My life of Anarchy
Only recently heard about this site and what it was all about, decided my first post should be an introduction and a little about myself.
Well I'm an anarchist in the sense that I don't recognize any authority due to not agreeing with a slave master system. I honestly think I've always been an anarchist, the rebellious streak I've always had which probably came from my nan of all people.
We were a quiet simple somewhat poor family in a rotten area of the UK just trying to live our lives as peacefully as possible. I remember one evening when I was about 3 and we were all (me my nan and uncle) having our evening meal when suddenly it sounded like the front door was being literally kicked in.
My nan went to the door and upon opening it was knocked over by police officers rushing in, I remember a man wearing a light brown suit he's saying something and holding a piece of paper to my nans face. I can't remember what he said but he's not looking at her as he speaks he's looking around the house.
My nan ushers me into the kitchen she says something to the effect of "be a good little boy for nan and stay in here" she says it so calmly but I know something is wrong. I come back into the front room to see police men destroying our home. They are tipping things over knocking ornaments to the ground, my nan is screaming at them and they just continue their destruction.
Upstairs I can hear my uncle cry out like he's being beaten, a huge loud thud like someone dropping to the floor. Things are fuzzy then but I remember they take our VHS tapes and then my uncle is dragged to the front door and that guy in the light brown says something to him.
He's dragged out the house
The next memory is either the next day or sometime later when my uncle is brought back in a car. He looks beaten and bruised and clearly has not slept. My nan screams at the car and a man inside shouts back something like "resisting arrest"
I follow him upstairs to his room and it's a mess, he sees an old chess set on the floor that's smashed beyond repair. I think a friend had got it him but can't remember the significance. I remember he picks up the broken pieces and just begins to weep.
It was the first and only time I saw him cry.
At this point my nan takes me downstairs.
It is still to this day one of if not the most terrifying memory I have, what was worse was that no charges were brought to my uncle for whatever crime he supposedly committed. We were never compensated for the damage to our home either, I remember my nan refusing to pay the local council to fix the front room door the police broke. So it stayed broke until I was about 13 and my mom fixed it.