By J. – Originally quoted anonymously in El País, 1995
In the summer of 1995, my name ended up on a neo-Nazi hit list in Spain — courtesy of Bases Autónomas, one of the most violent fascist skinhead groups of the era. I was a teenager. Angry. Idealistic. And very much part of the antifascist movement that refused to let the far right march unopposed through our streets.
The Spanish newspaper El País published a series of articles exposing the blacklist. The list included names, phone numbers, addresses — even license plates. It was a primitive form of doxxing, designed to intimidate and terrorize those of us who dared to speak up. Anonymity wasn’t always an option. They labeled us enemies for existing, for resisting, for organizing.
I remember the phone call with the journalist like it was yesterday. They asked if I was scared. And I, full of adolescent fire and righteous rage, snapped back with what I thought was the most Spanish insult I could muster:
“No tengo miedo de esos gilipollas.”
Translation?
“I’m not afraid of those assholes.”
But when the article came out, it read:
“I’m not afraid of those brutes.”
Brutes? Brutes? At the time, I was annoyed. I thought, “That’s not what I said!” It felt like they smoothed the edges of my raw defiance, dulled it for mass consumption. I was a teenage SHARP kid, skinhead against racial prejudice, and “gilipollas” was my banner of authenticity.
Now, decades later, I look back with a deeper understanding. Editors made choices. Words were softened. Identities were reduced to initials. But the heart of my message remained:
“If they come for me, I’ll fight.”
And I meant it.
That quote — buried in newsprint from nearly 30 years ago — still reflects who I am today. I’ve changed, grown, and learned to direct that same fire into organizing, teaching, and building communities of resistance. But the spirit of defiance never left me. The fight — our collective fight — continues.
Let this be a reminder to every antifascist out there: our words matter, even when they’re edited. Our courage echoes, even when reduced to a letter. And our defiance — whether shouted as “gilipollas” or printed as “brutes” — will never be erased.
We don’t forget.
We don’t forgive.
We don’t back down.
