Phocus Insights - thoughts from Rodney Collins

Venables

'I don't think we went wrong as parents at all. He has had more love and attention than a lot of children I know. He has been educated. He has never really been what you would call a sagger off school (a truant). He has had his holidays like everyone else. He has had Christmas presents…Contrary to what the papers will tell you, he is not a little urchin boy. He is far from it. He has had security with loving parents and a loving brother and sister.'

Mr Venables said that the two boys had played truant together four times before, adding that he caught them twice. On one occasion, he said, Robert ran off down the street laughing, 'You can't catch me'.

‘He is easily led. He didn't want to hurt James. He was fearful of the other boy. He was fearful, he was weak and he was provoked.’

Mrs Venables said: 'I think it was because the class group was too big for them to go in . . . so they were put in a lower year.  I think my son's concentration wasn't the way it should have been, but he wasn't slow. He's quite bright and clever. He's a good reader if he's interested in it.’

'He tends to be a bit hyperactive so his concentration did go a bit, but apart from that he is quite bright, no worries.'

The couple, who also have a 13- year-old son, who has learning difficulties…

Above excerpts taken from :The Bulger Murder: Jon was 'fearful, weak, and he was provoked': In interviews with the Press Association, the parents of Jon Venables and Robert Thompson talk about their sons, The Independent UK,Thursday, 25 November 1993

 

Some see him as a monster.  His parents see him as just another kid.  Jon Venables, now 27, was the vicious killer of toddler, James Bulger, when Venables himself was only ten.  Venables has caught public attention once again because of his re-arrest for reasons unknown and an apparent disregard for the sanctity of his new identity.  I’m interested in the above comments of Jon Venables’ parents for two reasons.  First is the everlasting debate over whether our identities are formed due to nature or nurture, i.e., are we predetermined biologically with respect to characteristics like personality, or does personality form as a result of the environment in which we’re reared?  The second reason relates to the manner in which childhood has been constructed in the modern era.

The above quotes give two clues to the potential role of nature in Venable's demise.  First, there is the mention of hyperactivity.  Many feel that hyperactivity disorders have a biological component that children can do little to control on their own and that responds well to specific stimulant medication.  Such hyperactivity may include a difficulty to curb impulses that makes one more prone to violent outburst.  The above quotes hint at a lack of attention and concentration more than impulsivity, however: ‘He’s a good reader if he’s interested.’   The second clue for a biological role stems from the older brother of Venables with learning difficulties.  One simply cannot say that one child with learning difficulties means that a second child is likely to have them, as well.  However, the question remains whether one brother with learning difficulties increases the likelihood that the second will have difficulties for biological reasons.

 

Nurture is represented in abundance within the parents’ statements.   The Venables discuss their love for their son, the support of his siblings, and the boy's attainment of education.  There is little reason to doubt this love.  Less clear is the nature and magnitude of the expression of the love, as well as the quality of the education received.  Love and education are very relative things.  Within the span of one interview the Venables contradict themselves with respect to the truancy of Jon – never having been a ‘sagger’ but also having missed school on four noted occasions with his accomplice in the crime, Robert Thompson.   It’s understandable that the pain of being the parent of such a high profile criminal would be so great that some element of denial would be invoked as a psychologically protective mechanism.  But, one may also wonder if such mixed messages were a common occurrence that added to the confusion of Jon Venables’ young mind.  Equally confusing is the explanation given for Venables being placed in a lower grade than usual.  Demotion due to a lack of space in Venable’s age appropriate class seems somewhat implausible, or if true, evidences limited action by the parents to safeguard their child’s education and social identity.  Add to this potential confusion the fearful social environment the parents describe and a picture begins to develop in which the young Venables probably lacked the security and consistency so crucial to the cohesive development of a self in children.  The chances are good that the Venables, like most parents would, presented a relatively rosy picture of their son's life.  A more comprehensive review of his youth might uncover even more environmental deficits of importance.  This brings us to our final area of discussion:  how is that we as a society have defined childhood, and how rigid is that definition?

 

It is generally regarded amongst sociologists that childhood, as we know it today, was fashioned after the Industrial Revolution in response to the abuses of childhood labour that marked the period.  Reactively, childhood became a safe-space where children were to be protected by family first and society where family fails.  Limited working hours, mandatory schooling minimums, and protections from emotional and physical abuse are all a part of the revised construct.  But this new-fangled definition seems to have its critics.  Some argue that youths as violent as Venables do not deserve the protections of modern childhood with its presumption of innocence and tolerance for the errors of youth.  When do we diverge from the liberality of modern childhood, if ever?

 

Wherever one stands on the issue, it seems clear that the response must be based on newly fashioned incarnations of the nature-nurture debate.  Epigenetics, for example, provides an alternative to this rigid dichotomy by examining whether biology and the environment interact to produce the individual.  In essence, epigenetics argues that the environment is able to impact biological structure by activating and deactivating genetic predispositions for traits like personality.   We are neither this nor that but, instead, are this and that.  Venables is a murderer because of who he is and who we are.  If he is to blame, we are to blame.   If so, it begs the question.   If he went to trial, should we have gone too?

The Mirror that is Facebook

Here’s one to place in the better late than never category. I joined Facebook this month, and life will never be the same. Don’t get the wrong idea.  This big event hasn’t been an unmitigated success.  I’ve spent much too much time playing on the website.  I’ve had to painfully condense about 25 years of life into predetermined categories that don’t do the trick, and I’ve also had to ponder which of the many faces of Rodney were to be shown in the photo section.  My only solace has been that others have had to play by the same annoyingly reductive rules. 

There’s also the complexity of re-engaging with those to whom you haven’t spoken in decades.  One sometimes wonders if old friends cringe when your new request to become ‘electronic friends’ is received.  And,  I imagine one cringes, as well, as the person  one did one’s best to avoid decades ago sends a message with an offer to reconnect.  But, without a doubt, a missing piece to the puzzle of my identity has been located.  In the process, I’ve both rediscovered and rewritten my childhood.  It seems that the good in individuals lingers in memory and whatever difficulties existed previously have become trivial.  Prior relationship infidelities, betrayals of trust, and the pain of hardbound cliques give way to a realisation that perspectives have changed, more important priorities exist, and good friendships, like those of youth, are hard to come by as an adult and should be respected.  But, hanging on to past links is sometimes easier said than done.

Those living far away from where they grew up might be aware of the ambivalent feelings attached to the periodic return ‘home’ – be it in person or via the web.  The joy of re-connecting with friends is real, but so is the realisation that you’ve slipped back into your old place in the youth social structure despite years ‘abroad’ doing everything possible to move away from it.  There’s also the realisation that recreating the past doesn’t work.  Longing for the closeness that once made early friendships great, you also dismay at the emotional and intellectual realization that the lives of your friends and you have developed along irreconcilable paths.   Children, money, educational attainment, geography have become wedges that pry apart those who were once almost social clones.

Let’s not forget the apprehension of the unknown:

How are your parents? (Ooops, are they still alive?)  How’s your partner that I met at the reunion? (Hmm. I hope they’re still married.)  You were such a great writer. What are you doing now? (What have I said? Didn’t someone tell me she became an engineer?)

The apprehension felt in delivering an inappropriate question belies our unease with the slate of innocent queries that could dismantle our own house of glass cards.  Divorces, career difficulties, financial difficulties, all become fair game for those that are unknowing about who we have become. 

Facebook has given me back my youth, but it has also exposed me to the vulnerabilities of my present.  My present is largely mine to shape…as long as it fits into the Facebook template.  Our lives are never solely how we view them.  There’s always a filter through which others view who we have become. 

How do we become at ease with the multiple valid perspectives on our identity that exist? Or, actually, should we even care?

'Up in the Air'

What can I say? If George Clooney is in the film, I make sure to give it a go.  And after his performance in 'Up in the Air', I'll be certain to continue going to see him.  In the film, Clooney plays a character so isolated and rife with contradiction that he encapsulates well the dilemmas of the life of the present day travelling professional, and by extension, many of us in the 21st century.

Clooney's character, Bingham, is a hatchet man for hire who's responsible for making personnel redundant at any one of his various corporate clients.  He's an outsider who sweeps in, delivers a questionably sincere 'goodbye and thank you for your services' message and flies off to his next assignment with little time for reflection.  The film is powerful, not so much because of the view we get of corporate firings, but because of the insight we get into the price Bingham pays for severing his ties to other people so that he may do his work with so little discomfort.  But, to be honest, when we see Bingham within the context of his sibling relationships, it is clear that his isolated approach to life pre-dated his job.  Bingham chooses a career that allows him to rely on few, have 'romantic' relationships by diary in cities across the country, and spend as little time as possible in the office with others because it suits who he is.

It's a funny thing though.  It all begins to unravel when Bingham chooses to re-engage with his siblings for his sister's wedding.  In the process, he ironically saves the day with his professionally-honed counsel when the groom gets the obligatory cold feet.  Bingham also gets a glimpse into what he has been missing in life as he witnesses their heart-rending reconciliation.

We can run, but we can't avoid connections with other human beings.  The randomness of life - weddings, deaths, accidents, job losses - ensures that our perfectly constructed defences against intimacy and the risks it imposes will crack at some point.  And the pain that follows when the defences fail is a boon, as well as an uncomfortable consequence.  Pain's upside is the alert we receive that change on some level is necessary.  A job loss means immediate financial worries, but it also invites an opportunity to change career paths or upgrade to a better position.  The marriage of someone close reminds us of our solitude, but the event also affirms that our presence has meaning to others and should not be taken for granted.

Bingham's life falls apart in just about every way from the moment he takes a step back into the world of the emotionally alive. But, the beauty is that as the artificial structures he built over the years begin to fall away, he is left with a base that is badly battered but real and able to serve as a platform for a new life with relationships that are uncertain and unpredictable, yet meaningful and rewarding.  

Again, it all started with risking the pain of emotion.  For if we want the joy of life, we have to be willing to risk the pain. 

Alexander McQueen

It goes without saying that all deaths have profound meaning. A life that has ended leaves behind a hole in the social fabric felt by family, friends, and casual acquaintances alike.

When someone in the public eye dies, that hole stretches a bit wider.  More times than not, we all identify with notable figures in some way - sometimes peripherally, other times more meaningfully.  Add to the mix a death by apparent suicide of someone with rare talent and the hole becomes a jagged tear.

I knew very little about Alexander McQueen except for what I gleaned from the occasional glance at his shirts and suits as I shopped from time to time.  The words that come to mind are 'colourful', 'vivid', and 'stylishly cut' when I think of ways to describe his creations.  McQueen designed with a structured whimsy that was hard not to notice and was even harder not to appreciate.  I never thought once about buying any of his clothes.  They were too expensive and a bit too 'out there' for me.  But, I did enjoy those fleeting moments of examining his work on the rack.  He was expert at displaying the buried insides of men on the outside.

In reflecting on his death, two things come to mind.

First, the circumstances of his demise demonstrate that the notion of the self-contained individual is fantasy.  Each and every one of us is a part of a web of social contacts that help to contextualise and define us as human beings.  Although I don't know it for a fact, it is likely that McQueen was troubled by life before the death of his mother.  Her death, however, meant that a psychological pillar had been removed, and the associated pain was, perhaps, too much for him to bear.  In reality, the psychological pillar represented by his mother was still there in one form or another.  After loved ones die, their influence on our lives is still an internalised part of us capable of providing support and guidance through life's difficulties.  How many of us have recalled wise words offered by a grandparent, parent or significant person from our past who is no longer around when faced with a difficult situation?

The difficulty with bereavement is that the natural process of mourning takes an extended period of time and forces us to live with the immediate pain in the interim.  Depression intensifies this experience since it can envelop us and distort our sense of time in a way that extends the pain of the here-and-now into perpetuity.  The notion of riding out the pain succumbs to a need for immediate relief to quell its sharp edge.  Some in deep despair turn to alcohol, cocaine, and other substances.  Others, unfortunately, choose a more immediate and permanent response.

The second thought that McQueen's death inspires is that when it comes to personal happiness it's what we think about ourselves that matters and not what others think of us.  Few in his field were as revered, and McQueen still had decades ahead of him to place his imprint on fashion and contemporary culture.  However, in the end it wasn't enough. 

We owe it to ourselves to make sure that we work hard to value who we are, what we've done, and what our future may bring.

I extend to his family, friends, and colleagues my deepest sympathies.  We've all lost a truly gifted individual.

Go Dine with Them

I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m so hooked on the TV programme, ‘Come Dance with Me.’  To begin with, it’s so completely staged.  Trust me.  Anything left in one’s wardrobe for the programme’s television cameras to see is either too dull to mention or a plant to show how cleverly eccentric one is.  It also makes no sense that television is used as a medium to watch others judge the quality of food.  We can’t taste it. We can’t smell it.  We can’t even evaluate whether those tasting it and smelling it are doing so accurately.  Or, can we?

I think this is the hook.  By examining the way others speak, the way they dress, the way they get along with strangers, we make assumptions about how accurately they assess the cuisine but, more importantly, who they are as people.  When we hear their profession and ogle the gaudy décor of their homes, we decide one way or another if they’re ‘one of us’.  Every pan of the camera provides another clue to help determine whom we favour. 

And, if there’s a bit of friction between contestants or a spark of potential romance, well, the voyeur in all of us doesn’t mind being fed as well.

The programme lays bare the basic group dynamics of life.  We observe firsthand the difficulties we all face in overcoming assumptions about strangers with whom we’re forced to share time and space.  We identify with the contestant who seems to be the odd person out and never manages to meld with the other contestants.  We’re roiled by the contestant who penalises our favourite competitor out of spite instead of merit.  We champion the contestant who wins despite initial scepticism.

We see ourselves in their glory and embarrassment and, at the end of the day, applaud them for being themselves –truly themselves - in front of a camera for the entire world to see.

 

 

Everyday Addiction

I had a conversation today with a psychiatrist colleague whom I consider to be a rare individual.  He’s one of those people who has always been able to see the big picture.  What he said to me was simple, true, and beyond the reach of most in the addiction field.  He formed his pearl by uttering without hesitation, ‘isn’t it funny how everyone has an addiction to something?’

Truer words were never spoken.  We hear about the illicit substances – cocaine, crack, heroin, cannabis and more.  We talk about and use alcohol and cigarettes with little remorse or stigma being attached to the act – at least at first.  However, we don’t speak much about the many other activities and substances that allow the ‘normals’ to make it through the day.  Sex as a way to fill life’s void instead of as a way to form a pleasurable bond.  Work as uncontrollable and incontrovertible proof that we are the success that teachers and family said we would never be.  And, how about gardening as the repetitive release that allows us to face another week in the office?

The message is simple.  There’s nothing innately shameful about having an addiction.  The shame comes from falling short of the expectations of ourselves and others.  Should we care what others think?  Should we think of ourselves differently?  How do we stop the addictive behaviour if we’ve determined that our lives must change if we are to be happy?

One solution of many – find a new addiction.  Become addicted to getting to know yourself and your addictive behaviour well enough to do something about it.  Yes, of course, I think therapy is one solution.  But, listening to others whom you trust, reading books about addiction and personal growth, exploring activities of interest to change your patterns are all ways in which you can get to know yourself better and change your path.

The first step will always be yours.