours, not allowed to contact a solicitor. I had made enemies among some of the more conventional and conservative officials like the town clerk and the chief constable. We were charged with a ’serious offence‘. I still find it distressing to talk about it because not only dit it wreck my career, but it was a situation that clearly illustrated the cross unfairness of the law then, even as compared with the still awful discrimination today. At least now it is possible to put up a defence.

The police behaved badly again after the preliminary hearing at the magistrate’s courts. My friend left me alone while he went to find a taxi. Immediately, a policeman appeared and ordered me to follow him. The chief constable wanted to see me. I said, I‘d have to wait until my friend returned. He said no, now, or do you want me to arrest you for resisting arrest? At the police station there was no chief constable. It was a ruse to get me on my own to take mug-shots and finger-prints, which was most irregular.

Afterwards, I was suspended from work, and had to surrender my keys. I became very distressed, and was looked after by various friends, marvellous people. The case was blown up into a cause célèbre. Important people came as character witnesses. The press had a field day. For me it was an appalling experience, as it did not go according to my lawyers‘ forecasts — a telling-off, a fine, a few months‘ ’special leave‘. They had not allowed for a new judge on the circuit, and the town clerk. The maverick judge harangued me in particular and, as he grew red in the face, scattering sweat, spluttering and spitting, thumping his fist on the bench, he went on particularly about the need to save young boys from monsters like me. It began to look as if he were chastising himself, the need to save boys from him!

Then he threw the spanner into the works. He said he needed more time to decide what to do with us, so he was going to send us down for a weekend, to have a taste of what it would be like if, on Monday, he had decided to give us longer terms. This was a refinement of sadism for me.

I was in a near-hysterical state, and wanted to resign. The prison governor was a friend, and a member of our arts circle. He sent for me and said he couldn‘t understand what the judge was up to, but he would try to make my stay as least unpleasant as possible, which they did. Food was sent in, and I was allowed books and drawing materials. On Monday, the judge harangued again about protecting little boys, but he had decided not to send me to prison, because I would corrupt the others, which was indicative of his bias. He fined me £100, put me on probation on condition I saw the psychiatrist every week for a year in order ‚to be cured‘. Then, as I stepped down from the dock, the deputy town clerk handed me a buff envelope and insisted I opened it immediately. It contained a letter terminating my appointment immediately, stopping my salary and suspending my pension rights.

And there I was, in 1946, with the whole structure of my life in ruins. I honestly didn‘t know what to do. I hadn‘t a clue.

I sold everything I had practically. Some more or less strangers to me got in touch and said, we‘ve got a holiday cottage in North Wales we‘re going to and we think you need a rest, and then went to London and started up from there again. One valuable thing this horrible experience taught me was the wonderful goodness of loyal friends. It also taught me the decency of ordinary people, many of whom wrote to me. There were a few nasty letters, of course. What struck me significantly was that there were no messages from any religious personages, church or chapel, priest or preacher, none of them sent me any comfort.

I was now seeing the psychiatrist who had acted for me in the case. He was a Freudian, unfortunately for me. If he‘d been Jungian he‘d have probably said, go your way. Mine was quite an egoist and he ‚knew‘ he could cure me. But we were getting nowhere. After six months of it he said, I can‘t go on any further, your imagery is too rich, and he tried to palm me off on to some Austrian woman. I had one session with her and that was enough.

I hink he did believe he‘d solved the problem, though, when I told him about this girl I‘d met. I really believed I‘d fallen in love with her, but had thought marriage was not for me. But he talked me into it. Of course, my parents now were delighted that I was going to get married and a lot of people in the profession said at last he’s seen the light. I hadn‘t convinced myself I‘d given up my homosexuality, I‘d convinced myself that I could go the other way, and that then everybody would be so happy, you know, and it would solve a lot of professional problems.

I got a job with UNESCO, and my wife, my first son and I moved to Paris. Initially for a year. I stayed for eight years in the end. I kept strictly to the contract of the marriage, to begin with, trying to be a good husband and all that, and now the second child had come along. But I was beginning to have psychosomatic illnesses, near-breakdowns, tension. Back in England, after eight years, we lived for a while on the Isle of Wight, but it wasn‘t working. Then I left on my own for America, teaching in a college. When I said goodbye she said, go, go, I hope you never come back. […]

I hadn‘t been aware of the happenings in the fifties and sixties, or the campaign to change the law, because I went to UNESCO in 1948, and I was there until 1956. Then I went to America and came back in 1961. Still trying not to be involved and quite unaware. I remember reading in the paper about something called the Wolfenden Report on homosexuality but was not very curious about it. And certainly unaware of the political agitation in 1967, the campaign to change the Act. It didn‘t seem to register much in my mind. I thought, oh well, it’s legal now, you know. If this had happened years ago I wouldn‘t have been convicted. I‘m not a political animal and, once the conviction happened in Leicester, I think I was so bruised by it that I didn‘t want to know. Probably somewhere I think, deep down, I didn‘t want to know about sex even. […]