Fictitious vol. 12: The consequences of not punching a Nazi

Multilingualism in media, sleepy seaside towns, fascists in the wild

Hello! If it’s your first time receiving this newsletter - welcome and thank you for subscribing! You might want to check out the back catalog that’s growing every week. In this edition, I’ll be talking about multilingualism in media, two types of punches, and how to spot a neo-Nazi in public.

The consequences of not punching a Nazi

As I’m writing this from Liepaja, I just want to say that sleepy seaside towns rock. Like the Latvian town we’re at, where there’s no shortage of sandy beaches, tidy forested parks and silent boulevards with shabby 19th century buildings on both sides. The crowds are sparse and no one cares if you’re swimming with your dog.

While in Liepaja, we couldn’t miss the opportunity to visit Karosta, an old naval complex holding layers of Tsarist, Soviet, Nazi and Latvian history. Guided tours start at the hour and we were grouped with an assorted bunch of shy pan-European tourists. You know the type. They rarely ask questions, timidly engage with the guide and manage to look both bored and excited at the same time.

Among them was a literal neo-Nazi.

Now, I might be too quick to judge people but the guy was covered with questionable tattoos head to toe. There was an SS officer, a German tank, some Nordic runes*, the word “skinhead”, a phrase starting with “Ein…” and a poorly covered swastika. The guy spoke German to his Latvian partner so I assume he’s a native of one of the DACH countries, and not a local LARPer

I wanted to confront the guy. Ideally, slap the fascism out of the bastard in front of his friends**. Kick him a ew times for good measure (I just saw an episode of The Boys that had this exact scene in it). Show the world that I was as strong and brave as the Woman with the Handbag***. The least I could do was slash his tires.

“The lady with the handbag”, Hans Runesson, 1985

I did no such thing. A part of me regretted not being as buff as the Joe Rogan-esque guy. Not knowing how to properly fight (the skinhead had an MMA tattoo). Not having a gun or even a knife that I could use to intimidate. Basically, not being the sort of bad-ass who could confront the injustices in the world.

But what injustice are we talking about here? After all, he behaved pretty casually. Like any other tourist. He followed the guide, chatted with his friends, and seemed to enjoy the exhibition. If he did smirk looking at some WWII paraphernalia, that might have been just me projecting. He didn’t salute the Third Reich flag and otherwise performed no action. But there he was, being a Nazi in public.

In the past 6 years, multiple videos where a pro-Putin individual is punished for hate speech or harassment went viral. There’s something appealing in seeing someone having the guts to stand up and physically or verbally stop an act like that. We applaud them, even if we’re reminded of our own cowardice and aversion to conflict. Or better yet, we lie to ourselves that we would be brave if faced with injustice.

The problem with not being brave is that cowardice corrupts. You start looking for justice in the most petty ways. You seek justice where the stakes are extremely low and the risks barely existent. For instance, the same day that I saw a literal Nazi in the wild, my wife and I went out for dinner. We found a lowkey place by the dog park but were ignored by the servers, didn’t get a chance to order, and simply left after 30 minutes of waiting.

Back at our Airbnb, I had my revenge. I left my first ever negative review for a restaurant:

First part of the review

Come to think of it, I could have been more vocal back there. I could have walked to the bar and ordered drinks. But I wanted to be treated as a valued customer. I wanted a tiny speck of justice served with my fish burger.

Would things have been different if I had actually confronted the skinhead? Not necessarily physically assault him (I wouldn’t be writing these lines if I had), but at least shame him for subscribing to a toxic ideology. Maybe that would have given me the justice I needed? And then perhaps I wouldn’t have to resort to writing petty reviews from the comfort of my Airbnb.

Showcasing the level of corruption that comes with not fighting injustice is the fact that after we got home we actually ordered food from the very same place. We had other options but we still decided to give our money to a place that we had beef with. Shame on me? I leave this with you, dear reader, to decide.

Second part of my scandalous review.

* The runic tattoo this guy had is IDENTICAL to the symbol I have on my forearm. I really hope no one thinks I’m a Nazi. But if someone did jump me because of that, would I be happier knowing that the person is brave enough to do so?

** Some moral relativist would probably argue that punching a Nazi is bad. Maybe they would even draw parallels with a homophobe assaulting a gay person or a radical stabbing Salman Rushdie (something that, unfortunately, happened this week). Maybe I’m old-fashioned but it’s hard for my brain cells to fathom this logic.

*** The photo has been mythologized and memed to the max. Apparently, the woman was not a Holocaust survivor (she was 38 when the picture was taken). I believed this myth up until reading the Wiki page.

The language corner

Word of the week. PUNCH. No, not that kind of punch. The drinkable kind. As you can tell, I am a sucker for homophones. What surprised me about punch is its origins. As it turns out, punch comes from the Hindustani word for five - pench, as the drink required at least five ingredients: alcohol, sugar, lime/lemon juice, water, and spices. You’ll find a handful of other Anglo-Indian words (including pyjamas, pundit, thug and dungarees) in this Independent listicle.

Is multilingualism well-represented in media? On any given day, I casually switch between 3 languages, and this is the case for many people across the world - migrants, ethnolinguistic minorities and people who bridge different communities. Yet, most of TV shows and movies I watch are monolingual in nature. If another language is spoken, it’s usually scenes between plot-necessary others (Russian mafia, Chinese vendors, Japanese businessmen, etc.). Rarely do we see the main characters speak one language at home, another with the lunch lady, and a third with his clientele.

As with all things in life, multilingualism in media is a spectrum. In shows about recent immigrants, like Kim’s Convenience, we have characters speaking English with a peppering of words in their native tongue. We hear bits of Euskera spoken in Intimidad, a Netflix series set in Bilbao. And shows about living in a new country, like Emily in Paris, can’t avoid adding language differences and ensuing miscommunication as a plot element.

However, I am yet to come across a series or a movie, where two or three languages spoken in a certain place are given equal screen time. Are there any? A Belgian movie with characters switching between Flemish and French? A Welsh production with a 50/50 split between English and Welsh? If you know of any, let me know in the comments or by email (tuxunefo@gmail.com)!

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