More than 20 years ago, Meredith Maran falsely accused her father of molestation. That she came to believe such a thing was possible reveals what can happen when personal turmoil meets a powerful social movement. In her book "My Lie: A True Story of False Memory" (the introduction of which is excerpted on Salon), Maran recounts the 1980s feminist-inspired campaign to expose molestation, which hit feverish levels in 1988 with the book 'The Courage to Heal." As an early reporter on the story, Maran observed family therapy sessions, interviewed molesters and steeped herself in cases where abuse clearly took place. Meanwhile, she divorced her husband and fell in love with a woman who was also an incest survivor. Maran began having nightmares about her own molestation and soon what had been a contentious relationship with her father turned into accusations of unspeakable crimes. Eventually, she came to realize the truth. She was the person who had done wrong.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Mo' Problems, Mo' Money
Make money off the accusation, make money off the retraction. It's the American Way.
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7 comments:
Although I understand her emotional pain she caused her father, plus the anguish her ¨false¨memory caused her and others who love her, perhaps, her memory may not really be all that false. I'm speaking about what's called ¨past life memories¨.
Ms. Maran may actually be remembering experiences from another lifetime. We live thousands of them, and overleaves of traumatic experiences live on in our cellular memories from lifetime to lifetime until they are acknowledged and cleansed.
Remember the mangoes.
~
That's completely plausible, although I dunno how you're gonna get justice from Richard the Lionhearted or Alexander the Great.
Alexander the Great Bartender, over at Caspian on Clement in San Francisco, is likely to give you a healthy draught of your favorite intoxicant just because he feels that you were wronged.
Oh. Did you mean...?
W/V has a great idea for a franchise business, wherein you go in, put five dollars in the slot, and a pair of mechanical hands straighten your jacket, adjust your trousers, place your hat squarely on your head, brush off your shoulders, spin you around and send you off into the world. They would call it neatomat
Oh. Did you mean...?
A definite MAYBE to this.
Look, I'm sure that Jonah Goldberg will get around to posting about this, when he has time he will drop by and comment. Any time
My false memories tend to be me thinking I'm witty and eloquent when drunk.
overleaves of traumatic experiences live on in our cellular memories from lifetime to lifetime until they are acknowledged and cleansed.
Not plausible to me! My fucking cells can barely remember how to get me out of bed.
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