Originally Published in Trauma Psychology News (Newsletter of the Division 56 of the American Psychological Association), Fall 2013 Issue

2013

After weeks of countrywide civil demonstrations and six self-immolations protesting poverty in Bulgaria, government officials finally resigned in February of 2013. However, three months later, these same political figures won the emergency elections, perpetuating a state of political impasse in the country. This reflects a bitterly repeated slogan that Bulgarians from my generation, the last one to breathe the air of communism, were raised on: “Bulgarian citizens drink, complain, and curse, but do nothing to better their situation.”

The unfortunate cultural sketch may reflect the behavioral and psychological scars of adherence to a political system of oppression (communism) that left the country in a state of cultural and economic stagnation, financial crisis, and a deteriorating educational system. The scarcity of resources and opportunities forced many young people who craved personal and professional fulfillment to seek those outside of their native land. As one of them, a psychologist-in-training at that, I have often wondered how the legacy of cultural trauma impacts young immigrants from the post-communist countries. More personally, I will consider here how we have been shaped and influenced by our parents’ experiences growing up under the communist regime and our vague memories of deprivation before it collapsed.

The Past

Adam Michnick, a former Polish historian who was imprisoned for voicing his opposition to communism, said, “The worst about communism is what comes after it” (as cited in Yolova, 2012). In Bulgaria and other former Soviet countries, communism created an atmosphere wherein terror was transformed from an external reality to a haunting intrinsic state of dread (Znepolski, 2008). To this end, media and free speech censorship perpetuated an existential framework of submission to the state and prevented citizens from acquiring forbidden knowledge or ideas that could threaten the status quo. Daily living was characterized by monotony and rigidity—employed artfully by the state.

While religion had been formally rejected by Stalinist tradition, there was a progressive formalization and ritualization of politics and celebrations which, in turn, translated into an almost paranoid fear of anything new, surprising, and unpredictable. Professional advancement was only possible within the Communist party, while children and families of “enemies of the state” and dissidents were silently precluded from obtaining education or jobs (Kanev, 2007; Znepolski, 2008).

The link between historical struggles and the intrapersonal and familial dynamics of different peoples has been noted in the silent influence of intergenerational transmission of trauma, which refers to the transfer of symptoms from first-generation survivors who have experienced or directly witnessed trauma to their children and even grandchildren (Adelman, 1995; Danieli, 2003; O’Loughlin, 2011). O’Connor (1995) describes the profound psychological consequences of cultural trauma, resulting in intrapersonal characteristics such as pathological dependency, low self-esteem, a persistent fear of being judged, and a tendency to suppress one’s feelings at all costs. Such responses to oppression (not dissimilarly to interpersonal violence) are initially adaptive. They assure one’s physical and psychological survival in the hands of a violent and controlling perpetrator (see Miller, 1994)—in this case, the omnipotent government.

However, the negative consequence of such lifesaving submission is often relinquishing one’s sense of agency and hope for a better future. In a seemingly uncanny process, these psychological consequences are also powerful in second and third-generation descendants or trauma survivors. Instead of being linked to particular traumatic memories, they become deeply ingrained personality characteristics and even pathological symptoms (e.g., rigidity and fear of change, delusions or persecution, phobias and irrational fears, depression, and learned hopelessness).

In Bulgaria, I believe that such a process—the intergenerational transmission of trauma—has taken place at the cultural level. It is exemplified by the slogans, supposedly reflecting our national identity, such as the one discussed above. Reluctance to make civic choices and ambivalence towards authority may well have become permanent residents in the cultural of Bulgarians, including those who successfully set foot in other countries after the fall of the Berlin Wall.

The Present

In a seminal paper addressing the issue of cultural trauma, Sztompka (2000) discusses the characteristics and consequences of damage inflicted to societies by major social changes. A key to the definition of the traumatic component of radical and unexpected societal change is that instead of setting society on a positive path, it causes paralysis—a loss of agency and direction. This process is not unlike what Fraiberg and her colleagues (1975) describe as a transformation of profound suffering into a silent ghost that comes back to haunt the children of trauma survivors, intangible yet lingering.

The communist regime gave rise to a number of collective traumatic symptoms which, by virtue of remaining unspoken, have now crossed over from the collective consciousness to the individual unconscious and have been incorporated into the intra-psychic reality of the new generation. These symptoms range from a loss of basic human traits like trust and agency to increased religiosity and superstition as well as collective shame and guilt. It can be argued that these symptoms have, to a large degree, prevented Bulgarians from successfully transitioning to an economically stable democratic society. Ironically, for Bulgarians like me who chose to emigrate in a desperate attempt to assert the right to choose a personal and professional path, relocation to a new reality brings a fresh set of problems perpetuating a state of choicelessness. These struggles, I have found, can activate the unconsciously inherited traumatic schemas of the past, especially within the context of higher education wherein one is expected to function proficiently within the parameters of various systems and institutions.

In exploring our experiences, I have found that many of my immigrant friends and I share particular fears and anxieties relating to intangible apprehensions of imminent catastrophes although not necessarily based on reality. For example, one common dream is a variant of being stranded in one’s country of origin, unable to come back to a life painstakingly built in recipient countries. While facing the challenges of a demanding doctoral program, we are often simultaneously haunted by the ghosts of our national histories wherein one of us finds herself in a dream back “home,” having forgotten her passport or other crucial paperwork that would grant reentry to her new life. While functioning at a very high level of agency and productivity, the fears of paralysis and futility of our efforts are ever present and gravely exacerbated.

Similarly, the notorious process of internship application is a symbolic transition and, as such, triggers even more deep-seated fears. In addition to the traditional factors that delineate the boundaries of this months-long period of limbo, international students are unable to apply to a number of government-funded placements. Moreover, in order to meet various criteria for maintaining our student status, we must also renegotiate numerous parameters of the internship, like length of employment, vacation days, and a seemingly insignificant change of status that nevertheless requires several steps to be completed. The cultural heritage of trauma, then, becomes particularly potent. The necessity of navigating a complex system, yet anticipating that it will fail you at every stage can become overwhelming. A wrongfully entered digit in one of numerous documents can mean not matching, which might lead to deportation. Of course, the thought is somewhat irrational, and the demise is never that quick, yet the fear is very real.

Most of all, there is the dread of solitude in one’s struggles. Communism perpetuated a feeling of cultural paranoia. It created a society wherein the establishment of micro-communities was forbidden by the party (Lindy & Lifton, 2001). This prohibition imminently bred not only fear of persecution, but also mistrust in others. In the clinical literature (e.g., Briere, 1996; Courtois, 1996; Davies & Frawley, 1994; Hermann, 1997), such disruptions can be seen in the trauma survivor’s inability to perceive the world as a safe place capable of meeting his or her needs for security and nurturance. This pervasive sense of aloneness that myself and others have encountered is at least partially rooted in the old post-communist motto that our parents tried to teach us: “If you don’t do it yourself, nobody will do it for you.” They, of course, tried to assure our survival and possibly their own psychological redemption. Yet, the irony of communism—of this ideology based on building the “community”—is in exactly that annihilation of the basic capacity to feel understood.

In a city of immigrants (New York City), we are all struggling with difficult circumstances; yet people from my part of the world also have a profound sense of isolation. An image comes to mind of walking on a tight rope across the Grand Canyon—everyone else is watching from down below but even the most well intended encouragements can never engender a sense that the burden is shared. Such is the heritage of cultural trauma. It has the potential to leave a society and its members in a perpetual stage of transition and isolation. For Bulgarians who remain in the country, it has resulted in decades of political and economic stagnation. For those of us who emigrated, paralysis is less often seen in personal and professional development, but is rather a psychological construct—an intangible fear of futility and imminent disasters. To heal the wounds, we have to first demystify the silence that to this day surrounds that particular period in our history, acknowledge the legacy of the trauma, and attempt to connect to that which has been dissociated (Bromberg, 1998, 2001, 2011)—feelings of shame, hopelessness, and disillusionment.