Students taking part in a candlelight vigil at UC Santa Barbara. Photo: Getty
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Laurie Penny on Elliot Rodger: Mental illness does not excuse violent misogyny

What does a rich, privileged young man have to do to get labelled a terrorist?

What does a rich, privileged young man have to do to get labelled a terrorist? On 23 May, 22-year-old Elliot Rodger killed six people in California, after recording a video and publishing online a manifesto explaining that the planned massacre was an act of “revenge”. The son of a Hollywood director was taking revenge on the “sluts” who had refused to provide him with the sex he deserved. It was an act of misogynist extremism but, as soon as the news broke, commentators rushed on to social media to explain that the Isla Vista killings weren’t about sexism at all – they were the product of a “lone madman”, a side effect of a poor boy’s social impairment, and as such everyone talking about sexism ought to shut up right away.

As I write, the athlete Oscar Pistorius, who is on trial accused of murdering his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp, is undergoing a month of “sanity” testing to determine whether he has an anxiety disorder. If he does, this is likely to form part of his defence. In Norway, there was much debate over whether the mass murderer Anders Breivik should be prosecuted on the basis that he was insane, rather than simply “evil”. Those were the two options – Breivik was mad or he was bad. One or the other.

When wealthy, privileged or well-known individuals kill people while experiencing mental health difficulties, their psychological state is an excuse, a defence. This man was “just” crazy, so we don’t need to look at the reasons behind his actions, even if he has helpfully written a manifesto explaining those reasons (as both Breivik and Rodger did). It can’t be because he was a racist or a misogynist – it must be insanity and we should pity him.

By contrast, when immigrants and people of colour commit crimes while experiencing mental health difficulties – for example, the killers of the soldier Lee Rigby – their mental state is consistently ruled out as a factor. They are thugs, or terrorists, or both. They can’t be mentally ill – if they were, we’d have to empathise with them, so it must be their religion, or their race, turning them into vicious brutes.

Reading Elliot Rodger’s aptly titled manifesto, My Twisted World, one is struck by two things: first, that whichever way you hold up those 140 pages of sexist self-pity, you come to the conclusion that this was an extremely disturbed young man. This was a young man who had “acted out” before, who had severe social anxiety issues and whose family had clearly been concerned about his mental health.

The second thing that strikes you is that, as he grew up, Rodger’s delusions became more specific. He was obsessed with his sexual frustration and was determined to take his revenge on the women who had denied him the pleasure he felt he was owed and the men who had been favoured with their attentions. His hatred was racialised as well as gendered: he was consumed by fantasies about “pretty blondes” and wondered why “black filth” and “Asians” got to have sex with these “sluts” (he himself was half-Asian). The question is not whether Rodger had psychiatric problems. The question is why they took such a poisonous and, ultimately, tragic form.

In his book Going Postal, Mark Ames argues that the trend of office massacres and school shootings in the US is not a result of “lone madmen” but of social frustration, although both can be true. One can be lonely, furious and psychotic – and express that distress in a form that takes the existing savagery of society to its logical conclusion.

The way we talk about mental health is all wrong. For decades, the public conversation about psychosis and mental distress has resisted any analysis of social issues. If you’re depressed, or anxious, or hearing voices, it’s a chemical effect arising spontaneously in your brain – it’s the way you are. This might be considered convenient for those in power keen to overlook the structural causes of mental health problems – causes such as alienation, prejudice, poverty and isolation. That anyone can experience a mental health problem does not mean that mental illness is never political.

Mental distress is not an excuse for brutality. To suggest that does a disservice to the many millions of mental health patients who will never be violent or murderous. According to the charity Time to Change, one in three people believe that a person with a mental illness is a danger to others – but those with mental health problems are far more likely to be the victims of a violent crime than they are to commit one.

At any time, one in six people in the UK will be experiencing mental health problems and those people are chiefly a danger to themselves. I have an anxiety disorder but I have yet to attack any of my housemates or partners. The most terrifying thing I do in the middle of a panic attack is hide under a duvet watching Netflix, asking plaintively to be brought tea and perhaps a cuddle until the world stops spinning.

Yes, Elliot Rodger was mentally unwell. He was also a violent misogynist extremist. As with Anders Breivik or Lee Rigby’s killers, the question is not whether “madness” is a factor in human atrocity but why alienation, distress and psychosis take the form they do. In the case of Rodger, the sickness in our society is violent misogyny and claiming that he was “just” crazy is a convenient way to avoid looking at uncomfortable truths about the world.

Nobody is “just” crazy. To speak of mental illness and violence as if one can be either “mad or bad” is to obviate the true nature of evil, which is not the province of lone psychopaths but a product of structural oppression. Whoever we are, however we’re feeling, evil is what happens when we see other people as animals, or as things.

Laurie Penny is a contributing editor to the New Statesman. She is the author of five books, most recently Unspeakable Things.

This article first appeared in the 28 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, The elites vs the people

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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage