“Of all tyrannies,” C.S. Lewis writes, “a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive.” Abusive power, in other words, sometimes comes in sheep’s clothing. The twentieth century was no stranger to this phenomenon. To be sure, it was an era of totalitarian regimes: the Nazis and the Communists taking center stage. Lewis, the famed author of The Chronicles of Narnia, may have been referring to both, but even so, his observation still applies well after the violent destruction of one and the collapse of the other. Ill-treatment at times comes with a caring smile albeit false and deceptive. In his 1962 classic tale, Kesey details the sad and deranged experiences of a group of men who have been committed to a mental hospital. McMurphy, the newest arrival and mentally fit jokester, immediately butts heads with Nurse Ratched – the head nurse who administers her duties with cold, unflinching austerity. On one occasion, he stops doing his chores and sits down to watch a baseball game. The others look on as they continue to sweep and polish the floor, waiting to see what happens. They do not have to wait long. Nurse Ratched “looks back at McMurphy and waits ... then gets up and goes to the steel door where the controls are, and she flips a switch and the TV picture swirls back into the gray.” When McMurphy protests, her response is telling: “You are committed, you realize. You are under the jurisdiction of me ... the staff. Under jurisdiction and control.” She holds up a clenched fist as she speaks, betraying something Kesey’s readers are left to wrestle with: To what extent is her role more about exerting power and less about giving care?
Other examples abound in the novel. McMurphy goes head-to-head with Nurse Ratched until he is eventually taken away for shock therapy, rendering him immediately docile. No longer is he his own man; he is now institutionalized, feeble, fully and wholly compliant – exactly what Nurse Ratched wanted all along.
Despots, we see in this book, come in all forms. What is wily about this particular expression of tyranny is that it is so unexpected. It is not obvious – no military uniform, no gun, no wild rants in front of throngs of angry citizens. C.S. Lewis gave us insight into the regimes of the first part of the twentieth century, but Kesey is saying much more about what authoritarianism can look like in the late twentieth century and beyond. Today, in our age of questionable quote unquote truth, one can easily surmise how simple it would be to slip into the jackboots of a tyrant without there being any jackboots at all. Control of information – true or otherwise – means control of the narrative. In Kesey’s book, McMurphy had one narrative and Nurse Ratched had another, and both were characterized by who had the reins. Nurse Ratched, however, won out because brute force was on her side. The lesson, perhaps? Never mind the presentation – fatigues or pinafore apron, service cap or nurse’s cap – the lust for power can lurk anywhere and be possessed by anyone. There are those who want to dominate others -- be the boss, call the shots, dictate what does and what does not happen – and if they are not shouting their demands while pounding their desks, they are issuing commands with sweet, soft voices and unchanging smiles all, as they repeat ad nauseum, for our own good. Only they, after all, know what’s best.
