such as voyeurism and homosexuality—rnhave been reclassified as “normal.”rnMoreover, people who are clearly out ofrntouch with reality and are at best barelyrnable to function have been tossed outrnof the mental hospitals to fend forrnthemselves.) The result, intended or not,rnis vast empire-building by real or supposedrntherapists. A notable example isrnthe spread of the all-purpose concept ofrn”addiction” to cover almost any sort ofrnbehavior. As Sykes points out, evenrnhonest professionals in the mentalrnhealth field suffer from a deformationrnprofessionelle: they are oriented towardrnfinding and treating sickness rather thanrntoward understanding healthy people.rnOne of the chief elements in the unhingingrnof American society has beenrnthe shift in the civil rights movementrnand among its supporters to full-blownrnvictimology. This has produced a drasticrnshift in the definition of racism andrnan all-out destruction of standards.rnOnce defined as a form of conduct,rnracism is now transformed into a state ofrnmind, which can be inferred on the basisrnof little or no evidence. Discrimination,rnthe litmus test of racism, once referredrnto actual acts or intentions but can nowrnbe “demonstrated” by “disparate impact”rnor apparent results. If relativelyrnfew blacks (or members of whateverrngroup of real or alleged “victims”) arernemployed in some occupation or business,rnthat alone suffices to prove discriminationrn—although such a standardrnwould “prove” discrimination againstrnany, or all, ethnic groups, since no occupationrnshows a random distributionrnof people from all backgrounds.rnIt is perhaps not too astonishing thatrnblacks should grab at such rationalizationsrnto secure their advancement, althoughrnit is a bit surprising to see “Justice”rnMarshall of the Supreme Courtrnbaldly justify “reverse” discriminationrnwith the words “Now it’s our turn.”rnSuch justifications quickly producernclaims that any and all standards appliedrnto blacks are illegitimate—a shift Sykesrndelineates with great skill, and one crucialrnto the deterioration of Americanrnrace relations and the level of public debate.rnAs he points out, this shift wasrnlargely accomplished within a few yearsrnduring the 1960’s. Most of the deformationsrnof public discourse can alreadyrnbe seen in William Ryan’s classic 1971rnbook Blaming the Victim, which details,rnin hysterical style, how anyone who suggestedrnthat there was a culture of poverty,rnor that the downtrodden might havernto change some of their own behavior,rnwas a bigot.rnThe next step, however paradoxical,rnwas also inevitable, owing to the establishmentrnof the principle that the “victim,”rnonce so defined, is beyond criticism.rnGrotesquely, the stigmata of oppressionrncame to be identified as thernchief element of “blackness,” the peculiarrnway of life of the black ghetto, a holyrntradition. In many schools, the studentrnwho tries to succeed is scorned as “actingrnwhite.” The curious end result ofrnvictimology is actual victimization—ofrnthe young, who have never been exposedrnto higher standards.rnThere is no clear way out of this situation.rnSykes points to the failures of socialrnscientists in predicting the futurernand in designing useful programs to dealrnwith its problems and emphasizes thernneed to insist upon good character, goodrnconduct, and self-restraint. Unfortunately,rnwhile there are signs that evenrnsome professional victimologists andrnprofiteers are themselves viewing therncurrent situation with alarm, their reactionrnto such events as the Los Angelesrnriots has been to demand more of thernsame response, while the cowardice andrnsilliness of many of their nominallyrn”conservative” opponents have offeredrnthem little resistance. Unless currentrnsigns are deceiving, the full weight ofrnofficial power is likely to come down onrnthe side of victimology, at least in thernforeseeable future. crnThe Monthsrnby Roberto MussapirnIn the dark, from the oblivion of the reclining facernshe, a silent stranger, led me to sleep,rnI saw her head bending down like a slopernof shade as we walked through Genoa, the harbor,rnthe big waves, and the evening shade slipped into the cavesrnof my mind, bathed in red light,rnthe blue stillness of oblivion’s lake answeredrnwith muted undertone the memories of sunset,rnthe sea, the window, battered by spray,rnthat silent and unknown facernbeside me, in the compartment.rnSo I left the threshold of the living and the lostrnwhere beats the white revealing light,rnstep between summer and fall, August and September,rnbetween moment being born and moment dying:rnsleep, then the oblivious lake.rnwhere love prevails over distance,rnwhere, as still as a glassy lake, a new thresholdrngoes to the unblemished, the survivors to time,rnalive or dead fellows of the trench in the earth,rnbright in the stony and crystal-clear eyernwide open in the planet’s wounds.rnOf that moment, that time, that seasonrnthe cradle was the rocking of the trainrnadvancing, rolling in the night,rnwindy lane of running lights,rnwandering city flung westward,rnin the darkest dark of tunnels, then underrnthe frozen course of the stars it all disappeared withrnthe memory,rnI forgot the station and pointrnand the time marked out by footsteps, and whomrnAPRIL 1993/29rnrnrn