When I first started college as an undergraduate, I didn’t know what I wanted to major in. I decided that it would be either Psychology or Political Science. I took a Psych 101 course. During one of the class periods, a male and female psychologist came in. I was not surprised. I knew that Psych 101 classes were a rich source of subjects for their experiments. The two handed out tests that consisted of two word lists. Each list contained about twenty words, one which we were supposed to memorize for a hypothetical “test on Friday,” the other list was intended to be studied for a “test on Monday.” I knew there was some trick to this shit but decided not to try anything to throw them off, so I studied the word lists as instructed. When it came time to take the two tests, all the words seemed to jump out at me, they were all too familiar, and I didn’t know what from what. I got upset, even panicky, because I was so confused. Quickly they collected the papers. The two psychologists were laughing. The woman apparently told the class what the game was but spoke so briefly and softly I missed it. But these psychologists kept laughing at us. I wanted to beat the shit out of that woman. This was my first problem with Psychology.

As I proceeded through the Psych program, I found myself in the midst of a Social Psychology class. I was beginning to become furious and paranoid. The games these people ran on unsuspecting citizens was not a joke, in my opinion. I read that this was especially bad in the 60s, before the authorities disallowed these types of things. There would be someone feigning a heart attack in a busy subway car to “see what people do,” or a confederate as they were called, who would run down the street naked, to see how people react. To me, these psychologists were vicious laughing hyenas, and I was quite disturbed. I felt that a person subjected to such shit was dehumanized and degraded, regarded a response machine, an object of study rather than a human being, which was the most agonizing part.

In a Psychology of Human Sexuality class, I learned that some psychologists will have sex with an uninformed, unknowing partner, and sometimes even stay in touch with this person. “Ooooh, wooooh!” the class remarked. How could they have thought this was something hot? If a psychologist had sex with me, to study me in some way, I’d smash his brains with a crowbar. It was not acceptable to me. I ran out of the room in tears of sexual rage and proceeded to the Political Science office. Two of the male professors in the room began speaking with me. One was flirting. The other asked him how he was enjoying temporary bachelorhood. I knew that I was especially appealing when in distress. I told them some of the things that were going on in the Psychology classes. They listened and were sympathetic. Then a large Arab man, the head of the department, came out and greeted me. I knew that some of the Political Science professors had formerly been terrorists, and I kind of appreciated the passion and commitment a person who terrorizes must feel. The old man told me to sit down and stared at me in silence. I read the poster behind his head and laughed. “What is so funny?” he asked. “I like that sentiment,” I said, and read the lines on the poster: “I love mankind, it’s people I hate.” He asked me what I was planning to major in. I told him that I was undecided – either Psychology or Political Science. He said, “Come back and talk to me once you’ve decided your major.”

The next semester I took a Political Science class. There was an extreme amount of reading, I thought, and the subject was difficult for me. I got a B and decided to remain in the Psychology department. But I have never surmounted the feelings of outrage and disgust I felt towards these psychologists.