Escaping From a Group of Neo-Nazis

Does appearance matter? (part 2)

This story is the second one in my unofficial series on whether appearance plays a role. You can read the first story “Working with Prisoners and Ex-Prisoners” here.

As I have already disclosed in previous poems and stories (for example, in my recent poem “Electrifying”), I used to live in Prague and on some days of the week I would finish working late at night.

In the Czech Republic on May 1st, neo-nazi groups march throughout the cities. Antifascist groups counter-protest, and that usually ends up in physical fights if the police can’t intervene on time.

At the university, they had given us (to all the foreigners) a warning to not go out the night before, and to avoid the city center if we had to go out. The professors would place special emphasis on that in class, and made sure that those of us who didn’t look Czech understood the danger.

While I am from Greece, my skin is not tanned because I avoid the sun at all costs. So, my skin color wouldn’t be a problem if I wanted to go out. However, I’m quite a short person for the Czech standards and my curly red hair don’t help either.

During the first years of living there, I went out on May 1st only once with a group of Norwegian classmates. We went for a picnic and had a good time, but we were all slightly concerned.

On May 1st 2010 though, which was a Saturday, I had to work. I told my boss I was worried, but he said it wouldn’t be an issue if I go through the back alleys and avoid the center. And that’s what I did. On my way back around 3 AM, I wasn’t so lucky.

I was walking along a street I considered safe until, out of the darkness appeared a group of 5 men dressed in black. I decided to keep on walking, holding my head high and avoiding eye contact. I had almost passed by them, until one of them asked me to stop. Having seen on videos and on the news what they’re capable of, my blood froze.

So, I stopped and turned around. I smiled as best as I could and tried to reply in perfect Czech. I knew that if I kept talking too much they would figure out I was a foreigner, so I made sure to only reply with as few words as possible, without grammatically complex sentences.

They asked what my name was. I said my name was “Karolína” (it translates to “free person” and also “warrior”). I felt very clever in that moment. They wanted to know where I was going. I told them I was going home. Then they asked if I was out partying. I said “no, I was working”. I noticed that one of them had a baton of some sort. But I continued smiling and playing along. Eventually, I told them I’d better be going because of how tired I was. They wished me good night and I was relieved as I turned around to leave, until one of them told me to wait.

I thought to myself that they figured out I was a foreigner after all. I turned around casually, doing my best to smile again. He looked at my boots and asked me if I’m into “metal and gothic stuff”. I said “yes, how about you?”. He said he was too. I nodded and smiled once more. I was counting the seconds and it seemed like an eternity.

Somehow my packet of cigarettes fell out of my jacket’s pocket. One of them picked it up immediately. He noticed my choice was a Czech brand. Good, good. I was lucky that the store I went to earlier on my way to work was out of the brand I usually smoked so I asked the sales person to pick another one for me that would be similar.

They asked me if I wanted to stay and smoke a cigarette with them, and talk about music. I told them that my lighter run out (which was true). What a dumb excuse, as if they wouldn’t have lighters of their own! Such a foolish move, “Karolína”.

One of them took a cigarette out of my packet and gave it to me. He then told me something that I didn’t understand, it was probably some kind of slang. My heart was racing. He repeated it, a bit more aggressively. Was my cover blown?

One of the guys in the back gave a cigarette to another one, and told him the same thing. Then the guy lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. I understood that what the other guy was telling me was something along the lines of “light up” or something similar. I put the cigarette in my mouth and he lit it up. All this took less than 10 seconds, but, again it felt like eternity.

I thanked them for lighting my cigarette and said I should be going. That’s when that guy grabbed my arm and said “hold on”. I think my panic was starting to be visible at that point. He gave me his lighter and asked me to keep it. I pretended to be grateful. Finally, I was free to leave.

After 5 minutes of walking in the opposite direction of where my apartment was and making sure I wasn’t being followed, I threw the lighter in a trash can. There was no way I would hold on to something from a neo-nazi. When I got home, I used my gas stove to light a candle, and then used the candle to light all the other cigarettes I smoked until there was light outside.

Initially I felt guilty for not standing up to them or tell them to fuck off, but then I told myself that if anything went wrong I wouldn’t stand a chance against all of them.

I understood that I was lucky, because my choice of clothes saved me. It helped us find some “common ground” and perhaps it made me look more likeable to them. I also believe that it took the focus away from my physical appearance and my language skills.

In the morning I read the news reports of the violence their rallies caused. There was no doubt I was lucky that night.

Thank you for reading!

Has your appearance ever gotten you out of a potentially scary or dangerous situation? Have you used the way you look (physical appearance and/or choice of clothing) to your benefit?

Let me know in the comments or write an article about it!