The truth sunk in the day he got a call to mediate couples battling
in aboxing ring--dressed in a stripped referee costume: The chief
ingredients of TV talk shows are emotion and conflict, and their main
purpose is revenge. And now, let's hear it for (former) media
psychologist Stuart Fischoff, Ph.D.
To audience applause, Geraldo Rivera runs down the center aisle of
the studio. Three women are seated next to me on stage, ready to talk,
their chests nervously heaving, faces frozen in polite smiles. They
listen as Geraldo details their shocking biographies to the audience. My
pulse accelerates as Geraldo moves beside me, his hype escalating: "Dr.
Stuart Fischoff, a clinical psychologist from Los Angeles, is here to
help answer the $64,000 question: Why would a woman marry her
rapist?"
Throughout the show, Geraldo tosses questions at me. Whys, whys,
and more whys. But I don't know these women. I am armed with only bits
and pieces of their self-justifying explanations. People are authorities
on women, on marriage, on rape. But no one is an authority on why women
marry their rapists.
I offer only general comments, about low self-esteem (it's always
about low self-esteem, isn't it?) and about the illusory bond between
rape and the romantic myth of being taken because one is so needed, so
desirable. "It's not about love and desire," I say. "It's about anger and
dominance." My words go past the three women like whistles down a wind.
They don't hear me. They can't hear me. They are not there to be helped.
They have come to be validated.
The focus shifts. The studio mikes are activated. The tension
rises. The women in the audience are openly furious. Validation is not on
their agenda. Their questions and accusations speak of betrayal, of
pandering to the odious stereotype that women secretly want to be raped.
The women on stage try to defend the indefensible. It is a battle they
cannot win. It's another rape. Only this time it's by a gang of women
people who are angry and want to dominate.
In the show's last segment, Geraldo stands on stage, points to me,
and says, "In thirty second or less, Dr. Fischoff, give us your
impression of these women."
My mind gulps. "Thirty seconds? Is he kidding?"
No, he's not. My thoughts run wild. "What the hell am I doing here?
Open your mouth, say something, something smart, clever, incisive. Don't
embarrass yourself."
My mouth starts before I know what I'm going to say. Out spill the
words; glib, facile words. I do my job. I perform.
"What the hell was I doing on Geraldo?" I asked myself a few weeks
later, after watching a videotape of the show. As an university professor
and a clinical psychologist in private practice for over 25 years,
appearing on television to discuss the human condition was something I
was comfortable with. More accurately, I loved it. Teaching and TV
commentary are both performance arts.
Public speaking ranks first among phobias; not every academic nor
every psychologist relishes the opportunity to speak to millions of
people via the electronic pulpit. But if you like offering insightful bon
mots on camera and do it well, you get ample opportunity. The mass media
have taken psychologists and their ilk to their collective bosom; we turn
up everywhere, on television, in magazines, in newspapers, opining away.
And if you live in Los Angeles, one of the top news and media markets
given its identification with Hollywood, your media-exposure
opportunities are increased to the tenth power.
I began in the 1970s, discussing assertiveness training. Over time,
I evolved into what is now officially known as a media psychologist.
There is even a division of the American Psychological of the American
Psychological Association devoted to media psychology. Media
psychologists research and write about the impact of the media on
society. Those who can talk easily and succinctly and explain complex
social events and psychological issues in non-jargonized language also
appear on or in the media themselves.
My love of media exposure notwithstanding, I had adamantly refused
to do interviews with tabloid publications like The National Enquirer or
such magazines as Hustler. Whatever the merit of a particular article
involved, the context of the publication as a whole was off-putting. So
when a producer from Geraldo called (she got my name from the public
affairs department of the APA), I approached with caution the invitation
to appear on the show.
I had done some local talk shows and my experiences on them had
been good. But Gerardo was another matter entirely. He epitomized the
tabloid format of contemporary talk shows. First there was Donahue. Then
there was Oprah. Then there were Geraldo and Sally, and the platform of
talk show taste standards collapsed completely.
Despite my misgivings, I went to the show. It was network
television. It would be a learning experience.
It was. But so is falling off a cliff. Looking at the Geraldo tape,
I was embarrassed. Forget what I said about these rapist-marrying women
and the neurotic lock in which they were embraced. The words were fine.
Doing the show -- that was the embarrashed! I was caught up in the talk
show juggernaut that later I would see trap other "experts." Worse,
Geraldo's unexpected request to describe these women in 30 seconds put me
in the role of shoot-from-the-hip psychologist. I didn't like it. I liked
even less my attempt to deliver the goods.
