Anna: The Female Fascist

Anna craves security and attention. But yesterday is gone

(This story deals with graphic racism. I felt it was important to share how racism still exists and continues in European women’s consciousnesses. I’ve based this on my experience and readings of racist women online.)

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Her mother used to pull up her boots with red raw hands and grin at her through a haze of exhaled air. She had been hailed as a beautiful child in the urban carcass of the crumbling town, big blue eyes and fair Slavic hair. The sort that the communist posters of yesterday adored as the children of tomorrow.

Black children disgusted and intimidated her now, twenty years later. She was filled with a loathing at the sight of their proud afro curls and dark, unapologetic eyes. In her day, they knew to lower their eyes and hide their differences. Now they weren’t ashamed. She felt nothing but hatred for them, replacing the narrative on what had made her precious and beautiful. It wasn’t enough to be blonde and petite anymore, oh no, now you needed diversity. She scorned the round plump figures of women online, typing ugly words on the hair and skin of women darker than herself, finding comfort in her power. The final crumbling morsels of her superiority.

She watched the children, wrapped up warm in cheerful pinks and blues, swinging from the bars of the playground. Why were they here? She spat in her head. This was where her people were. This was her land. Her childhood. Disgusting, ugly people. She imagined herself going up to the smiling woman in the blue hijab and choking her, beating her with her fists. She imagined the bruises ripening like roses on the woman’s flawless brown skin, each punch to her stomach making sure that more of her kind weren’t born. They were like insects to her, parasites.

The thought of the woman screaming made her laugh out loud. The hijabed lady turned and smiled at her with a warm, welcoming smile. Anna didn’t smile back, seething with rage at the foreign woman’s confidence. The children kept playing.

The modern world scared her. All that was stable and sure as a young girl was gone. She had been what was considered the height of beauty; pale, thin, blonde, ice blue stare. She had fought for her slimness, faint with hunger, for what she deserved. A husband. A good husband who would provide and get her out of the hell of this concrete wasteland with her red faced alcoholic mother and a dead end economy

But that was gone now. Gone with the tides of a changing world, sweeping over Russia and Europe in a mass of diversity and autonomy. She loathed women with their defined plumpness and educated ways and laughter at her obsessive conservatism. She loathed their proud blackness, high flying careers, western politics and tolerance of gay men who riddled her with disgust. They laughed at her when she complained about having to work. They had everything. They had tomorrow. Women like her were flotsam and jetsam in the current of a bygone era.

It isn’t enough to be blonde and pretty

It isn’t enough to be blonde and pretty

It isn’t enough to be blonde and pretty

“Excuse me?” The dark skinned woman said to her, forcing Anna back to the park. Anna stared up at her beaming wide lips. “Can you watch my two girls there? I have to go change this one,” she said, gesticulating to the little lump in the pushchair. “Won’t be a sec!”

“No.” Anna spat at her, rising off the bench, filled with a gleeful rage. “I won’t. You- all of you- don’t belong here.” The gushing venom of her words stung the sides of her lungs. She felt powerful. She felt heard.

“I’m sorry?” The woman looked stunned, frightened.

“Your disgusting little brood don’t belong here. You are fucking destroying this country. Go back to Africa, whore.”

“I grew up here.” The woman said quietly. Anna spat at the floor.

“Weeds grow anywhere, kuchka.”

The woman looked at her, calmly, her eyes filled with a knowledge and power that unsettled Anna deeply. Then she smiled, soothing the crying baby with a fingertip.

“Come on, kids!” She said brightly. “We’re going to the bakery. For gingerbread!” The children clamoured in excitement, dashing towards her. Anna felt unsettled, confused at the lack of the woman’s tears or fear.

“We will fight back!” Anna shouted, half screaming. “You won’t conquer us!”

The woman smiled again, picking up one of her daughters and walking away. The little girl nestled against her armpit.

“Mummy, what is that lady angry about?”

The woman paused. “Herself.”

Written by

24 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own. Usually. madelaine@madelainehanson.co.uk

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