As we have seen before SES has some warped views on disability but I was particularly shocked by one incident described in this private email I received today. The email consists of memories from SES circa 1970 to 1980 some are lighthearted while others deeply tragic. The writer does not want to post themselves for personal reasons and has asked me to do so. (The story about the 50 woman is incredible!)
leon
x writes.
"There was an air of expectant awe in the group, engendered by the Tutor. A Higher Up, Arch Lunatic Shelly was to address us.
Shelly strode in, the Tutor introduced him with servile reverence and the lecture began. More of the same old same old, but no one really noticed that. We were actually in the august presence of one of the legendary Higher Ups.
There was an Epileptic sufferer in the group, a quiet, middle aged man with a self deprecating manner who occasionally had severe fits. Unfortunately for him, he went into one in right the middle of Shelly's address, sliding out of his chair onto the floor, unconscious. So brainwashed were we all, that scarcely any one moved. The Tutor got up to go to the man, but Shelly was there before him. The fit was was, he explained in ringing tones, an attempt on this wretched man's part to deny the Absolute, a refusal to look at the diagram drawn by Shelly's own hand upon the board! What was on the diagram, he asked us? Truth was on the diagram! Would this man look at the diagram, acknowledge the Truth? No, he would not! He preferred unconsciousness to Truth!
He began to yell loudly at the man twitching on the floor, 'Look at my hand, Look at my hand, look at the diagram! Look at the diagram!'
After several minutes of this, the man came to and, finding himself on the floor in the middle of a group with two tutors leaning over him, one of whom was screaming crazily in his face, got up and fled, shaking, out of the room.
Shelly stood up and looked around at the shocked and silent, terrified group members. 'He has gone into outer darkness.' he said. 'He could have turned to the Truth, but he has chosen outer darkness.'
Those of us who witnessed this appalling act of barbarism, carry the guilt of it also. I was very young, but that is no excuse. I left SES shortly after that exhibition of public humiliation and cruelty to a kindly, inoffensive man whose Epilepsy was surely hard enough to bear. Those of us who did leave SES many, many years ago, who woke up and smelled the coffee, still bear the burden of that silent collusion.
It had been a grueling week at Stan Hill Court. A week of hard physical labour, sleep deprivation, and lectures, all of which culminated in a day of fasting. The following day, our last, we all assembled for lunch before leaving for home.
The young man next to me at table had been silent for most of the week. Now he was sitting rigidly, straight backed, trembling as he regarded a large green pear in the center of his plate.
'Its only a pear,' he muttered to himself. 'It is only a pear. A pear. It can't hurt me. It can't possibly hurt me.'
But he did not eat it.
Stan Hill. Laundry duty in a small room with a temperamental and fearsome boiler, which I and a man from another group were to use for the piles of washing we had to do. No mod cons at Stan Hill in those days. I had absolutely no idea what to do with the thing, but he poked and prodded it manfully, although obviously petrified that it would blow up. He had a wife and children.......
'I can see the headlines,' he said nervously, 'Two die in explosion in country house.'
Stan Hill. All groups were assembled for an address by the Head of Level. Heady stuff indeed! What would he say, what pearls of wisdom would he cast before us to be treasured and discussed, what new wisdom had filtered down from the Absolute through the SES hierarchy for our edification?
He entered the room. He stood still. He looked around with an expression of acute displeasure. We held our breath, scarcely dared to move.
'There is a piece of paper on the floor of the upstairs landing.' He said severely. 'There are more than fifty women in this house, and that piece of paper has been there all day.'
He told us that we were virtually doomed. A gentleman, himself, had been painfully forced to observe that piece of paper several times that day; indeed, it was still there ready to offend with its presence any other gentleman who happened to pass by.
A lady, he explained, was created expressly to serve. That was her nature her function and her joy and we had not served. None of us had served. We had denied our true function and that piece of paper was a testament to that denial, which would certainly be noted by the Absolute. The work done that week had been undermined and even destroyed.
The men looked smugly shocked. The ladies shamed. If only, we might well have mused, but were actually too numbed by a week of hard slog, if only I had experienced the joy of picking up that scrap of paper! If only I had known my true function, the whole week at Stan Hill would not have been as dust and ashes, ruined by the total selfishness of women who had failed to be ladies!"