Their betrayal drives me even today
The betrayal against Swedish children and youth continues. It's not something new. Things were bad in the past too. And it shaped me just as the youth today are shaped by society's betrayal.
Some events etch themselves into one's memory. For me, it was when I saw my first love in a classroom at Källtorp School after the summer break, or when my better half announced that we were expecting a child. Most things, however, are forgotten, and perhaps that's for the best. I've heard it said that if an event is traumatic enough, one will suppress the memory of it. I don't believe that, and neither do memory researchers. Therapists, on the other hand, seem to like the idea, which is understandable. But for me: forgetting things, yes. Suppressing them, no.
Admittedly, I haven't experienced the horrors that some claim therapists have helped them recall. But I have my fair share of evil, threats, humiliation, and mortal fear in my memory that I wish I could suppress. But no, the memories remain, and so do the emotions they evoke.
Suddenly, I'm transported back to that dark evening outside Kolarängen School in Kallhäll, surrounded by several older foes from Jakobsberg who had been searching for me and were now about to severely assault me. After all, I was a nationalist – even a skinhead. That time, however, I managed to escape, but the memory of the feeling remains.
That was just one of many times I was in danger growing up. Thankfully, I came out okay. I've been punched, hit with objects, had stones thrown at me, been sprayed with pepper spray and stared down the barrel of a gun. Others weren't so lucky. Some paid with their lives.
But I'm not alone in these experiences. Being surrounded by foreigners (and the occasional white defector) ready to rob and assault is something many Swedes have faced. It happened to me 30 years ago, and as I write this, it's happening to someone else. Every day, Swedish children and youth are targeted because they are Swedish. The numbers seem to be increasing, and it's no surprise given the ongoing betrayal.
I had been in fights several times before I was assaulted. There's a vast difference between scuffling with classmates and being surrounded, threatened, humiliated, and beaten by a group of foreigners. Anyone who's been through it knows what I mean. I often recall Kipling's "The Stranger" to explain it. Here the first verse.
The Stranger within my gate, He may be true or kind, But he does not talk my talk— I cannot feel his mind. I see the face and the eyes and the mouth, But not the soul behind.
In short, it's like being attacked by a faceless ghost. You know it means harm, that it intends to hurt you. But you don't know when or how because you can't read its eyes, body, or mind. You need to have been in such situations a few times to understand.
When I was surrounded by the school's "immigrants," I was 14 years old. For a year or two, I had identified as a nationalist, and I sometimes wore a Swedish flag on my jacket. I even wore a 100% Swedish shirt. I think I even wore boots. But I had longer hair and a denim jacket, not the full atire of a skinhead. I was a proud Swede and didn't hide it. That's why I clashed with the few foreigners at the school. Of course, it was "my fault." I heard it time and again from teachers and staff. They didn't say it outright. Instead, they subtly told us to be "understanding" because the foreigners had it "tough." As Swedes, we were expected to be submissive. Most Swedish students complied. They kept to themselves. A few, mainly girls, sought the foreigners' favor. I and three girls (all older than me) stood our ground. The girls got away with it, but I didn't. I continued being a nationalist and speaking my mind. I continued to argue for my cause and encouraged others to join the Sweden Party … or perhaps the Sweden Democrats. I put up stickers and handed out flyers. It was clear where I stood, and I never backed down when challenged. Personally, I was okay with that. I enjoyed debating and discussing. However, some can't stick to words, and that's why I was threatened and eventually assaulted.
I remember phone calls where someone with broken Swedish threatened to kill me because I was a "racist." I remember my school locker being vandalized more than others. I remember the stares from strangers. Yet, I kept hearing from teachers and the "adult world" that we should feel sorry for them, that we Swedes should show extra goodwill, and how their dominant behavior was explained away as "cultural clashes."
It wasn't the Swedes who started it. But we were blamed. The Sweden Democrats sent a letter to parents whose children attended the school. They explained the situation and the fact that foreigners targeted Swedes (I was one of them). The school responded with a letter blaming us Swedes.
I remember confronting our academic advisor, Lisa, with the letter. I asked how they could write such things when she and everyone else knew – knew – that the foreigners started everything. She had no answer.
I was alone when I was surrounded and beaten by three or four foreigners at school. The corridor was empty. I knew I was in trouble when I saw them, but I refused to run. So, I was beaten. It was terrifying and humiliating. When it was over, and they had run off, I sat there with a split lip, a headache, and a spreading soreness.
It was a result of the betrayal by adults, the school, and society. Even then, we Swedes were seen as second-class citizens, expected to adapt to the foreigners among us. Nationalism was evil, and you "didn't talk to evil," as they said. There were no repercussions for those who assaulted me. After all, it was the Swedes' fault, my fault.
The evening after I was beaten, my friend Kim helped shave my head. I decided my response would be defiance and resistance. I became a Skinhead. I would fight back. The betrayal from the establishment and all the Swedes who should have protected us children and youth was complete, but it also motivated me to be different, to not become like them but to do the right thing and fight back. As a youth, of course, it became as extreme as possible. There was no reflection, just anger and defiance. Reflection came later, and my ideology evolved over time. Much has changed since April 22, 1992. But that's when it started for me. That's when the "radicalization" began.
And the fact is, their betrayal still drives me to never give up, even when things get tough. I will never become one of those in the crowd, looking away and letting things just happen. If I can prevent someone from going through what I did, that's reward enough for the effort.
To do right and fear nothing, as our ancestors advised, is fundamental to me.
I will not betray.