A letter from Anonymous

We found this letter in the blogspot e-mail account, and decided to publish it on here. It's from an anonymous woman, and is her story:


I don’t know if I am doing this for my own disclosure on the incidents or because I believe that other people should learn from my story, but either way, this is something I must tell you about.

Growing up in a small town I had no idea about racism, as backwards to stereotypes as that is. Small things that happened to me that could be seen as racist I just shrugged off and just thought that teacher, or person, was stupid; after all this was elementary school time. As I aged out of this town, I left with a thick skin for crude native jokes and a low sense of pride that comes with being the only punk in town.

It wasn’t until my second time living in a major city that my world really opened up to all the evils in this world, but we have to start at the beginning. While living in my first major city I turned 18 and met the Skinhead culture. Now remember, Punks think the whole world is a stage dive and are incredibly resistant to change when they want to be; I was a punk from the ripe age of 13. However these Skins and their working class pride struck a chord deep within me. I was always raised with a very strong work ethic, something punk rock lacked and left a hole within me. The transition wasn’t instant but it was coming.

My second major city wasn’t pleasant in the beginning. Coming from a place of comfort to hardships and homelessness is never pleasant, but my family needed me. At last the homelessness ended and things were becoming stable. Time to start looking around, and when I did, I found myself in the punk family of that city which at the time was a blessing. Fast forward a year; I became a hybrid, 14 hole docs and my ‘security blanket’ of punk attire. I went to college for a short while. The very first nazi I met was a homeless meth addict, who followed me for awhile and ‘chatted’ with me (I’m an avid people watcher). It wasn’t until well into conversation that he showed me his swastika jail tattoo. I got out of there quickly. A week later I heard that a squeegee punk took care of him, or that he ran to Montreal.

My next few encounters with Nazis were are at local shows (usually forced to leave) and in the streets. However one caught me off guard. It was during one of the more harder times at home where I wasn’t getting along with my parental units and I felt as if moving out was the only solution. I had been talking to a traditional skinhead who I met through a common interest website. We got along great and met several times before I decided that his city would be a good place to live. Vulnerable? You bet. It wasn’t until I was living with him for awhile that things became strange. He would disappear for days, snort coke, get invited to parties I wasn’t allowed to attend, get violent when drunk all on top of some emotional abuse. Being the highly independent woman I am, I started to plan my leave with the help of some co workers. It was when he found out my plans that ‘shit hit the fan’. Suddenly, I was a rabbit in a trap, it all became clear the moment his fist hit my face. I was a SHARP, a half breed, alone and blind, he knew it all along, and he was a white supremacist. I was a pawn in their game to help him earn a ‘rank’. Without getting into detail, as it’s still painful to remember, it took 7 months and several police reports for all the attempts on my life, and threats on my family’s lives and my friend’s lives to crease. 8 months for the stalking to end. I had been accepted to college whilst this happened and decided to stay in the city. Nearly at the end of my academia I still am dealing with residual happenings. I see him and them in the streets; still get hassled by his family and friends and I hear through the grape vine of them talking about me. I guess I left a lasting impression.

I rebuilt my life from the rock bottom with the aid of close friend, who I will forever be thankful for. I rebuilt myself so well that I show no scars of the past and have a great extrovert love for life. I’m still SHARP, alive, and continue my work against the racists.