I am very happy to say that I have finally finished writing and editing a draft of my memoir. I also got the news last week that the literary agent I had my eye on decided to take on my project after reading the manuscript. I am very excited about the prospect of becoming a published author, as it is something I never thought I’d ever do. It’s a new adventure and another stop on my journey. Stay tuned for more details. In the meantime, enjoy the short synopsis below.

Romantic Violence: Memoirs of an American Skinhead

by Christian Picciolini

My memoir explores how a good kid from a loving family could be drawn into a world of hate and violence and the toll that hatred has on his family. It shows the desperate struggle of a child looking for a place to belong, an identity of his own when he is straddling two different cultures.

The first part of the memoir presents my early childhood growing up in a neighborhood populated with Italian immigrants. It shows the conflicts inherent in being a first generation American and ends with my introduction to the racist skinhead world.

The second part of my story focuses on my skinhead years. It shows how adult skinheads target lonely kids to join their ranks, illustrates the dysfunction and even stupidity within the movement, and gives the reader an up-close look at the lack of cohesion in the skinhead culture. It chronicles the sociology of the skinhead movement, including recruitment, communication between members, drunken rallies, the intentional use of music and lyrics to draw kids into a sub-culture of hate, and the rhetoric and the violence of this world. While I’d like to say it’s the good, the bad, and the ugly about the racist skinhead movement, there isn’t any “good” to this movement. I am brutally honest, however, about the bad and the ugly.

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Alternative Press

Op/Ed Piece – April 2008 issue

The April 2008 issue of Alternative Press magazine, which hit the streets on March 7, 2008 featured an Op/Ed piece written by me. After many years of leaving behind a life I no longer associate with, I felt it was necessary to make it known to all what my past entailed, how it affected me, and how proud I am of the man I am today.

My hope was that this piece will clear up any confusion about my intentions with my business or my personal life today, as well as give any young people struggling with a similar situation a real-life example they might identify with and decide to make a change in their own lives.

Alternative Press
Op/Ed Piece – April 2008 issue
By Christian Picciolini

At eighteen, I stood on stage in a cathedral in Germany, cries of “Heil Hitler!” blocking out the roar of 3,000 European skinheads shouting my bands’ name, “Final Solution! Final Solution!”

At that very moment, I was responsible for the electricity in the air, the adrenalin in veins, the sweat pouring down the shaved heads.

Absolute devotion to white power pulsated through the crowd on that foggy March day in 1993. I imagined this is how Hitler had felt when he led the Germans on his mission for a pure race. He was dead—persecuted and misunderstood as far as I was concerned—but I was more than ready to step in and undertake his mission.

Laws favoring blacks were taking white jobs and we were overburdened with taxes used to support welfare. Neighborhoods of law-abiding, hard-working white families were being overrun with minority gangs and their drugs. Gays—a threat to the very propagation of our species—were demanding special rights. Our women were being conned into relationships by minorities. Clearly the white race was in peril.

Or so I believed. What began as an affinity with punk music had grown to encompass the hate lyrics and messages of white power oi! music.

The truth was that my parents never lost jobs to any minorities. I didn’t even have a job, so I surely wasn’t supporting anybody on welfare. I’d never been the victim of racial bias, although I’d certainly perpetuated hate violence myself. Nevertheless, I pushed the punk rock subculture to the limits and embraced the racist skinhead mentality, and soon was so heavily indoctrinated into a world of hate that it blinded me.

I was convinced that being a soldier meant hating the enemy, battling anyone unlike us at any given moment, and spreading the seeds of hatred throughout the white community. A natural leader myself, it wasn’t long before I was also relaying the vicious messages to anyone who would listen.

And that message brought me to Weimar, Germany, when I was 18. The band I sang for, Final Solution, was one of a half dozen white power bands that performed at this worldwide skinhead concert. In fact, my band was the first ever American white power skinhead band to play anywhere in all of Europe.

On that day, swastika flags littered the old German cathedral. They glistened on skin, covered clothes, hung on backpacks.

I was up there on stage to make sure nobody forgot why we were gathered there. Never mind that I was just a teeneager from a lower middle class Chicago suburb. I was one of the powerful voices here and I had no doubt that the conviction of my words would have a lasting effect.

What power.

What ignorance.

Sometimes when I look back on that trip I can barely breathe. How could I have been so misguided? So insensitive to the horrors that had been perpetrated? So unfeeling about innocent people butchered? All in the name of racism and hate and blind faith?

Some of my ignorant behavior was nothing more than the natural rebellious nature of a teenager looking for a way to be heard. I looked around me and saw people like my parents working hard and not really enjoying life. I didn’t want that to be me some day.

I also didn’t want to be ordinary. I was sure I was destined for something greater. I wanted power and recognition. I wanted something that made me feel my hot blood coursing through my veins.

Music had that effect. And through white power music I met people who I thought cared about me, who I thought were like me. I liked being an outcast, flaunting authority. I was no longer a kid without much of a future. Instead, I was a soldier leading others on a mission.

I confused hate and intimidation with passion, fear with respect.

My involvement lasted far too long, and while it’s difficult to pinpoint one specific event that made me question my beliefs, in time I realized that what the world really needed was people who could actually care for one another despite their differences. While attending DePaul University I was part of a United Nations conference focused on the Millennium Development Goals (www.un.org/millenniumgoals). I saw how much work there was to be done to make life fair for people of all races, religious beliefs, genders, and sexual preferences. I learned about the horribly common exploitation of women and children, hunger, AIDS, the ravages of poverty.

The more I learned, the less personal power mattered. Instead, what became clear to me was the importance of helping others. So I left my hate and racist music in the dust and made a video devoted to the Millennium Development Goals (www.youtube.com/watch?v=ReRx12QUv54) to try to inspire others to help correct some of the real problems facing the world. Now all that mattered was reaching people with the message to help.

While I am still very active in the music industry, I would never again consider working with anyone that spews hatred or prejudice. I simply will not tolerate it and neither should you.

One thing that allowed me to feel such hate in my past was that I refused to see the humanity in others, so I challenge you to take that step. Find a cause you believe in—the environment, gender equality, anti-racism—and do something to make a difference. Organize a benefit concert, design and sell t-shirts promoting a cause, support positive change in the world.

Make music. But let the song you sing be one that embraces, not disgraces, humanity.

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The United Nations, The MDGs and Me

On September 8, 9 and 10, 2004, I was fortunate enough to be able to attend the 57th Annual DPI/NGO conference at the United Nations in New York City. The theme of the conference was based upon the mantra,Millennium Development Goals: Civil Society Takes Action. Initially, the thought of being a part of the conference was intimidating; however, once the initial nervousness subsided I was certainly glad that I was a part of this unforgettable conference. The following account aptly describes what I felt as I approached the goliath known as the United Nations, on the morning of September 8th, 2004.

The sight of the United Nations headquarters building in New York City was stark and daunting. The sheer size of the campus made me feel as though I were walking into the belly of a large antiquated beast. The cold, dated core of this creature made my whisper reverberate as if I were standing in a colossal valley and the languages that echoed that day were alien to my ears. A sea of cold, stagnant anxiety engulfed me that morning, and it wasn’t until the initial moments of the opening session in the General Assembly that I finally felt the warmth fill the space between those barren walls.

I’m not quite sure what I had expected. In fact, I had attended many previous conferences for my job at IBM and had overcome those without much trepidation. However, this seemed much larger and looming, filled with an aura of the unknown. I had wholly expected my visit would be remarkable. What I hadn’t expected, was that it would unwittingly alter my perception of the world as I knew it.

Key Lessons Learned

The United States is not the center of the universe. That’s right, I said it. God forbid that phrase fall on the ears of the thundering masses of blue collar, less-than-worldly Americans I had been accustomed to. Had they wandered into the UN that week and felt what I had felt, they would join in my chorus, “the United States is not the center of the Universe!” Today, at the epicenter of this home we call the globe was, however, the warmth, passion and spirit that echoed inside the cold façade of these austere gray walls. With vibrancy and tenacity, voices proclaimed freedom – freedom from poverty, from hunger, and independence from the centuries-old malignancy of inequality and despair. Seemingly in unison, the voices proclaimed, “People are the epicenter! It is our birthright!” What was said was felt, and how it was said was not in words, but in faces and in indelible memoirs of the soul. Everyone in this room meant what they believed and they believed in people. And I believed in them.

That first day I learned that poverty, hunger, inequality, desperation, indignity, fear, death, and most importantly hope existed in places I never knew existed. It was no longer tucked away safely in corners never to be found. It was there right in front of me, exposed nakedly, not waiting for a Samaritan to clothe it, but simply hoping for someone to observe the nakedness. There were no outstretched hands, only hands cupped around mouths yelling for someone to notice.

My Rapporteur Task

Acting as a Rapporteur during the workshops allowed me to get comfortable in and of myself. I was joined in every workshop by friendly, welcoming faces. The mood was always upbeat and the liveliness and energy was undaunted. People spoke passionately about their successes in order to share them with fellow collaborators of spirit and task. The message was not one of victory, but one of hope. Hope that if only one more person was infected by this virus of goodwill, it could spread to enough people to make a difference. If 189 bureaucrats could agree to envision this great undertaking we call the Millennium Development Goals, perhaps the meek that were gathered here could implement that vision.

As Rapporteur I listened, not only with my mind and my ears, but with my heart. Person after person sharing experiences of valor; villages in Kenya designed by college students; young people in Holland traversing desert miles to minister to AIDS-stricken children in sub-Saharan Africa. And here I was a part of it. The friendships made and the alliances forged on this trip will be everlasting. They are consummate reminders of a future that can be realized should we be willing to give of ourselves to our quietly screaming, tucked away brothers and sisters.

Most Favorite

While it is difficult to pinpoint any specific aspect or person that may have been the most interesting to me while attending this conference, I must simply say that it was the passion and energy coursing through the UN building that day that lingers with me the most. I enjoyed being a part of a working group that was alive with enthusiasm. It was amazing to be a part of a collection of people set out to change the inequities of the world. The enthusiasm was contagious and I came home with a severe case of “save-the-world” syndrome. While I realize I cannot accomplish this task alone, it is inspiring to know that, in fact, I am not alone.

Final Comments

As Secretary-General Kofi Annan has said, “Our chances of success depend in great part on the degree to which [we], the individuals and groups that make up civil society, mobilize around this [MDG] mission.” It is our duty as citizens of this world not to turn our backs.

It is with the deepest sincerity that I wish to extend my gratitude to Instructor Pat Szczerba and DePaul University for giving me the opportunity to experience this. Without the hard work and the vision behind this course, I would not have had the occasion to reach deep inside my soul and find the tenacity to make a difference. As a result, the goliath has been struck down and been replaced by hope and resolve. For that, I thank you and will be forever grateful.