Romantic Violence

by Christian Picciolini

  Praise for Romantic Violence: Memoirs of an American Skinhead

  “Christian’s journey exemplifies how hate and violence are unsustainable, and tolerance, forgiveness, and love are the only way forward. If Christian can change, there is hope for all humankind—a compelling and extraordinary story.”

  —Jane Rosenthal, Co-Founder, Tribeca Film Festival

  “Romantic Violence takes the reader into the depths of the hate movement and sheds a valuable light on the mindset of those who can be lured into this dark world. Christian’s astonishing change of heart is a testament to our endless capacity for personal transformation.”

  —Lonnie Nasatir, Regional Director, Anti–Defamation League

  “Romantic Violence is a very hard book to put down. Though the tale often takes the reader into disturbing territory, the storyteller’s voice is filled with a beautiful, unwavering honesty. There have been countless sociological texts and documentaries devoted to the exploration of American neo-Nazi skinhead culture, but this book starts at the very beginning. Christian Picciolini was one of the first foot soldiers (and eventual leaders) of that movement, and though he has long since renounced those racist beliefs, there is a riveting emotional immediacy to his depiction of the process and mindset that led him down the white power path. The issues and events dominating today’s headlines are reminders that the roots Romantic Violence exposes are eminently germane. This memoir is not, however, merely a one-of-a-kind historical account. It is, first and foremost, the story of a human being who looks back on his earlier self with shock and horror, but it is told from the vantage point of one who refused to let his past define him. Though he will be forever haunted by deeds he cannot change, he lives with the joy of one who now understands the preciousness of every life—including his own.”

  —Don De Grazia, author of American Skin

  “Upon reading Romantic Violence, you will learn and understand how the average person—even your next-door neighbor—can be drawn into a hate movement. At the same time, reading this book will make you wish that you were lucky enough to have someone like Christian Picciolini as that neighbor. Romantic Violence by Christian Picciolini is powerful, honest, and insightful. A no-holds-barred look into how nearly a decade of hate transformed a man and allowed him to create a life of strength, love, kindness, and tolerance.”

  —Frank Meeink, author of Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead and Founder, Harmony Through Hockey

  “Like a skinhead Goodfellas, Romantic Violence takes us along on a young man’s journey to the dark heart of a distasteful organization, somehow making the narrator’s descent every bit as understandable and compelling—and all the more tragic. It’s a powerful and moving memoir that brought tears to my eyes.”

  —Gerald Brennan, author of Resistance, Zero Phase, and Public Loneliness

  “Romantic Violence is a coming-of-age story about a relatively average all-American kid who finds himself at the center of organized hate. Christian Picciolini’s memoir underscores how the search for universal needs such as identity, excitement, and belonging can influence adolescents to embrace extremism. Maybe most important, Picciolini’s transformation from hatemonger to compassion advocate is an essential reminder of the human capacity for change and redemption.”

  —Pete Simi, author of American Swastika: Inside the White Power Movement’s Hidden Spaces of Hate

  “If it’s disturbingly easy to embrace the white power ideology, it’s not as easy to leave behind. Christian’s experiences in Romantic Violence will shock you, but it’s his escape and transformation that will inspire. His honest, often brutal memoir charts a journey from hopelessness to redemption. A profoundly important book, and a riveting read.”

  —John Horgan, author of The Psychology of Terrorism

  “Christian Picciolini’s Romantic Violence is a raw and honest memoir of his life as an early activist and white power singer in the American neo-Nazi skinhead movement. A cautionary tale about how even a smart kid from a stable home can get pulled into a world of violence and hate, it is as much a redemptive story of his journey out of that world and into a new life as co-founder of Life After Hate, an important anti-racist organization.”

  —Mark Potok, Senior Fellow, Southern Poverty Law Center and Editor, Intelligence Report

  “Picciolini takes us from a lonely childhood spent daydreaming in his Italian immigrant grandparents’ closet in Blue Island, Illinois, to an early adulthood leading ‘Heil Hitler’ chants from a stage at a neo-Nazi concert in Weimar, Germany. He pulls no punches in showing how a need to belong and excel can lead a kid so far astray, while also showing a path towards redemption and atonement. A necessary book for our fractious and broken times.”

  —Dmitry Samarov, painter, writer, and author of Hack: Stories from a Chicago Cab and Where To? A Hack Memoir

  Published in association with GOLDMILL GROUP LLC

  917 W. Washington Boulevard, Suite 213

  Chicago, Illinois 60607

  Copyright © 2015 by Christian Picciolini

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission, write to the publisher at the office address or via the website above.

  “White Power” lyrics by Ian Stuart Donaldson/Skrewdriver. © 1983. All rights reserved.

  “The Way It’s Got To Be” lyrics by Ian Stuart Donaldson/Skrewdriver. © 1985. All rights reserved.

  “Chicago Gangsters” lyrics by Clark Martell/Final Solution. © 1985. All rights reserved.

  “White American Youth” lyrics by Christian Picciolini/White American Youth. © 1991. All rights reserved.

  “Ball and Chain” lyrics by Samantha Brown and Michael Ness. Sony/ATV Tunes, Rebel Waltz. © 1990. All rights reserved.

  “Vanguard” lyrics by Christian Picciolini/Final Solution. © 1993. All rights reserved.

  “White Pride” lyrics by Christian Picciolini/White American Youth. © 1991. All rights reserved.

  “Open Your Eyes” lyrics by Christian Picciolini/White American Youth. © 1991. All rights reserved.

  Excerpts from The Turner Diaries by Andrew MacDonald. © 1978. All rights reserved.

  Excerpts from W.A.R. Newsletter by Clark Martell. © 1985. All rights reserved.

  Paperback and e-book cover design by James T. Egan / Bookfly Design LLC (www.BookflyDesign.com)

  Interior layout by James T. Egan / Bookfly Design LLC

  Photography (author headshot) by Mark Seliger (www.MarkSeligerPhotography.com)

  Interior Photography (chapter photos) by Various

  Edited by Michael Mohr (www.MichaelMohrWriter.com)

  ISBN:

  978-0-9862404-2-3 (paperback)

  978-0-9862404-3-0 (e-book)

  First Edition: May 2015

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

  Romantic violence : memoirs of an American Skinhead / Christian Picciolini.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-0-9862404-2-3 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-9862404-3-0 (e-book)

  1. Picciolini, Christian. 2. Skinheads—United States—Biography. 3. Neo-Nazis—United States—Biography. 4. White supremacy movements—United States. 5. Ex-gang members—United States. I. Title.

  HV6439.U5 P53 2015

  320.5/6—dc23 2015900837

  To contact Christian Picciolini for speaking engagements: www.ChristianPicciolini.c
om / Twitter: @cpicciolini / christian@christianpicciolini.com

  To my Buddy, my boys, and my Britton

  Any intelligent fool can make things bigger, more complex, and more violent. It takes a touch of genius—and a lot of courage—to move in the opposite direction.

  —E.F. Schumacher, Small is Beautiful

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Foreword by Joan Jett

  Introduction

  Chapter 1—Rights of the Abused

  Chapter 2—Cold

  Chapter 3—Hail Victory

  Chapter 4—White Power

  Chapter 5—Skinhead Pride

  Chapter 6—Fourteen Words

  Chapter 7—Allegiance

  Chapter 8—White Revolution

  Chapter 9—Hear the Call

  Chapter 10—White Pride

  Chapter 11—Odin’s Court

  Chapter 12—White American Youth

  Chapter 13—Vanguard

  Chapter 14—Go Away

  Chapter 15—Police Oppression

  Chapter 16—Martyr

  Chapter 17—Happy Death

  Chapter 18—Victory March

  Chapter 19—Open Your Eyes

  Chapter 20—AmeriKKKa For Me

  Chapter 21—Final Solution

  Chapter 22—Organized Chaos

  Chapter 23—Walk Alone

  Chapter 24—Ragnarök

  Chapter 25—Sins of the Brother

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Christian Picciolini and Joan Jett, 1996

  FOREWORD BY JOAN JETT

  The universal struggle for identity and belonging is what binds us all together. It is this search, ultimately, that makes us human; that makes us, especially as children, vulnerable.

  When I was in The Runaways, the first American all-female rock band ever, in the 1970s, as a woman I experienced all types of prejudice and bigotry. Sometimes it was all I could do to not give up altogether. But my guitar, along with my pen and my voice, led me out of that hollow fear and into a long and successful rock and roll career—one that, thankfully, I am still riding the powerful wave of today.

  Thanks in large part to Kenny Laguna, my producer, manager, close friend, and lifetime confidante, I have arrived at this level of commercial success and have been able to carve out a life of music. Kenny was then and still is very much a mentor to me. Without his direction and aid, I would not be where I am today. He believed in me when most others didn’t.

  I met Christian Picciolini in 1996 while on tour in Chicago. I did not know about Christian then what I know now. We needed an opener and when I saw his punk band, Random55, warming up on stage, I saw something special in their style and knew from some place deep inside that they were the right ones. I approached Christian, who seemed down and withdrawn, backstage after the set. He seemed sad for some reason, and I talked with him for a little while, throwing my arm around his shoulder, trying to assuage his fears. Like me as a struggling teenager, I sensed that Christian, too, was in a dark place searching for identity and belonging—acceptance. He needed someone to believe in him.

  Random55 ended up going out with us on the road that year, becoming our opening act for a string of shows. Christian and I had many more meaningful conversations, and I like to think that some of what I had to say helped him cope with whatever he was going through. I will always recall his dedication to music and his drive. I could tell, at that time, that he was seeking something from life, from his soul. And now he has written this incredible memoir, detailing and forcing out the truth, after all these years. And in doing so, he has hopefully released his inner demons for good.

  Compassion is an important human quality, and we all have the ability to tap into it. I have it for Christian’s former, younger, troubled self. He was not a bad kid, but a kid trying desperately to belong to a group; to do something that mattered; to understand his loneliness and sense of rejection and abandonment. Hating the LGBT community, non-white minorities, Jews, and others when he was involved with the white power skinhead movement is tantamount to a disgusting and blind allegiance to hatred. And yet, Christian was able to pick his head up from the muck of that ideology and see the error of his ways, to steer the ship in the other direction, and to get out. He not only left and at last denounced the movement in the late ’90s, he became an active voice against hatred, forming the nonprofit Life After Hate, in 2010.

  Romantic Violence: Memoirs of an American Skinhead is Christian’s testament to how frighteningly easy it can be to find yourself down the wrong rabbit hole with no way out. It is his tale of redemption, his Hero’s Journey, his descent into hell and his return, ultimately, to the land of the living. I admire him greatly, not because he once hated, but because he once hated and he fought hard against his own mired determination and discovered that his prejudice and hatred were paper-thin lies. We all have to discover life on our own path, find our truth. Christian writes his book to expose his truth, and we can be grateful in at least some small part for his sacrifice, of running for a while on the dark side and then breathlessly sprinting for the light at the end of the tunnel. The result is a cautionary tale that furthers and educates us all.

  In the end, we all need guidance, direction, and help along the road of life. We all need a mentor. For many, music is a major influence, and that can be used for good or bad. I was able to find myself through music, and, in a way, so did Christian. That night after the gig, throwing my arm around his shoulder was my way of showing empathy, compassion. Telling him that whatever he was feeling, like so many others, I’d been there too. Taking his band on tour was my handing of trust over to him. Like Kenny with me, I hope I was able to lead him, if only for a moment, out of the deep fog hovering around him. Christian pursued music in other capacities after that tour, and he maintained contact with Kenny and me through the years. I am so incredibly proud of his life’s work since he left the movement in 1995, and I can see the real change and transformation he has made.

  So, if you want to practice empathy—or if you just want to experience one hell of a redemption tale—come along for the ride and find out how it all started, where it went, and why it ended. Take the journey with Christian, and let yourself fall down alongside him. Feel the anger, violence, and rage as he climbs the rungs of the American white power movement. Feel his fear and depression as he finally exits. Feel his sadness and hollowness after the battering waves have at last ceased. And, beautifully, watch him change and grow, evolving into a fine human being who accepts all people, including himself.

  Watch him turn into the man he always, deep down inside, wanted to be. Watch him make you proud to be a part of his experience, a part of this diverse global community, a part of this world.

  Watch yourself change along with him.

  —Joan Jett

  Christian Picciolini, 1976 (Photo by Maddalena Spinelli)

  INTRODUCTION

  I am not my father.

  Nor my mother.

  Not my grandparents.

  I am neither my brother nor my friends.

  My life is my own.

  The actions and decisions of my youth and early adulthood were not determined by anyone who came before me.

  I am my own invention, shaped both by my imagination and ambition, and it wasn’t until my two sons were born that I began to understand my responsibilities and connection to others.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

  And you deserve an explanation, a glimpse into the lives of those people I claim not to be—a claim that does not imply any lack of love on anyone’s part.

  One thing that distinguishes me from my immediate family is that I am the first born in the United States. When my mother tells the story of my birth, her warm Mediterranean eyes light up and her voice, normally steady and sure, quickens. She laces the story with Italian phrases when she recounts it to someone in Blue Island, the working-class
neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago that her Italian family immigrated to when she was sixteen. When she chronicles the tale of my birth to family and friends, she peppers her story with frequent references to the notion that everybody, Italians and Americans alike, loved me.

  If I could recall my entry into the world and tell the story myself, I suspect it would be a bit different than hers. While she was pushing and straining for nearly twenty-four hours to get me out, I was impatiently wriggling my way down the birth canal ready to take charge, or so I imagine, in a rush to see what was ahead of me. I may have been annoyed that I hadn’t been given ample warning, but as I felt the first blast of air fill my lungs, I would have already been calculating the best way to handle the situation.

  To the attending doctor I was yet another little miracle, a slippery, mucus-covered newborn like all the rest of his deliveries. He was so intent on making sure I took my first breath and verifying that all parts were there that he missed the clear signs I had been born alert, brave, and ready to take on the new reality into which I had arrived.

  Blinking rapidly, my eyes impatient to adjust to the cruel bright lights, I was eager to take in everything that was going on. Had I been able to talk, I would have asked the nurse to step back, pleaded with my mother to calm down, and warned the doctor to think twice before slapping me again. I would have objected to their tests, and insisted that I didn’t want to be compared, labeled, charted, or measured in any way.

  I was swaddled in a soft, warm blanket. The unmistakably warm love my mother bestowed on me when the nurse put me in her arms set me up for life with the patent knowledge that love and attention were clearly well worth pursuing.

  I came equipped with a desire to live life fully, to explore the unknown, and to have my existence count for something. For many years, I thought this meant being an instrumental member of a group undertaking a significant mission. Considering how vitally having a place in the world defined my actions throughout my childhood, youth, and early adulthood, I have to believe that I came hardwired with those desires.