When a chubby man in a Phoenix diner offered to buy me dinner, I had no idea of who he was or of the consequences of chatting with him for another hour. The internet rumours, the blogs, the newspaper articles, the phone calls at all hours of the day and night, the death threats, the mace, and more . . . none of it was on my radar screen. I had been driving all day and I was starving. Club sandwich, please, and hold the tomato.
I assumed him to be a customer of the diner who was simply curious about what was going on, especially as the antifa protesting outside had drawn everybody’s attention. It's not unusual to encounter curious bystanders while on a book tour. The result of that conversation was not one, but three, sleazy articles about me.
The man was a journalist, though he did not disclose it to me until afterwards, when someone confronted him. As it turned out, he had come at the invitation of the antifa.
Call me naïve (which I certainly was), but I tend to take people at face value. There is something about two-faced people that doesn’t compute with me. How could this person be so nice to my face and then turn around and write nasty articles about me? Did I really deserve that? I had been kind to him and remained courteous even after his admission to having engaged me under false pretenses. I couldn’t understand where the rabid hatred had come from.
Yes, David Irving is controversial and I was aware of that (though when I first got involved with him, my awareness of that was marginal), but until this point, his enemies had left me out of the fight. Some people might say I should have expected that not to last, but I was new to it and no one ever warned me of what I might be getting myself into. I don’t think I could have been reasonably expected to anticipate it given my limited knowledge of such matters at the time. And because I would never stoop to such tactics, the thought that someone else might do it, and do it to get to me somehow, never crossed my mind.
Eventually, I learned that almost all journalists are like this. Oh, a few I’ve talked to have been okay, but at the end of the day, most of them are subject to their editor’s demands. The story that gets printed is never the story you gave them in the interview. A sensationalised story sells better than a balanced story, after all. After David Irving’s emails were hacked, the UK’s Daily Mail ran a story on me (complete with my copyrighted pictures, which they had stolen and used without permission) based on snippets of these emails, which they twisted in order to create a story where there was none. Not once had they attempted to contact either of us for clarification prior to going to press. It’s just another example of how the media makes the news, but rarely reports the news.
It is thanks to journalists that the antifa came to know of me. They targeted me initially because of my association with David Irving. Because they had decided that they don’t like David Irving, they declared me guilty by association, playing judge, jury, and executioner. That I look “sufficiently Aryan”, as one newspaper described me (was it supposed to be an insult?), is apparently further evidence of my guilt. Were I a dark-complected Latina, like David’s previous assistant, I doubt they would had paid nearly so much attention to me. But my genes dictated that I be born with fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Mea culpa.
As anyone else who has been the target of Left-wing hatred knows, it is more of an annoyance than anything. I am not easily offended. Posting on the internet that I should be raped and murdered does not make me cry myself to sleep at night. Leaving me voicemails saying that I am a “racist whore” does not drive me to overdose on Prozac. I roll my eyes and I move on. You see, I’m a busy person. Unlike antifa who are usually unemployed and unemployable, I don’t have time to sit around being offended. And I don’t have time to be offended on behalf of anyone else. The antifa, on the other hand, seem to spend their entire day feeling offended by the existence of people who think differently than they do, but who otherwise don’t bother them. I cannot imagine a greater waste of life, nor can I understand what motivates them to exist in a state of perpetual outrage.
The antifa don’t understand the real effect of their efforts to “name and shame” me. Sure, I got a few prank phone calls and I lost some friends, but that’s trivial stuff. What they have given me is a wider platform and greater networking opportunities.
By publishing my telephone numbers, the antifa caused me to receive numerous calls from fellow pro-white advocates who were concerned for my safety and well-being. I made several new local contacts and I expanded my network of friendly faces across the country. The phone calls I got from concerned strangers far outnumbered the ones I got from people who wanted to tell me they hate my guts even though they don’t know me.
By publishing my email address, the antifa also facilitated the involvement of several people new to the movement who write to me asking how they can get involved. Most of the time, I can direct them to someone in their area who runs an active group.
Additionally, by outing me, the antifa have made it easier for me to be active in the pro-white movement. I don’t have to worry about anyone finding out about me. This means I can take on a greater role in organisational and street activism. I can start an openly pro-white business. I can write articles and sign them with my real name. I can more easily network because people can Google me and know that I am genuine in what I do.
Had I not been outed, I would have continued my quiet existence and avoided any real involvement for fear of being discovered. I neither regret nor relish having been exposed. It is what it is and I can’t undo it. Yes, there are some things that are better accomplished by people who remain in the shadows, but there are also things better accomplished by people who have gone public. We need both kinds.
So this is my advice to anyone who finds themselves targeted by the enemy: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Look for a way to turn the inconvenience into an opportunity to help the movement. Do not be intimidated.