text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Electoral Reform

ELECTORAL REFORM. In general, any improvement by law or custom in the manner of conducting elections to public office. Specifically, the phrase describes the movement of the last hundred years for the purification of elections in Great Britain and the United States.

It is of the utmost importance, in a State whose government rests wholly or in great part on popular suffrage, that public elections should be free and honest. When they are of this character, public officials are true representatives of the people, and the legislation and policies which such officials adopt fairly reflect the popular will. The tendency, however, in every representative government is toward the control of nominating conventions and of elections by small bodies of men whose energies are chiefly directed to the manipulation of caucuses and party machinery. While the great mass of electors are engrossed in the conduct of their private affairs, these professional politicians, taking advantage of the popular apathy, dictate nominations to office, force party conventions to register their secret choices, and control the entire machinery of elections.

Accordingly, agitation for electoral reforms has usually been directed toward one of three ends: (1) A change in the qualifications of electors; (2) securing to electors the free and effective expression of their choice of officers; (3) the punishment of those guilty of corrupt practices in connection with elections.

(1) . Both in Great Britain and in the United States the State has treated the elective franchise as a privilege of its citizens, and not as one of their natural rights. Hence it has bestowed that privilege from time to time upon those, and those only, who it has been considered would use it wisely and for the best interests of the State. Public opinion concerning the proper qualifications of voters has undergone many changes during the last hundred years. In the main, these have been in the direction of extending the franchise to new classes of voters, of broadening the basis of the electorate. When the United States became independent, suffrage was limited in every one of the commonwealths to property-owners. In Massachusetts it was required not only that the voter be of age, but that he be the owner of real estate worth £60 sterling, or of a freehold yielding £3 annual income. In New York it was necessary that he be seized of a freehold worth £20, or pay a rent of 40 shillings a year, and have his name on the list of taxpayers. South Carolina insisted upon the voter being a white freeman and freeholder, and believing in the existence of a God and in a future state of rewards and punishment.

During the last century, however, most of the States accepted the theory of universal manhood suffrage, and extended the elective franchise

to all male citizens of twenty-one years and upward, while a few of the States have granted to women also the privilege of voting. Although the tide of electoral reform in this country has set mainly in the direction of universal suffrage, in some States its purpose has been to impose restrictions upon the elective franchise. California, for example, has enacted that no person who is unable to read the State Constitution in the English language and write his name shall ever exercise the privilege of a State elector. Connecticut and Massachusetts impose somewhat similar restrictions upon voters. Several of the Southern States have recently limited the suffrage by imposing educational qualifications upon voters, or by requiring them to pay certain taxes. This policy has for its prime object the disqualification of ignorant and indigent negroes. In Louisiana and some other States persons are permitted to vote who do not possess the prescribed qualifications, provided they were entitled to vote on January 1, 1867, or are sons or grandsons of persons thus entitled. The class thus excepted includes poor and illiterate whites.

In Great Britain the trend of electoral reform has followed the same general course as in the United Slates, although it has not yet reached the goal of universal manhood suffrage. The electorate has been extended several times, until it includes not only copyholders, leaseholders, and householders of premises of small values, but also men occupying lodgings of the yearly value of £10. Agitation is still in progress for extending the elective franchise to all men of proper age and sound mind, without regard to the ownership or occupation of property, and also for enabling women to vote. See .

(2) . It is of prime importance that perfect freedom of choice should be secured to electors. Hence the secret ballot has been substituted for the viva voce vote (see ), and bribery and intimidation of electors are treated as grave criminal offenses. Not only should the elector be allowed to exercise his free choice at the polls, but that freedom ought not to be rendered ineffective by the improper manipulation of caucuses or primaries, or by giving to the voters of some districts undue advantage over others. The caucus or primary is a meeting of the members of a particular political party or group for the purpose of nominating candidates for office within a prescribed district, or of electing delegates to larger conventions of the party, or of declaring party principles. These gatherings have often been controlled by unscrupulous persons, who have not hesitated to resort to fraud and violence. In order that the party caucus or primary should reflect the views of the majority of the party electors of the district, statutes have been enacted in several States surrounding these voluntary gatherings with many of the legal safeguards which protect general elections. The place and time for the caucus or primary is fixed by law; the manner of registration and voting is prescribed, and severe criminal penalties are affixed to fraudulent or violent manipulations of these meetings.

While this legal regulation of the primary has done much to mitigate its evils, it is still open to the objection that it leaves the control of the nominating system in the hands of the party managers, and practically excludes the

voter from exercising any considerable influence in the selection of candidates for public office. The recent increase in the number of independent voters has given them new weight in politics, and they are now demanding a further reform, which has in contemplation the substitution of ‘direct’ for primary and caucus nominations. This is to be effected by permitting a specified number of registered voters to place a candidate in nomination directly, by a written declaration signed by them, and without the intervention of the machinery of caucuses and conventions new employed. All candidates for a given office being nominated in the same simple and direct way, it is assumed that they will represent the unconstrained choice of the electorate, and that all will occupy an equal footing as candidates. The method of ‘direct nominations,’ as it is called, has recently been adopted in several of the Western States, and is apparently meeting with increasing favor in other parts of the country. The experiment is too new, however, to furnish any satisfactory evidence of its real value.

A flagrant example of the control of elections by corrupt party managers was formerly afforded by the pocket and rotten boroughs of England, which were disfranchised by the Reform Bill of 1832. These were boroughs (having the right to elect members of Parliament) that were controlled by non-resident noblemen, either by reason of their landed proprietorship or of their purchase of the electors. In many of them the number of voters was very small. For example, the borough of Gatton had but seven electors, and that of Old Sarum but one — the keeper of an alehouse. When Lord Russell introduced his Reform Bill in 1831, 90 members of Parliament were returned by 40 boroughs with less than 50 votes each, and a majority of the House of Commons was elected by 15,000 out of 3,000,000 male adults. One peer controlled boroughs which sent up 11 members of his choice to the House of Commons, while some of the great manufacturing centres had no representation in Parliament. The Reform Bill disfranchised 56 of these rotten boroughs, and made a new distribution of Parliamentary representatives throughout the kingdom.

A condition of things somewhat similar to that in Britain when Lord Russell introduced his Reform Bill exists in some of our States, notably Connecticut, where the unit of legislative representation is the township. A century and a half ago such a basis of representation was a fair one. Now it is not. Many of the towns have now a smaller population than a hundred years ago, while others have increased their voters a thousandfold. As a result, a handful of electors in a rural township may have an equal voice in the State Legislature with a thousand electors in a large village or a city. Agitations for a redistribution of legislative representatives will continue undoubtedly until the present condition of things in such States is changed.

The Fourteenth Amendment to the Federal Constitution provides that when the right to vote at any Federal or State election is denied to any of the male inhabitants of a State “being twenty-one years of age and citizens of the United States, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion or other crime, the basis of representation [in Congress] therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the

number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole.”

(3) . The most heinous of these are false personation and repeating by voters, and bribery and intimidation by candidates for office or their partisans. Both in Britain and in this country repeated efforts have been made by legislators to eradicate these practices, but without entire success. Perhaps the most comprehensive and rigorous piece of legislation of this sort is the British Corrupt Practices Act of 1883, with its amendments. Its principal features are: (1) The severe penalties inflicted upon those guilty of false personation at the polls or of voting more than once at the same election, as well as upon all who indulge in the intimidation, undue influence, or bribery of voters; (2) the restriction within very narrow limits of the employment of paid agents, clerks, messengers, and others by candidates or election committees; (3) the prescribing of a fixed scale of lawful expenditures by candidates and committees; (4) requiring a full and correct account of such expenditures. Several of our States have laws of a similar character. Although none of them are as sweeping or as effective as the British act, their results have been beneficial.

A lucid account of the provisions and working of the British statute, by its draftsman, Sir Henry James, will be found in The Forum for April, 1893 (vol. xv., p. 129). The article is followed by accounts of similar statutes in several of our States. Lord Bradbourne criticises the British act in a series of very entertaining articles on “Old Elections in England” (Blackwood's Magazine, cli. 763, and id., clii. 38, 248, 688).

Some of the grosser forms of fraud at elections, such as the use of fraudulent and tissue ballots and the stuffing of ballot-boxes, have been rendered obsolete by the adoption of the Australian ballot, and the assumption by the State of the duty of furnishing an official ballot in place of the party ballot formerly provided by the several party organizations. The practice of repeating, dishonest counts, and false returns of votes have been checked by the registration of voters, the provision of an increased number of official watchers at the polls, and, in some parts of the country, by the employment of voting and counting machines. See ; . Consult: Bishop, Colonial Elections (New York, 1893); Dallinger, Nominations for Elective Office (New York, 1897); Stüreks, Primary Election Legislation (New York, 1898); Ward, Treatise on the Law Relating to Parliamentary and Municipal Elections (2d ed., London, 1886).


text: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XIII

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XIII


text: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XIV

title: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XIV


text: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XV

title: Darwinism (Wallace)/Chapter XV


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 08/May/Mrs. Henrietta E. Lee to General Hunter


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Page:Freud - The interpretation of dreams.djvu/455

Rh unconscious which can only make itself noticeable during the night. I thus find a threefold possibility for the origin of a wish. Firstly, it may have been incited during the day, and owing to external circumstances failed to find gratification, there is thus left for the night an acknowledged but unfulfilled wish. Secondly, it may come to the surface during the day but be rejected, leaving an unfulfilled but suppressed wish. Or, thirdly, it may have no relation to daily life, and belong to those wishes that originate during the night from the suppression. If we now follow our scheme of the psychic apparatus, we can localise a wish of the first order in the system Forec. We may assume that a wish of the second order has been forced back from the Forec. system into the Unc. system, where alone, if anywhere, it can maintain itself; while a wish-feeling of the third order we consider altogether incapable of leaving the Unc. system. This brings up the question whether wishes arising from these different sources possess the same value for the dream, and whether they have the same power to incite a dream.

On reviewing the dreams which we have at our disposal for answering this question, we are at once moved to add as a fourth source of the dream-wish the actual wish incitements arising during the night, such as thirst and sexual desire. It then becomes evident that the source of the dream-wish does not affect its capacity to incite a dream. This view is supported by the dream of the little girl who continued the sea trip interrupted during the day, and by the other children's dreams referred to; they are explained by an unfulfilled but not suppressed wish from the day-time. That a wish suppressed during the day asserts itself in the dream can be shown by a great many examples. I shall mention a very simple example of this class. A somewhat sarcastic young lady, whose younger friend has become engaged to be married, is asked throughout the day by her acquaintances whether she knows and what she thinks of the fiancé. She answers with unqualified praise, thereby silencing her own judgment, as she would prefer to tell the truth, namely, that he is an ordinary person (Dutzendmensch).


text: Darwinism (Wallace)/Index

title: Darwinism (Wallace)/Index


text:
Author:Henrietta Bedinger Lee

Works

 * A Sketch of the Bedinger Family (1880)
 * A Sketch of the Bedinger Family (1880)

Works about Lee

 * Bittinger and Bedinger Families (1904)

title: Author:Henrietta Bedinger Lee


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Electors, German Imperial

ELECTORS, (Lat., from eligere, to choose). In the Holy Roman Empire, the college of lay and ecclesiastical princes in whom the right of choosing the King of the Romans was vested. With the extinction of the Carolingian line after the breaking up of the Empire of Charles the Great, the kingship in Germany became elective, the right of election residing in certain of the great feudatories, though just in whom or on what grounds is not clear from the early mediæval accounts. An electoral body is vaguely mentioned in chronicles of 1152, 1198, and 1230, but there is no clear indication as to who composed the body. A letter of Pope Urban IV. in 1263 says that the right belongs by immemorial custom to seven persons. The electoral college was first clearly defined in 1356 in the Golden Bull, a constitution for the Holy Roman Empire, issued by the Emperor Charles IV. This document also prescribed the exact form and manner of election cf the ‘King of the Romans and future Emperor.’ The statements in this document seem to indicate that the right of election had been attached to certain hereditary offices in the Imperial Court, as each prince elector is associated with such an office. The electors were the Archbishop of Mainz (Mayence), Arch-Chancellor of the Holy Empire for Germany; the Archbishop of Cologne, Arch-Chancellor for Italy; the Archbishop of Treves (Trier), Arch-Chancellor for the Gallic Provinces and Arles; the King of Bohemia, Arch-Cupbearer; the Count Palatine of the Rhine, Arch-Steward; the Duke of Saxony, Arch-Marshal; and the Margrave of Brandenburg, Arch-Chamberlain. These electors had special dignities and privileges, which were elaborately set forth in the Golden Bull. They had no

especial legal powers beyond that of election, but through that they exercised a strong influence on imperial affairs. The German princes held that an election as King of the Romans by the German electors was also an election as Holy Roman Emperor: but the popes contended that they alone, as vicars of God, could bestow the imperial dignity. The Peace of Westphalia (1648) created an eighth electorate for the heirs of the Count Palatine, Frederick V., who had been despoiled of his electorate in behalf of the Duke of Bavaria in the Thirty Years' War. A ninth, that of Brunswick-Lüneburg, was created in 1692, and fully established in 1710, as the electorate of Hanover. In 1777 the inheritance of Bavaria by the Elector Palatine restored the number to eight. In 1803, just before the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire, changes were made, the number being increased. Among the rulers raised at this time to the dignity of elector was the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, in whose house the title was retained till the extinction of the State in 1866. From the fifteenth century the electors constituted a separate college in the Imperial Diet. Consult: Bryce, The Holy Roman Empire (London, 1892); Turner, The Germanic Constitution (New York, 1888). The Golden Bull is translated in Henderson, Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages (London, 1892). See .


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438 The following night she dreams that the same question is put to her, and that she replies with the formula: "In case of subsequent orders it will suffice to mention the number." Finally, we have learned from numerous analyses that the wish in all dreams that have been subject to distortion has been derived from the unconscious, and has been unable to come to perception in the waking state. Thus it would appear that all wishes are of the same value and force for the dream formation.

I am at present unable to prove that the state of affairs is really different, but I am strongly inclined to assume a more stringent determination of the dream-wish. Children's dreams leave no doubt that an unfulfilled wish of the day may be the instigator of the dream. But we must not forget that it is, after all, the wish of a child, that it is a wish-feeling of infantile strength only. I have a strong doubt whether an unfulfilled wish from the day would suffice to create a dream in an adult. It would rather seem that as we learn to control our impulses by intellectual activity, we more and more reject as vain the formation or retention of such intense wishes as are natural to childhood. In this, indeed, there may be individual variations; some retain the infantile type of psychic processes longer than others. The differences are here the same as those found in the gradual decline of the originally distinct visual imagination.

In general, however, I am of the opinion that unfulfilled wishes of the day are insufficient to produce a dream in adults. I readily admit that the wish instigators originating in conscious life contribute towards the incitement of dreams, but that is probably all. The dream would not originate if the foreconscious wish were not reinforced from another source.

That source is the unconscious. I believe that the conscious wish is a dream inciter only if it succeeds in arousing a similar unconscious wish which reinforces it. Following the suggestions obtained through the psychoanalysis of the neuroses, I believe that these unconscious wishes are always active and ready for expression whenever they find an opportunity to unite themselves with an emotion from conscious life, and that they transfer their greater intensity to the lesser intensity of


text:
Author talk:Henrietta Bedinger Lee

Biographical sources
- AdamBMorgan (talk) 23:22, 25 June 2012 (UTC)
 * Find-a-Grave, lists birth and death years
 * Library of Congress—Custis-Lee family papers, 1700-circa 1928—Index, lists birth year
 * Grave marking held in Shepherdstown (Herald Mail article, August 31, 2008), lists both birth and death years as well
 * Heroines of Dixie (Google Books, snippet view), confirms correct person
 * A History of Jefferson County, West Virginia (1719-1940) by Millard Kessler Bushong (Google Books), as above

— William Maury Morris II Talk 02:17, 27 June 2012 (UTC)

 * [] Photograph of Henrietta Bedinger Lee

On Amazon.com but out of stock for now: []

(1) A sketch of the Bedinger family by Henrietta Bedinger Lee (1880) (2) Biographical and Genealogical Sketches of the Descendants of Colonel Richard Lee. With Brief Notices of the Related Families of Allerton, Armistead, Ashton, Aylett, Beding... by Edmund Jennings Lee (2002)

(3) Lights and shadows: Sketches of Harry Bedinger Lee, Confederate lad, school teacher, lawyer, minister of the Gospel, his wife, Lucy Marshall and their children by Rebecca Burwell Lee (1952)

Author talk:Henrietta Bedinger Lee

 * 1) Daughter of Lieut. Daniel & Sarah Bedinger
 * 2) Born Feb. 7, 1810; Died Oct. 7, 1898
 * 3) She wrote her letter to Federal General David Hunter (destroyed V.M.I.) July 20, 1864.
 * 4) She would have been age 54 with children and homeless, no food, no shelter, no transportation or other clothes; everyone in the Shenandoah Valley were destitute as she. July in Virginia is hot. How did she and others survive the destruction of everything? Where did they go?

add photo of Mrs H Lee.
 * [] Temporary until sorted out. Add short genealogy of Mrs. Henrietta Bedinger Lee, her husband and his direct Lee ancestry,

On July 19, 1864, Union General David Hunter—then attempting to drive Confederates from the Shenandoah Valley ordered the burning of three specific homes in Jefferson County as a part of General Grant's scorched earth policy of burning and stealing food and killing all animals a policy of "total war" including on all civilians. Homes destroyed included "Hunter Hill," the home of Andrew Hunter who had prosecuted John Brown, "Fountain Rock," near Shepherdstown, home of Confederate Congressman Alexander Boteler, and "Bedford," near Shepherdstown, the home of Edmund Jennings Lee (Robert E. Lee’s first cousin) and Henrietta Bedinger Lee. Source: James T. Surkamp, The Land Where We Were a Dreamin': A People’s History of Jefferson County, West Virginia (James T. Surkamp, Shepherdstown, West Virginia: p.62.

When General Early was made aware of the brutal tactics being employed in nearby Jefferson County he would later write that he: "Came to the conclusion that we had stood this mode of warfare long enough, and that it was time to open the eyes of the people of the North to its enormity, by an example in the way of retaliation." Source: Jubal A. Early, A Memoir of the Last Year of the War for Independence in the Confederate States of America, Containing an Account of the Operations of His Commands in the Years 1864 and 1865, 1867.

Unknown to Mrs. Henrietta Lee, Federal General David Hunter (See section "The Valley" ) was under orders by General Grant. Hunter replaced Sigel in command of the Army of the Shenandoah and the Department of West Virginia on May 21, 1864. Grant ordered Hunter to employ scorched earth tactics similar to those that would be used later in that year during Sherman's March to the Sea; he was to move through Staunton to Charlottesville and Lynchburg, living off the country and destroying the Virginia Central Railroad "beyond possibility of repair for weeks." Lee was concerned enough about Hunter that he dispatched a corps under Lt. Gen. Jubal A. Early to deal with him and General Early was able to chase General Hunter away from Lynchburg, Virginia. General Grant replaced General Hunter's position and added General Sherman which caused General Hunter to resign his position. General Grant's scorched earth policy was next repeated with General Sherman's infamous "March to the Sea". General Grant also stopped all prisoner or war exchanges which caused terrible sufferings for both northern and southern prisoners of war as well as death by the thousands on both sides.

The following burning protest against a cruel wrong deserves to be put on record, as a part of the history of General David Hunter's inglorious campaign in the Valley of Virginia, and we cheerfully comply with the request of a distinguished friend to publish it. The burning of this house and those of Colonel A. R. Boteler and Andrew Hunter, Esq., in the lower Valley, and of Governor Letcher's and the Virginia Military Institute at Lexington, together with other acts of vandalism, have given General Hunter a place in the annals of infamy only equaled by the contempt felt for his military achievements:

Jefferson County, July 20, 1864.

General Hunter:

Yesterday your underling, Captain Martindale, of the First New York cavalry, executed your infamous order and burned my house ["Bedford"]. You have had the satisfaction ere this of receiving from him the information that your orders were fulfilled to the letter; the dwelling and every out-building, seven in number, with their contents, being burned. I, therefore, a helpless woman [age 54] whom you have cruelly wronged, address you, a Major-General of the United States army, and demand why this was done? What was my offence? My husband was absent, an exile.[Edmund Jennings Lee] He had never been a politician or in any way engaged in the struggle now going on, his age preventing. This fact your Chief-of-Staff, David Strother, could have told you. The house was built by my father [Lieut. Daniel Bedinger], a Revolutionary soldier, who served the whole seven years for your independence. There was I born; there the sacred dead repose. It was my house and my home, and there has your niece (Miss Griffith) who has tarried among us all this horrid war up to the present time, met with all kindness and hospitality at my hands. Was it for this that you turned me, my young daughter and little son [    ] out upon the world without a shelter? Or was it because my husband is the grandson of the Revolutionary patriot and "rebel," Richard Henry Lee, and the near kinsman of the noblest of Christian warriors, the greatest of Generals, Robert E. Lee? Heaven's blessing be upon his head forever. You and your Government have failed to conquer, subdue or match him; and disappointment, rage and malice find vent on the helpless and inoffensive.

Hyena like, you have torn my heart to pieces! for all hallowed memories clustered around that homestead, and, demon-like, you have done it without even the pretext of revenge, for I never saw or harmed you. Your office is not to lead, like a brave man and soldier, your men to fight in the ranks of war, but your work has been to separate yourself from all danger, and with your incendiary band steal unawares upon helpless women and children, to insult and destroy. Two fair homes did you yesterday ruthlessly lay in ashes, giving not a moment's warning to the startled inmates of your wicked purpose; turning mothers and children out of doors, you are execrated by your own men for the cruel work you give them to do.

In the case of Colonel A. R. Boteler, both father and mother were far away. Any heart but that of Captain Martindale (and yours) would have been touched by that little circle, comprising a widowed daughter just risen from her bed of illness, her three fatherless babies—the oldest not five years old—and her heroic sister. I repeat, any man would have been touched at that sight but Captain Martindale. One might as well hope to find mercy and feeling in the heart of a wolf bent on his prey of young lambs, as to search for such qualities in his bosom. You have chosen well your agent for such deeds, and doubtless will promote him!

A colonel of the Federal army has stated that you deprived forty of your officers of their commands because they refused to carry on your malignant mischief. All honor to their names for this at least! They are men—they have human hearts and blush for such a commander!

I ask who that does not wish infamy and disgrace attached to him forever would serve under you? Your name will stand on history's page as the Hunter of weak women and innocent children; the Hunter to destroy defenceless villages and refined and beautiful homes—to torture afresh the agonized hearts of widows; the Hunter of Africa's poor sons and daughters to lure them on to ruin and death of soul and body; the Hunter with the relentless heart of a wild beast, the face of a fiend and the form of a man. Oh, Earth, behold the monster! Can I say, "God forgive you"? No prayer can be offered for you! Were it possible for human lips to raise your name heavenward, angels would thrust the foul thing back again, and demons claim their own. The curses of thousands, the scorn of the manly and upright and the hatred of the true and honorable, will follow you and yours through all time, and brand your name infamy! infamy!

Again, I demand why you have burned my home? Answer as you must answer before the Searcher of all hearts, why have you added this cruel, wicked deed to your many crimes?

Henrietta E. Lee.

— William Maury Morris II Talk 03:38, 27 June 2012 (UTC)

A Sketch of the Bedinger Family
I found this while I was searching for biographical data. It is listed on Amazon; it is not available through the Internet Archive nor, as far as I am aware, any other online source. - AdamBMorgan (talk) 20:46, 26 June 2012 (UTC)

title: Author talk:Henrietta Bedinger Lee


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Page:Freud - The interpretation of dreams.djvu/457

Rh the latter. It may therefore seem that the conscious wish alone has been realised in a dream; but a slight peculiarity in the formation of this dream will put us on the track of the powerful helper from the unconscious. These ever active and, as it were, immortal wishes from the unconscious recall the legendary Titans who from time immemorial have borne the ponderous mountains which were once rolled upon them by the victorious gods, and which even now quiver from time to time from the convulsions of their mighty limbs; I say that these wishes found in the repression are of themselves of an infantile origin, as we have learned from the psychological investigation of the neuroses. I should like, therefore, to withdraw the opinion previously expressed that it is unimportant whence the dream-wish originates, and replace it by another, as follows: The wish manifested in the dream must be an infantile one. In the adult it originates in the Unc, while in the child, where no separation and censor as yet exist between Forec. and Unc, or where these are only in the process of formation, it is an unfulfilled and unrepressed wish from the waking state. I am aware that this conception cannot be generally demonstrated, but I maintain nevertheless that it can be frequently demonstrated, even where it was not suspected, and that it cannot be generally refuted.

The wish-feelings which remain from the conscious waking state are, therefore, relegated to the background in the dream formation. In the dream content I shall attribute to them only the part attributed to the material of actual sensations during sleep (see p. 185). If I now take into account those other psychic instigations remaining from the waking state which are not wishes, I shall only adhere to the line mapped out for me by this train of thought. We may succeed in provisionally terminating the sum of energy of our waking


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Electra

ELEC'TRA (Lat., from Gk. Ἠλέκτρα). In Greek legend: (1) The daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, and the sister of Orestes and Iphigenia. While Agamemnon was absent at the siege of Troy, his cousin Ægisthus corrupted Clytemnestra, and, on the great leader's return, shamefully assisted her in murdering him. Electra, alarmed for the safety of Orestes, and desiring to have in him an avenger, contrived to send him to his uncle Strophius, King of Phocis. There he met Pyladis, and formed with him the friendship so famed in story — an attachment further cemented by the marriage of his friend to his sister. There is a tradition that Ægisthus sought to humble her by forcing her to marry a peasant, but the fellow, mindful of the gods, duly restored her to Orestes. By Pylades she was mother of Strophius and Medon. Her experiences are recounted by Æschylus in the Choëphoi, by Sophocles in Electra, by Euripides in the three dramas Electra, Orestes, and Iphigenia Among the Tauri, by Racine in Electra, and by Goethe in Iphigenie auf Tauris. (2) Wife of Atlas, by Zeus, mother of Dardanus, and one of the Oceanides. (3) One of the Pleiades, daughter of Atlas and Pleione. See
 * and.
 * and.


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Page:BICI report.pdf/6

Report of the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry G. AGENCIES OF THE GOVERNMENT OF BAHRAIN RESPONSIBLE FOR THE IMPLEMENTATION OF ROYAL DECREE NO. 18 OF 2011 48

1. The Bahrain Defence Force (BDF) 48

2. The Ministry of Interior 50

3. The National Security Agency 51

4. The National Guard 53

H. THE INTERPRETATION AND IMPLEMENTATION OF ROYAL DECREE NO. 18 OF 2011 54

1. The Interpretation Royal Decree No. 18 of 2011 54

2. The Implementation of Royal Decree No. 18 of 2011 56

3. Challenges to the Constitutionality of Royal Decree No. 18 of 2011 58

CHAPTER IV -- NARRATIVE OF EVENTS OF FEBRUARY AND MARCH 2011 62

A. INTRODUCTION 62

B. NARRATIVE OF EVENTS THAT OCCURRED IN BAHRAIN IN FEBRUARY AND MARCH 2011 62

C. CONCLUDING OBSERVATIONS 159

1. The progression of the protest movement 159

2. Government Policy during the events of February and March 2011 162

3. Political negotiations between HRH the Crown Prince and political parties 165

CHAPTER V -- EVENTS AT SALMANIYA MEDICAL COMPLEX 167

A. FACTUAL BACKGROUND 167

1. Chronology of events 167

2. Allegations 172

(1) Control and management of SMC 174

(2) Spreading False Rumours and Information 181

(3) Granting access to the media 184

(4) Unauthorised marches and gatherings by medical personnel 184

(5) Discrimination based on ethnicity or sect 186

(6) Illegal acquisition and use of medicine and medical facilities 190

(7) Unlawful detention of patients 193

(8) Possession of firearms and weapons 194

(9) Attacks on medical staff at the GCC Roundabout 195

(10) Refusal to send ambulances 196

title: Page:BICI report.pdf/6


text:
Page:BICI report.pdf/3

 Report of the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry, presented in Manama, Bahrain, on 23 November 2011.

__________________________

Mahmoud Cherif Bassiouni, Chair

__________________________

Nigel Rodley, Commissioner

__________________________

Badria Al Awadhi, Commissioner

__________________________

Philippe Kirsch, Commissioner

__________________________

Mahnoush H. Arsanjani, Commissioner

title: Page:BICI report.pdf/3


text: Page:BICI report.pdf/2

title: Page:BICI report.pdf/2


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440 thoughts by deciding to go to sleep. He is a good sleeper who can do this; Napoleon I. is reputed to have been a model of this sort. But we do not always succeed in accomplishing it, or in accomplishing it perfectly. Unsolved problems, harassing cares, overwhelming impressions continue the thinking activity even during sleep, maintaining psychic processes in the system which we have termed the foreconscious. These mental processes continuing into sleep may be divided into the following groups: 1, That which has not been terminated during the day owing to casual prevention; 2, that which has been left unfinished by temporary paralysis of our mental power, i.e. the unsolved; 3, that which has been rejected and suppressed during the day. This unites with a powerful group (4) formed by that which has been excited in our Unc. during the day by the work of the foreconscious. Finally, we may add group (5) consisting of the indifferent and hence unsettled impressions of the day.

We should not underrate the psychic intensities introduced into sleep by these remnants of waking life, especially those emanating from the group of the unsolved. These excitations surely continue to strive for expression during the night, and we may assume with equal certainty that the sleeping state renders impossible the usual continuation of the excitement in the foreconscious and the termination of the excitement by its becoming conscious. As far as we can normally become conscious of our mental processes, even during the night, in so far we are not asleep. I shall not venture to state what change is produced in the Forec. system by the sleeping state, but there is no doubt that the psychological character of sleep is essentially due to the change of energy in this very system, which also dominates the approach to motility, which is paralysed during sleep. In contradistinction to this, there seems to be nothing in the psychology of the dream to warrant the assumption that sleep produces any but secondary changes in the conditions of the Unc. system. Hence, for the nocturnal excitation in the Forec. there remains no other path than that followed by the wish excitements from the Unc. This excitation must seek reinforcement from the Unc, and follow the detours of the unconscious excitations. But what is the relation of the foreconscious day remnants to the dream?


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 REPORT OF THE BAHRAIN INDEPENDENT COMMISSION OF INQUIRY

Mahmoud Cherif Bassiouni, Chair

Nigel Rodley, Commissioner

Badria Al-Awadhi, Commissioner

Philippe Kirsch, Commissioner

Mahnoush H. Arsanjani, Commissioner

PRESENTED IN MANAMA, BAHRAIN ON 23 NOVEMBER 2011

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Rh There is no doubt that they penetrate abundantly into the dream, that they utilise the dream content to obtrude themselves upon consciousness even during the night; indeed, they occasionally even dominate the dream content, and impel it to continue the work of the day; it is also certain that the day remnants may just as well have any other character as that of wishes; but it is highly instructive and even decisive for the theory of wish-fulfilment to see what conditions they must comply with in order to be received into the dream.

Let us pick out one of the dreams cited above as examples, e.g., the dream in which my friend Otto seems to show the symptoms of Basedow's disease (p. 228). My friend Otto's appearance occasioned me some concern during the day, and this worry, like everything else referring to this person, affected me. I may also assume that these feelings followed me into sleep. I was probably bent on finding out what was the matter with him. In the night my worry found expression in the dream which I have reported, the content of which was not only senseless, but failed to show any wish-fulfilment. But I began to investigate for the source of this incongruous expression of the solicitude felt during the day, and analysis revealed the connection. I identified my friend Otto with a certain Baron L. and myself with a Professor R. There was only one explanation for my being impelled to select just this substitution for the day thought. I must have always been prepared in the Unc. to identify myself with Professor R., as it meant the realisation of one of the immortal infantile wishes, viz. that of becoming great. Repulsive ideas respecting my friend, that would certainly have been repudiated in a waking state, took advantage of the opportunity to creep into the dream, but the worry of the day likewise found some form of expression through a substitution in the dream content. The day thought, which was no wish in itself but rather a worry, had in some way to find a connection with the infantile now unconscious and suppressed wish, which then allowed it, though already properly prepared, to "originate" for consciousness. The more dominating this worry, the stronger must be the connection to be established; between the contents of the wish and that of the worry there need be no connection, nor was there one in any of our examples.


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Report of the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry (11) Unlawful arrests and mistreatment conducted by the authorities 197

(12) Lack of access to medical care 200

(13) Bahrain Television and other government officials media campaign against the accused medical personnel 201

B. APPLICABLE LAW 203

1. International Law 203

2. National Law 204

C. FINDINGS AND CONCLUSIONS 207

CHAPTER VI -- ALLEGATIONS OF HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS AGAINST THE PERSON 214

SECTION A -- DEATHS ARISING OUT OF THE EVENTS 214

Part 1 -- Deaths Arising out of the Events 214

a) Factual Background 214

b) Applicable law 215

(1) International Law 215

(2) National Law 216

c) Findings and Conclusions 218

(1) Civilian deaths attributed to security forces 218

(2) Deaths attributed to torture 220

(3) Civilian deaths not attributable to a perpetrator 221

(4) Deaths of expatriate workers 221

(5) Deaths of police officers and BDF personnel 222

d) Recommendations 223

Part 2 -- Case-by-Case Analysis 223

a) Deaths Attributed to Security Forces 223

(1) Deaths caused by the use of a shotgun 223

(2) Deaths caused by the use of a firearm 228

(3) Death Caused by Physical 232

b) Deaths Not Attributable to Specific Perpetrators 233

c) Deaths Caused by Torture 237

d) Deaths of Expatriate Workers 241

(1) Expatriate workers killed by Mobs 241

(2) Expatriate workers killed by security forces 242

(3) unattributed deaths 243

e) Deaths of Police Officers and BDF Personnel 244

(1) Police officers and BDF personnel killed by demonstrators 244

(2) Killed by the security forces 245

(3) Unattributed Deaths 247

f) Deaths that took place outside the Commission`s temporal mandate 247

SECTION B -- USE OF FORCE BY GOVERNMENT ACTORS 251

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434 It was a sense of routine which kept me from going mad. I had drilled myself in preparation for the crucial moment, and blind training saved me. Recognizing the bubbling evil as no substance reachable by matter or material chemistry, and therefore ignoring the flame-thrower which loomed on my left, I threw on the current of the Crookes tube apparatus, and focussed toward that scene of immortal blasphemousness the strongest ether radiations which man's art can arouse from the spaces and fluids of nature. There was a bluish haze and a frenzied sputtering, and the yellowish phosphorescence grew dimmer to my eyes. But I saw the dimness was only that of contrast, and that the waves from the machine had no effect whatever.

Then, in the midst of that demoniac spectacle, I saw a fresh horror which brought cries to my lips and sent me fumbling and staggering toward that unlocked door to the quiet street, careless of what abnormal terrors I loosed upon the world, or what thoughts or judgments of men I brought down upon my head. In that dim blend of blue and yellow the form of my uncle had commenced a nauseous liquefaction whose essence eludes all description, and in which there played across his vanishing face such changes of identity as only madness can conceive. He was at once a devil and a multitude, a charnel-house and a pageant. Lit by the mixed and uncertain beams, that gelatinous face assumed a dozen—a score—a hundred—aspects; grinning, as it sank to the ground on a body that melted like tallow, in the caricatured likeness of legions strange and yet not strange.

I saw the features of the Harris line, masculine and feminine, adult and infantile, and other features old and young, coarse and refined, familiar and unfamiliar. For a second there flashed a degraded counterfeit of a miniature of poor mad Rhoby Harris that I had seen in the School of Design museum, and another time I thought I caught the raw-boned image of Mercy Dexter as I recalled her from a painting in Carrington Harris's house. It was frightful beyond conception; toward the last, when a curious blend of servant and baby visages flickered close to the fungous floor where a pool of greenish grease was spreading, it seemed as though the shifting features fought against themselves and strove to form contours like those of my uncle's kindly face. I like to think that he existed at that moment, and that he tried to bid me farewell. It seems to me I hiccupped a farewell from my own parched throat as I lurched out into the street; a thin stream of grease following me through the door to the rain-drenched sidewalk.

rest is shadowy and monstrous. There was no one in the soaking street, and in all the world there was no one I dared tell. I walked aimlessly south past College Hill and the Athenæum, down Hopkins Street, and over the bridge to the business section where tall buildings seemed to guard me as modern material things guard the world from ancient and unwholesome wonder. Then gray dawn unfolded wetly from the east, silhouetting the archaic hill and its venerable steeples, and beckoning me to the place where my terrible work was still unfinished. And in the end I went, wet, hatless, and dazed in the morning light, and entered that awful door in Benefit Street which I had left ajar, and which still swung cryptically in full sight of the early householders to whom I dared not speak.

The grease was gone, for the moldy floor was porous. And in front of the fireplace was no vestige of the giant


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Rh form traced in niter. I looked at the cot, the chairs, the instruments, my neglected hat, and the yellowed straw hat of my uncle. Dazedness was uppermost, and I could scarcely recall what was dream and what was reality. Then thought trickled back, and I knew that I had witnessed things more horrible than I had dreamed.

Sitting down, I tried to conjecture as nearly as sanity would let me just what had happened, and how I might end the horror, if indeed it had been real. Matter it seemed not to be, nor ether, nor anything else conceivable by mortal mind. What, then, but some exotic emanation; some vampirish vapor such as Exeter rustics tell of as lurking over certain churchyards? This I felt was the clue, and again I looked at the floor before the fireplace where the mold and niter had taken strange forms.

In ten minutes my mind was made up, and taking my hat I set out for home, where I bathed, ate, and gave by telephone an order for a pickax, a spade, a military gas-mask, and six carboys of sulfuric acid, all to be delivered the next morning at the cellar door of the shunned house in Benefit Street. After that I tried to sleep; and failing, passed the hours in reading and in the composition of inane verses to counteract my mood.

At eleven a. m. the next day I commenced digging. It was sunny weather, and I was glad of that. I was still alone, for as much as I feared the unknown horror I sought, there was more fear in the thought of telling anybody. Later I told Harris only through sheer necessity, and because he had heard odd tales from old people which disposed him ever so little toward belief. As I turned up the stinking black earth in front of the fireplace, my spade causing a viscous yellow ichor to ooze from the white fungi which it severed, I trembled at the dubious thoughts of what I might uncover. Some secrets of inner earth are not good for mankind, and this seemed to me one of them.

My hand shook perceptibly, but still I delved; after a while standing in the large hole I had made. With the deepening of the hole, which was about six feet square, the evil smell increased; and I lost all doubt of my imminent contact with the hellish thing whose emanations had cursed the house for over a century and a half. I wondered what it would look like—what its form and substance would be, and how big it might have waxed through long ages of life-sucking. At length I climbed out of the hole and dispersed the heaped-up dirt, then arranging the great carboys of acid around and near two sides, so that when necessary I might empty them all down the aperture in quick succession. After that I dumped earth only along the other two sides; working more slowly and donning my gas-mask as the smell grew. I was nearly unnerved at my proximity to a nameless thing at the bottom of a pit.

Suddenly my spade struck something softer than earth. I shuddered, and made a motion as if to climb out of the hole, which was now as deep as my neck. Then courage returned, and I scraped away more dirt in the light of the electric torch I had provided. The surface I uncovered was fishy and glassy—a kind of semi-putrid congealed jelly with suggestions of translucency. I scraped further, and saw that it had form. There was a rift where a part of the substance was folded over. The exposed area was huge and roughly cylindrical; like a mammoth soft blue-white stovepipe doubled in two, its largest part some two feet in diameter. Still more I scraped, and then abruptly I


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436 leaped out of the hole and away from the filthy thing; frantically unstopping and tilting the heavy carboys, and precipitating their corrosive contents one after another down that charnel gulf and upon the unthinkable abnormality whose titan elbow I had seen.

blinding maelstrom of greenish-yellow vapor which surged tempestuously up from that hole as the floods of acid descended, will never leave my memory. All along the hill people tell of the yellow day, when virulent and horrible fumes arose from the factory waste dumped in the Providence River, but I know how mistaken they are as to the source. They tell, too, of the hideous roar which at the same time came from some disordered water-pipe or gas main underground—but again I could correct them if I dared. It was unspeakably shocking, and I do not see how I lived through it. I did faint after emptying the fourth carboy, which I had to handle after the fumes had began to penetrate my mask; but when I recovered I saw that the hole was emitting no fresh vapors.

The two remaining carboys I emptied down without particular result, and after a time I felt it safe to shovel the earth back into the pit. It was twilight before I was done, but fear had gone out of the place. The dampness was less fetid, and all the strange fungi had withered to a kind of harmless grayish powder which blew ash-like along the floor. One of earth's nethermost terrors had perished for ever; and if there be a hell, it had received at last the demon soul of an unhallowed thing. And as I patted down the last spadeful of mold, I shed the first of the many tears with which I have paid unaffected tribute to my beloved uncle's memory.

The next spring no more pale grass and strange weeds came up in the shunned house's terraced garden, and shortly afterward Carrington Harris rented the place. It is still spectral, but its strangeness fascinates me, and I shall find mixed with my relief a queer regret when it is torn down to make way for a tawdry shop or vulgar apartment building. The barren old trees in the yard have begun to bear small, sweet apples, and last year the birds nested in their gnarled boughs.


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442 We can now sharply define the significance of the unconscious wish for the dream. It may be admitted that there is a whole class of dreams in which the incitement originates preponderatingly or even exclusively from the remnants of daily life; and I believe that even my cherished desire to become at some future time a "professor extraordinarius" would have allowed me to slumber undisturbed that night had not my worry about my friend's health been still active. But this worry alone would not have produced a dream; the motive power needed by the dream had to be contributed by a wish, and it was the affair of the worriment to procure for itself such wish as a motive power of the dream. To speak figuratively, it is quite possible that a day thought plays the part of the contractor (entrepreneur) in the dream. But it is known that no matter what idea the contractor may have in mind, and how desirous he may be of putting it into operation, he can do nothing without capital; he must depend upon a capitalist to defray the necessary expenses, and this capitalist, who supplies the psychic expenditure for the dream is invariably and indisputably a wish from the unconscious, no matter what the nature of the waking thought may be.

In other cases the capitalist himself is the contractor for the dream; this, indeed, seems to be the more usual case. An unconscious wish is produced by the day's work, which in turn creates the dream. The dream processes, moreover, run parallel with all the other possibilities of the economic relationship used here as an illustration. Thus, the entrepreneur may contribute some capital himself, or several entrepreneurs may seek the aid of the same capitalist, or several capitalists may jointly supply the capital required by the entrepreneur. Thus there are dreams produced by more than one dream-wish, and many similar variations which may readily be passed over and are of no further interest to us. What we have left unfinished in this discussion of the dream-wish we shall be able to develop later.

The "tertium comparationis" in the comparisons just employed—i.e. the sum placed at our free disposal in proper allotment—admits of still finer application for the illustration of the dream structure. As shown on p. 285 we can recognise in most dreams a centre especially supplied with


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Rh perceptible intensity. This is regularly the direct representation of the wish-fulfilment; for, if we undo the displacements of the dream-work by a process of retrogression, we find that the psychic intensity of the elements in the dream thoughts is replaced by the perceptible intensity of the elements in the dream content. The elements adjoining the wish-fulfilment have frequently nothing to do with its sense, but prove to be descendants of painful thoughts which oppose the wish. But, owing to their frequently artificial connection with the central element, they have acquired sufficient intensity to enable them to come to expression. Thus, the force of expression of the wish-fulfilment is diffused over a certain sphere of association, within which it raises to expression all elements, including those that are in themselves impotent. In dreams having several strong wishes we can readily separate from one another the spheres of the individual wish-fulfilments; the gaps in the dream likewise can often be explained as boundary zones.

Although the foregoing remarks have considerably limited the significance of the day remnants for the dream, it will nevertheless be worth our while to give them some attention. For they must be a necessary ingredient in the formation of the dream, inasmuch as experience reveals the surprising fact that every dream shows in its content a connection with some impression of a recent day, often of the most indifferent kind. So far we have failed to see any necessity for this addition to the dream mixture (p. 153). This necessity appears only when we follow closely the part played by the unconscious wish, and then seek information in the psychology of the neuroses. We thus learn that the unconscious idea, as such, is altogether incapable of entering into the foreconscious, and that it can exert an influence there only by uniting with a harmless idea already belonging to the foreconscious, to which it transfers its intensity and under which it allows itself to be concealed. This is the fact of transference which furnishes an explanation for so many surprising occurrences in the psychic life of neurotics.

The idea from the foreconscious which thus obtains an unmerited abundance of intensity may be left unchanged by the transference, or it may have forced upon it a modification


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444 from the content of the transferring idea. I trust the reader will pardon my fondness for comparisons from daily life, but I feel tempted to say that the relations existing for the repressed idea are similar to the situations existing in Austria for the American dentist, who is forbidden to practise unless he gets permission from a regular physician to use his name on the public signboard and thus cover the legal requirements. Moreover, just as it is naturally not the busiest physicians who form such alliances with dental practitioners, so in the psychic life only such foreconscious or conscious ideas are chosen to cover a repressed idea as have not themselves attracted much of the attention which is operative in the foreconscious. The unconscious entangles with its connections preferentially either those impressions and ideas of the foreconscious which have been left unnoticed as indifferent, or those that have soon been deprived of this attention through rejection. It is a familiar fact from the association studies confirmed by every experience, that ideas which have formed intimate connections in one direction assume an almost negative attitude to whole groups of new connections. I once tried from this principle to develop a theory for hysterical paralysis.

If we assume that the same need for the transference of the repressed ideas which we have learned to know from the analysis of the neuroses makes its influence felt in the dream as well, we can at once explain two riddles of the dream, viz. that every dream analysis shows an interweaving of a recent impression, and that this recent element is frequently of the most indifferent character. We may add what we have already learned elsewhere, that these recent and indifferent elements come so frequently into the dream content as a substitute for the most deep-lying of the dream thoughts, for the further reason that they have least to fear from the resisting censor. But while this freedom from censorship explains only the preference for trivial elements, the constant presence of recent elements points to the fact that there is a need for transference. Both groups of impressions satisfy the demand of the repression for material still free from associations, the indifferent ones because they have offered no inducement for extensive associations, and the recent ones because they have had insufficient time to form such associations.


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Rh We thus see that the day remnants, among which we may now include the indifferent impressions when they participate in the dream formation, not only borrow from the Unc. the motive power at the disposal of the repressed wish, but also offer to the unconscious something indispensable, namely, the attachment necessary to the transference. If we here attempted to penetrate more deeply into the psychic processes, we should first have to throw more light on the play of emotions between the foreconscious and the unconscious, to which, indeed, we are urged by the study of the psychoneuroses, whereas the dream itself offers no assistance in this respect.

Just one further remark about the day remnants. There is no doubt that they are the actual disturbers of sleep, and not the dream, which, on the contrary, strives to guard sleep. But we shall return to this point later.

We have so far discussed the dream-wish, we have traced it to the sphere of the Unc, and analysed its relations to the day remnants, which in turn may be either wishes, psychic emotions of any other kind, or simply recent impressions. We have thus made room for any claims that may be made for the importance of conscious thought activity in dream formations in all its variations. Relying upon our thought series, it would not be at all impossible for us to explain even those extreme cases in which the dream as a continuer of the day work brings to a happy conclusion an unsolved problem of the waking state. We do not, however, possess an example, the analysis of which might reveal the infantile or repressed wish source furnishing such alliance and successful strengthening of the efforts of the foreconscious activity. But we have not come one step nearer a solution of the riddle: Why can the unconscious furnish the motive power for the wish-fulfilment only during sleep? The answer to this question must throw light on the psychic nature of wishes; and it will be given with the aid of the diagram of the psychic apparatus.

We do not doubt that even this apparatus attained its present perfection through a long course of development. Let us attempt to restore it as it existed in an early phase of its activity. From assumptions, to be confirmed elsewhere, we know that at first the apparatus strove to keep as free from excitement as possible, and in its first formation, therefore,


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446 the scheme took the form of a reflex apparatus, which enabled it promptly to discharge through the motor tracts any sensible stimulus reaching it from without. But this simple function was disturbed by the wants of life, which likewise furnish the impulse for the further development of the apparatus. The wants of life first manifested themselves to it in the form of the great physical needs. The excitement aroused by the inner want seeks an outlet in motility, which may be designated as "inner changes" or as an "expression of the emotions." The hungry child cries or fidgets helplessly, but its situation remains unchanged; for the excitation proceeding from an inner want requires, not a momentary outbreak, but a force working continuously. A change can occur only if in some way a feeling of gratification is experienced—which in the case of the child must be through outside help—in order to remove the inner excitement. An essential constituent of this experience is the appearance of a certain perception (of food in our example), the memory picture of which thereafter remains associated with the memory trace of the excitation of want.

Thanks to the established connection, there results at the next appearance of this want a psychic feeling which revives the memory picture of the former perception, and thus recalls the former perception itself, i.e. it actually re-establishes the situation of the first gratification. We call such a feeling a wish; the reappearance of the perception constitutes the wish-fulfilment, and the full revival of the perception by the want excitement constitutes the shortest road to the wish-fulfilment. We may assume a primitive condition of the psychic apparatus in which this road is really followed, i.e. where the wishing merges into an hallucination. This first psychic activity therefore aims at an identity of perception, i.e. it aims at a repetition of that perception which is connected with the fulfilment of the want.

This primitive mental activity must have been modified by bitter practical experience into a more expedient secondary activity. The establishment of the identity perception on the short regressive road within the apparatus does not in another respect carry with it the result which inevitably follows the revival of the same perception from without. The


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Report of the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry 1. Factual Background 251

a) Allegations of misuse of force by MoI units 253

b) The Clearing Operations of the GCC Roundabout 253

c) Ministry of Interior Riot Control Operations 255

d) Ministry of Interior Checkpoints 256

e) The Use of Force by BDF Units 257

f) The Use of Force by NSA Units 258

g) The Use of Force by National Guard Units 258

2. Applicable Law 258

a) International Law 258

b) National Law 259

3. Findings and Conclusions 261

SECTION C -- MANNER OF ARRESTS 263

1. Factual Background 263

a) The Treatment of Women and Children present during Arrests 265

b) Destruction of Property 267

c) Theft of Property 268

2. Applicable Law 269

a) International Law 269

b) National Law 270

3. Findings and Conclusions 274

SECTION D -- TREATMENT OF PERSONS IN CUSTODY 276

1. Factual Background 276

a) General Pattern of Mistreatment 279

b) Specific techniques of mistreatment 281

c) Procedures of the Commission`s investigation team 284

d) Challenges Faced by the Investigation 285

e) Forensic Evidence 285

2. Applicable Law 287

a) International Law 287

b) National Law 288

3. Findings and Conclusions 290

4. Recommendations 295

SECTION E -- DETENTION AND PROSECUTION IN CONNECTION WITH EXPRESSION, ASSOCIATION AND ASSEMBLY 296

1. Factual Background 296

2. Applicable Law 301

a) International Law 301

b) National Law 302

3. Findings and Conclusions 305

4. Recommendations 307

SECTION F -- ALLEGATIONS OF ENFORCED DISAPPEARANCES 307

1. Introduction 307

2. Factual Background 307

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Chapter I -- Introduction a. Statements submitted in writing (2,639);

b. Statements submitted in person or electronically (5,188); and

c. Statements submitted by organisations (283).

In addition to these complaints and allegations, the Commission conducted 65 primary site visits (with several follow-up visits) and held 48 primary meetings with various agencies of the Government of Bahrain (GoB) and members of political and civil society (with numerous follow-up visits).

7. The Commission categorised the oral statements, written statements and electronic submissions it received into the following groupings, which were then entered into the Commission`s database, namely:

a. Deaths;

b. Detainees;

c. Journalists;

d. Medical Staff;

e. Private Sector Employees;

f. Public Sector Employees;

g. Police Personnel;

h. Students;

i. Teachers/Professors;

Sunnis; and

k. Expatriates.

In addition, the Commission received and examined reports from national and international organisations and media agencies, all of which were also entered into the database.

8. Based on the sources of information indicated above, the Commission`s database revealed different types of alleged violations. The purpose of the listing below is to show only what was reported without regard to the Commission`s analysis of the substance of these reports and complaints. What follows is therefore illustrative of the allegations that the Commission received:

a. Deaths;

b. Torture;

c. Verbal Abuse;

d. Physical Mistreatment;

e. Psychological Abuse;

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Report of the Bahrain Independent Commission of Inquiry f. Sexual Abuse;

g. Rapes;

h. Misuse of Authority and Excessive Use of Force;

i. Arbitrary Arrests and Detention;

j. Disappearances or Missing Persons;

k. Coerced Statements;

l. Unfair Trial;

m. Denial of Assistance of Legal Counsel;

n. Deprivation of Private Property;

o. Destruction of Private Property;

p. Demolition of Religious Structures;

q. Expulsion of Students;

r. Suspension of Students;

s. Revocation of Student Scholarships;

t. Dismissals from Private Sector Employment;

u. Dismissals from Public Sector Employment;

v. Suspension from Private Sector Employment;

w. Suspension from Public Sector Employment;

x. Other Work Related Complaints;

y. Restriction of Free Speech and Assembly;

z. Media Harassment;

aa. Issuance of Travel Bans; and

bb. Other.

9. As indicated above, the sources of information varied, as did the quality of the information received. This is understandable in so far as there were multiple sources that did not necessarily follow the same approach or describe events and situations in the same manner or style.

10. Reports received from the GoB tended at the beginning, namely the end of July and early August, to be limited and fragmentary. In the course of time, a more steady relationship developed that resulted in receiving more detailed information, and particularly more specific answers to the Commission`s follow up questions. The GoB produced hundreds of pages of reports including a comprehensive report prepared on behalf of all government agencies dated 6 October 2011. These reports contained not only factual information but answers to legal questions of a substantive and procedural nature. They also included replies to the Commission`s inquiries

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Chapter I -- Introduction as to different questions of alleged violations of international human rights law and Bahrain law.

11. A large volume of information was received from individuals, groups of individuals acting through non-governmental organisations (NGOs), human rights organisations and religious organisations. A number of complainants were included in more than one source. For example, an individual complainant could send a complaint via the Commission`s website, make a telephone call and/or come to the Commission`s offices for an interview, and the same complaint could also appear in group submissions by political parties, such as Al Wefaq National Islamic Society (Al Wefaq), the Gathering of National Unity, Karama and the National Democratic Action Society (Wa`ad), and NGOs, such as the Bahrain Center for Human Rights (BCHR) and Bahrain Human Rights Watch Society. Al Wefaq in particular was in almost daily contact with the Commission. The groupings of complaints that Al Wefaq and the BCHR sent to the Commission, and for which the Commission is grateful, frequently contained similar and overlapping information about complainants and events. In many of these communications, the cover letter or memorandum stated that the subject of the communication was to report a certain number of complaints whose range was between 50 and 500, but which seldom contained individual files of complainants. The primary benefit of this information was to identify persons on behalf of whom the respective organisations filed claims.

12. The Commission`s analysis of all sources of information in respect of allegations of violations of international human rights is contained in the various Chapters and Sections of this Report.

13. The Commission`s methodology comprised the following activities: interviewing individual complainants; meeting with GoB officials, civil society organisations, opposition groups, professionals of different categories and religious leaders; and conducting on-site visits to prisons, hospitals, demolished places of worship and other locations.

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Rh gratification does not take place, and the want continues. In order to equalise the internal with the external sum of energy, the former must be continually maintained, just as actually happens in the hallucinatory psychoses and in the deliriums of hunger which exhaust their psychic capacity in clinging to the object desired. In order to make more appropriate use of the psychic force, it becomes necessary to inhibit the full regression so as to prevent it from extending beyond the image of memory, whence it can select other paths leading ultimately to the establishment of the desired identity from the outer world. This inhibition and consequent deviation from the excitation becomes the task of a second system which dominates the voluntary motility, i.e. through whose activity the expenditure of motility is now devoted to previously recalled purposes. But this entire complicated mental activity which works its way from the memory picture to the establishment of the perception identity from the outer world merely represents a detour which has been forced upon the wish-fulfilment by experience. Thinking is indeed nothing but the equivalent of the hallucinatory wish; and if the dream be called a wish-fulfilment this becomes self-evident, as nothing but a wish can impel our psychic apparatus to activity. The dream, which in fulfilling its wishes follows the short regressive path, thereby preserves for us only an example of the primary form of the psychic apparatus which has been abandoned as inexpedient. What once ruled in the waking state when the psychic life was still young and unfit seems to have been banished into the sleeping state, just as we see again in the nursery the bow and arrow, the discarded primitive weapons of grown-up humanity. The dream is a fragment of the abandoned psychic life of the child. In the psychoses these modes of operation of the psychic apparatus, which are normally suppressed in the waking state, reassert themselves, and then betray their inability to satisfy our wants in the outer world.

The unconscious wish-feelings evidently strive to assert themselves during the day also, and the fact of transference and the psychoses teach us that they endeavour to penetrate


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448 to consciousness and dominate motility by the road leading through the system of the foreconscious. It is, therefore, the censor lying between the Unc. and the Forec., the assumption of which is forced upon us by the dream, that we have to recognise and honour as the guardian of our psychic health. But is it not carelessness on the part of this guardian to diminish its vigilance during the night and to allow the suppressed emotions of the Unc. to come to expression, thus again making possible the hallucinatory regression? I think not, for when the critical guardian goes to rest—and we have proof that his slumber is not profound—he takes care to close the gate to motility. No matter what feelings from the otherwise inhibited Unc. may roam about on the scene, they need not be interfered with; they remain harmless because they are unable to put in motion the motor apparatus which alone can exert a modifying influence upon the outer world. Sleep guarantees the security of the fortress which is under guard. Conditions are less harmless when a displacement of forces is produced, not through a nocturnal diminution in the operation of the critical censor, but through pathological enfeeblement of the latter or through pathological reinforcement of the unconscious excitations, and this while the foreconscious is charged with energy and the avenues to motility are open. The guardian is then overpowered, the unconscious excitations subdue the Forec.; through it they dominate our speech and actions, or they enforce the hallucinatory regression, thus governing an apparatus not designed for them by virtue of the attraction exerted by the perceptions on the distribution of our psychic energy. We call this condition a psychosis.

We are now in the best position to complete our psychological construction, which has been interrupted by the introduction of the two systems, Unc. and Forec. We have still, however, ample reason for giving further consideration to the wish as the sole psychic motive power in the dream. We have explained that the reason why the dream is in every case a wish realisation is because it is a product of the Unc., which knows no other aim in its activity but the fulfilment of wishes, and which has no other forces at its disposal but wish-feelings. If we avail ourselves for a moment longer of the right to elaborate from the dream interpretation such


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Rh far-reaching psychological speculations, we are in duty bound to demonstrate that we are thereby bringing the dream into a relationship which may also comprise other psychic structures. If there exists a system of the Unc.—or something sufficiently analogous to it for the purpose of our discussion—the dream cannot be its sole manifestation; every dream may be a wish-fulfilment, but there must be other forms of abnormal wish-fulfilment besides this of dreams. Indeed, the theory of all psychoneurotic symptoms culminates in the proposition that they too must be taken as wish-fulfilments of the unconscious. Our explanation makes the dream only the first member of a group most important for the psychiatrist, an understanding of which means the solution of the purely psychological part of the psychiatric problem. But other members of this group of wish-fulfilments, e.g., the hysterical symptoms, evince one essential quality which I have so far failed to find in the dream. Thus, from the investigations frequently referred to in this treatise, I know that the formation of an hysterical symptom necessitates the combination of both streams of our psychic life. The symptom is not merely the expression of a realised unconscious wish, but it must be joined by another wish from the foreconscious which is fulfilled by the same symptom; so that the symptom is at least doubly determined, once by each one of the conflicting systems. Just as in the dream, there is no limit to further over-determination. The determination not derived from the Unc. is, as far as I can see, invariably a stream of thought in reaction against the unconscious wish, e.g., a self-punishment. Hence I may say, in general, that an hysterical symptom originates only where two contrasting wish-fulfilments, having their source in different psychic systems, are able to combine in one expression. (Compare my latest formulation of the origin of the hysterical symptoms in a treatise published by the Zeitschrift für Sexualwissenschaft, by Hirschfeld and others, 1908). Examples on this point would prove of little value, as nothing but a complete unveiling of the complication in question would carry conviction. I therefore content myself with the mere assertion, and will cite an example, not for conviction but for explication. The hysterical vomiting of a female patient proved, on the one hand, to be the realisation of an 2 F


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450 unconscious fancy from the time of puberty, that she might be continuously pregnant and have a multitude of children, and this was subsequently united with the wish that she might have them from as many men as possible. Against this immoderate wish there arose a powerful defensive impulse. But as the vomiting might spoil the patient's figure and beauty, so that she would not find favour in the eyes of mankind, the symptom was therefore in keeping with her punitive trend of thought, and, being thus admissible from both sides, it was allowed to become a reality. This is the same manner of consenting to a wish-fulfilment which the queen of the Parthians chose for the triumvir Crassus. Believing that he had undertaken the campaign out of greed for gold, she caused molten gold to be poured into the throat of the corpse. "Now hast thou what thou hast longed for." As yet we know of the dream only that it expresses a wish-fulfilment of the unconscious; and apparently the dominating foreconscious permits this only after it has subjected the wish to some distortions. We are really in no position to demonstrate regularly a stream of thought antagonistic to the dream-wish which is realised in the dream as in its counterpart. Only now and then have we found in the dream traces of reaction formations, as, for instance, the tenderness toward friend R. in the "uncle dream" (p. 116). But the contribution from the foreconscious, which is missing here, may be found in another place. While the dominating system has withdrawn on the wish to sleep, the dream may bring to expression with manifold distortions a wish from the Unc., and realise this wish by producing the necessary changes of energy in the psychic apparatus, and may finally retain it through the entire duration of sleep.

This persistent wish to sleep on the part of the foreconscious in general facilitates the formation of the dream. Let us refer to the dream of the father who, by the gleam of light from the death chamber, was brought to the conclusion that the body has been set on fire. We have shown that one of the psychic forces decisive in causing the father to form this


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The States Parties to the present Convention,

Considering the fundamental role of treaties in the history of international relations,

Recognizing the ever-increasing importance of treaties as a source of international law and as a means of developing peaceful cooperation among nations, Whatever their constitutional and social systems,

Noting that the principles of free consent and of good faith and the pacta sunt servancla rule are universally recognized,

Affirming that disputes concerning treaties, like other international disputes, should be settled by peaceful means and in conformity With the principles of justice and international law,

Recalling the determination of the peoples of the United Nations to establish conditions under Which justice and respect for the obligations arising from treaties can be maintained, Having in mind the principles of international law embodied in the Charter of the United Nations, such as the principles of the equal rights and self-determination of peoples, of the sovereign equality and independence of all States, of non-interference in the domestic affairs of States, of the prohibition of the threat or use of force and of universal respect for, and observance of, human rights and fundamental freedoms for all,

Believing that the codification and progressive development of the law of treaties achieved in the present Convention Will promote the purposes of the United Nations set forth in the Charter, namely, the maintenance of international peace and security, the development of friendly relations and the achievement of cooperation among nations,

Affirming that the rules of customary international law Will continue to govern questions not regulated by the provisions of the present Convention,

Have agreed as follows:

The present Convention applies to treaties between States.


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Rh conclusion, instead of being awakened by the gleam of light, was the wish to prolong the life of the child seen in the dream by one moment. Other wishes proceeding from the repression probably escape us, because we are unable to analyse this dream. But as a second motive power of the dream we may mention the father's desire to sleep, for, like the life of the child, the sleep of the father is prolonged for a moment by the dream. The underlying motive is: "Let the dream go on, otherwise I must wake up." As in this dream so also in all other dreams, the wish to sleep lends its support to the unconscious wish. On page 104 we reported dreams which were apparently dreams of convenience. But, properly speaking, all dreams may claim this designation. The efficacy of the wish to continue to sleep is the most easily recognised in the waking dreams, which so transform the objective sensory stimulus as to render it compatible with the continuance of sleep; they interweave this stimulus with the dream in order to rob it of any claims it might make as a warning to the outer world. But this wish to continue to sleep must also participate in the formation of all other dreams which may disturb the sleeping state from within only. "Now, then, sleep on; why, it's but a dream"; this is in many cases the suggestion of the Forec. to consciousness when the dream goes too far; and this also describes in a general way the attitude of our dominating psychic activity toward dreaming, though the thought remains tacit. I must draw the conclusion that throughout our entire sleeping state we are just as certain that we are dreaming as we are certain that we are sleeping. We are compelled to disregard the objection urged against this conclusion that our consciousness is never directed to a knowledge of the former, and that it is directed to a knowledge of the latter only on special occasions when the censor is unexpectedly surprised. Against this objection we may say that there are persons who are entirely conscious of their sleeping and dreaming, and who are apparently endowed with the conscious faculty of guiding their dream life. Such a dreamer, when dissatisfied with the course taken by the dream, breaks it off without awakening, and begins it anew in order to continue it with a different turn, like the popular author who, on request, gives a happier ending to his play. Or, at another time, if placed by the dream in a sexually exciting


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452 situation, he thinks in his sleep: "I do not care to continue this dream and exhaust myself by a pollution; I prefer to defer it in favour of a real situation."

(d) Waking caused by the Dream—The Function of the Dream—The Anxiety Dream.

Since we know that the foreconscious is suspended during the night by the wish to sleep, we can proceed to an intelligent investigation of the dream process. But let us first sum up the knowledge of this process already gained. We have shown that the waking activity leaves day remnants from which the sum of energy cannot be entirely removed; or the waking activity revives during the day one of the unconscious wishes; or both conditions occur simultaneously; we have already discovered the many variations that may take place. The unconscious wish has already made its way to the day remnants, either during the day or at any rate with the beginning of sleep, and has effected a transference to it. This produces a wish transferred to the recent material, or the suppressed recent wish comes to life again through a reinforcement from the unconscious. This wish now endeavours to make its way to consciousness on the normal path of the mental processes through the foreconscious, to which indeed it belongs through one of its constituent elements. It is confronted, however, by the censor, which is still active, and to the influence of which it now succumbs. It now takes on the distortion for which the way has already been paved by its transference to the recent material. Thus far it is in the way of becoming something resembling an obsession, delusion, or the like, i.e. a thought reinforced by a transference and distorted in expression by the censor. But its further progress is now checked through the dormant state of the foreconscious; this system has apparently protected itself against invasion by diminishing its excitements. The dream process, therefore, takes the regressive course, which has just been opened by the peculiarity of the sleeping state, and thereby follows the attraction exerted on it by the memory groups, which themselves exist in part only as visual energy not yet translated into terms of the later systems. On its way to regression the dream takes


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Rh on the form of dramatisation. The subject of compression will be discussed later. The dream process has now terminated the second part of its repeatedly impeded course. The first part expended itself progressively from the unconscious scenes or phantasies to the foreconscious, while the second part gravitates from the advent of the censor back to the perceptions. But when the dream process becomes a content of perception it has, so to speak, eluded the obstacle set up in the Forec. by the censor and by the sleeping state. It succeeds in drawing attention to itself and in being noticed by consciousness. For consciousness, which means to us a sensory organ for the reception of psychic qualities, may receive stimuli from two sources—first, from the periphery of the entire apparatus, viz. from the perception system, and, secondly, from the pleasure and pain stimuli, which constitute the sole psychic quality produced in the transformation of energy within the apparatus. All other processes in the Ψ-system, even those in the foreconscious, are devoid of any psychic quality, and are therefore not objects of consciousness inasmuch as they do not furnish pleasure or pain for perception. We shall have to assume that those liberations of pleasure and pain automatically regulate the outlet of the occupation processes. But in order to make possible more delicate functions, it was later found necessary to render the course of the presentations more independent of the manifestations of pain. To accomplish this the Forec. system needed some qualities of its own which could attract consciousness, and most probably received them through the connection of the foreconscious processes with the memory system of the signs of speech, which is not devoid of qualities. Through the qualities of this system, consciousness, which had hitherto been a sensory organ only for the perceptions, now becomes also a sensory organ for a part of our mental processes. Thus we have now, as it were, two sensory surfaces, one directed to perceptions and the other to the foreconscious mental processes.

I must assume that the sensory surface of consciousness devoted to the Forec. is rendered less excitable by sleep than that directed to the P-systems. The giving up of interest for the nocturnal mental processes is indeed purposeful. Nothing is to disturb the mind; the Forec. wants to sleep.


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454 But once the dream becomes a perception, it is then capable of exciting consciousness through the qualities thus gained. The sensory stimulus accomplishes what it was really destined for, namely, it directs a part of the energy at the disposal of the Forec. in the form of attention upon the stimulant. We must, therefore, admit that the dream invariably awakens us, that is, it puts into activity a part of the dormant force of the Forec. This force imparts to the dream that influence which we have designated as secondary elaboration for the sake of connection and comprehensibility. This means that the dream is treated by it like any other content of perception; it is subjected to the same ideas of expectation, as far at least as the material admits. As far as the direction is concerned in this third part of the dream, it may be said that here again the movement is progressive.

To avoid misunderstanding, it will not be amiss to say a few words about the temporal peculiarities of these dream processes. In a very interesting discussion, apparently suggested by Maury's puzzling guillotine dream, Goblot tries to demonstrate that the dream requires no other time than the transition period between sleeping and awakening. The awakening requires time, as the dream takes place during that period. One is inclined to believe that the final picture of the dream is so strong that it forces the dreamer to awaken; but, as a matter of fact, this picture is strong only because the dreamer is already very near awakening when it appears. "Un rêve c'est un réveil qui commence."

It has already been emphasized by Dugas that Goblot was forced to repudiate many facts in order to generalise his theory. There are, moreover, dreams from which we do not awaken, e.g., some dreams in which we dream that we dream. From our knowledge of the dream-work, we can by no means admit that it extends only over the period of awakening. On the contrary, we must consider it probable that the first part of the dream-work begins during the day when we are still under the domination of the foreconscious. The second phase of the dream-work, viz. the modification through the censor, the attraction by the unconscious scenes, and the penetration to perception must continue throughout the night. And we are probably always right when we assert that we feel


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Rh as though we had been dreaming the whole night, although we cannot say what. I do not, however, think it necessary to assume that, up to the time of becoming conscious, the dream processes really follow the temporal sequence which we have described, viz. that there is first the transferred dream-wish, then the distortion of the censor, and consequently the change of direction to regression, and so on. We were forced to form such a succession for the sake of description; in reality, however, it is much rather a matter of simultaneously trying this path and that, and of emotions fluctuating to and fro, until finally, owing to the most expedient distribution, one particular grouping is secured which remains. From certain personal experiences, I am myself inclined to believe that the dream-work often requires more than one day and one night to produce its result; if this be true, the extraordinary art manifested in the construction of the dream loses all its marvels. In my opinion, even the regard for comprehensibility as an occurrence of perception may take effect before the dream attracts consciousness to itself. To be sure, from now on the process is accelerated, as the dream is henceforth subjected to the same treatment as any other perception. It is like fireworks, which require hours of preparation and only a moment for ignition.

Through the dream-work the dream process now gains either sufficient intensity to attract consciousness to itself and arouse the foreconscious, which is quite independent of the time or profundity of sleep, or, its intensity being insufficient it must wait until it meets the attention which is set in motion immediately before awakening. Most dreams seem to operate with relatively slight psychic intensities, for they wait for the awakening. This, however, explains the fact that we regularly perceive something dreamt on being suddenly aroused from a sound sleep. Here, as well as in spontaneous awakening, the first glance strikes the perception content created by the dream-work, while the next strikes the one produced from without.

But of greater theoretical interest are those dreams which are capable of waking us in the midst of sleep. We must bear in mind the expediency elsewhere universally demonstrated, and ask ourselves why the dream or the unconscious wish has


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456 the power to disturb sleep, i.e. the fulfilment of the foreconscious wish. This is probably due to certain relations of energy into which we have no insight. If we possessed such insight we should probably find that the freedom given to the dream and the expenditure of a certain amount of detached attention represent for the dream an economy in energy, keeping in view the fact that the unconscious must be held in check at night just as during the day. We know from experience that the dream, even if it interrupts sleep, repeatedly during the same night, still remains compatible with sleep. We wake up for an instant, and immediately resume our sleep. It is like driving off a fly during sleep, we awake ad hoc, and when we resume our sleep we have removed the disturbance. As demonstrated by familiar examples from the sleep of wet nurses, &c., the fulfilment of the wish to sleep is quite compatible with the retention of a certain amount of attention in a given direction.

But we must here take cognisance of an objection that is based on a better knowledge of the unconscious processes. Although we have ourselves described the unconscious wishes as always active, we have, nevertheless, asserted that they are not sufficiently strong during the day to make themselves perceptible. But when we sleep, and the unconscious wish has shown its power to form a dream, and with it to awaken the foreconscious, why, then, does this power become exhausted after the dream has been taken cognisance of? Would it not seem more probable that the dream should continually renew itself, like the troublesome fly which, when driven away, takes pleasure in returning again and again? What justifies our assertion that the dream removes the disturbance of sleep?

That the unconscious wishes always remain active is quite true. They represent paths which are passable whenever a sum of excitement makes use of them. Moreover, a remarkable peculiarity of the unconscious processes is the fact that they remain indestructible. Nothing can be brought to an end in the unconscious; nothing can cease or be forgotten. This impression is most strongly gained in the study of the neuroses, especially of hysteria. The unconscious stream of thought which leads to the discharge through an attack becomes passable again as soon as there is an accumulation of a sufficient