My journey away from violent extremism began 22 years ago, when I denounced racism and left the American white supremacist skinhead movement that I had helped build.
Moja cesta od násilného extrémizmu sa začala pred 22 rokmi, keď som zavrhol rasizmus a opustil som americké hnutie skinheadov za bielu nadvládu, ktoré som pomohol postaviť.
(Cheers and applause)
(povzbudenie a potlesk)
I was just 22 years old at the time, but I had already spent eight years, from the time I was 14 years old, as one of the earliest and youngest members and an eventual leader within America's most violent hate movement.
V tom čase som mal 22 rokov, ale už som mal za sebou osem rokov, odkedy som mal štrnásť rokov, ako jeden z najskorších a najmladších členov a eventuálne ako líder najnásilnejšieho amerického nenávistného hnutia.
But I wasn't born into hate; in fact, it was quite the opposite. I had a relatively normal childhood. My parents are Italian immigrants who came to the United States in the mid-1960s and settled on the South Side of Chicago, where they eventually met, and opened a small beauty shop. Right after I was born, things got a little bit more difficult. They struggled to survive with raising a young family and a new business, often working seven days a week, 14 hours a day, taking on second and third jobs just to earn a meager living. And quality time with my parents was pretty nonexistent. Even though I knew they loved me very much, growing up, I felt abandoned. I was lonely, and I started to withdraw, and then I started to resent my parents and become very angry. And as I was growing up, through my teenage years, I started to act out to try and get attention from my parents.
Ale nenarodil som sa do nenávisti; v skutočnosti celkom naopak. Mal som relatívne normálne detstvo. Moji rodičia sú talianski imigranti, ktorí prišli do Spojených štátov uprostred 60. rokov a usadili sa na Južnej strane Chicaga, kde sa nakoniec zoznámili, a otvorili si malý salón krásy. Hneď ako som sa narodil, začali byť veci trochu ťažšie. Usilovali sa prežiť, zatiaľčo sa starali o mladú rodinu a nový podnik, často pracovali sedem dní v týždni, 14 hodín denne, zobrali si druhú a tretiu prácu, len aby zarobili skromné živobytie. Kvalitný čas s mojimi rodičmi vlastne neexistoval. Aj keď som vedel, že ma veľmi milovali, cítil som sa počas dospievania opustený. Bol som osamelý, začal som sa od nich odkláňať a potom som začal k mojim rodičom cítiť odpor a bol som veľmi nahnevaný. A ako som vyrastal, počas mojich tínedžerských rokov som začal vyvádzať, aby som od rodičov získal pozornosť.
And one day, when I was 14, I was standing in an alley, and I was smoking a joint, and a man who was twice my age, with a shaved head and tall black boots, came up to me, and he snatched the joint from my lips. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and he looked me in the eyes, and he said, "That's what the communists and the Jews want you to do to keep you docile." I was 14 years old, I'd been trading baseball cards and watching "Happy Days" -- I didn't really know what a Jew was.
A jedného dňa, keď som mal 14 rokov, stál som v uličke a fajčil joint, a muž, ktorý bol odo mňa dvakrát starší, s vyholenou hlavou a s kanadami prišiel ku mne a vychmatol mi joint z mojich pier. Potom položil ruku na moje rameno a pozrel sa mi do očí a povedal: "To komunisti a Židia chcú, aby si toto robil aby si ostal povoľný." Mal som 14 rokov, vymieňal som si baseballové kartičky a pozeral "Happy Days" - naozaj som nevedel, čo je to Žid.
(Laughter)
(smiech)
It's true. And the only communist that I knew was the bad Russian guy in my favorite Rocky movie.
Naozaj. A jediný komunista, ktorého som poznal, bol zlý Rus v mojej obľúbenej časti Rockyho.
(Laughter)
(smiech)
And since I'm here baring my soul with you, I can reveal that I did not even know what the word "docile" meant.
A keďže vám tu odhaľujem svoju dušu, tak vám môžem prezradiť, že som nevedel ani, čo znamená slovo "povoľný".
(Laughter)
(smiech)
Dead serious.
Úplne vážne.
But it was as if this man in this alley had offered me a lifeline. For 14 years, I'd felt marginalized and bullied. I had low self-esteem. And frankly, I didn't know who I was, where I belonged, or what my purpose was. I was lost. And overnight, because this man had pulled me in, and I had grabbed onto that lifeline with every fiber of my being, I had gone from "Joanie Loves Chachi" to full-blown Nazi. Overnight.
Ale bolo to akoby mi ten muž v uličke ponúkol záchranné lano. 14 rokov som sa cítil marginalizovaný a šikanovaný. Mal som nízke sebavedomie. A úprimne som nevedel, kto som bol, kam som patril alebo čo bolo mojím zmyslom. Bol som stratený. A zo dňa na deň, pretože ma tento muž vtiahol a ja som sa chytil toho záchranného lana každou nitkou svojho bytia. Z fanúšika "Joanie Loves Chachi" som sa stal úplným nacistom. Zo dňa na deň.
I started to listen to the rhetoric and believe it. I started to watch very closely as the leaders of this organization would target vulnerable young people who felt marginalized and then draw them in with promises of paradise that were broken. And then I started to recruit myself. I started to do that by making white-power music. And soon, I became the leader of that infamous organization that was led by that man in that alley who recruited me that day, who was America's first neo-Nazi skinhead and who had radicalized me. For the next eight years, I believed the lies that I had been fed. And though I saw no evidence of it whatsoever, I didn't hesitate to blame every Jewish person in the world for what I thought was a white, European genocide being promoted by them through a multiculturalist agenda. I blamed people of color for the crime and violence and the drugs in the city, completely neglecting the fact that I was committing acts of violence on a daily basis, and that in many cases, it was white supremacists who were funneling drugs into the inner cities. And I blamed immigrants for taking jobs from white Americans, completely neglecting the fact that my parents were hardworking immigrants who struggled to survive, despite not getting help from anybody else.
Začal som počúvať ich rétoriku a veriť jej. Začal som veľmi pozorne sledovať ako sa lídri tejto organizácie zameriavali na zraniteľných mladých ľudí, ktorí sa cítili marginalizovaní, a potom ich vtiahli prísľubmi raja, ktoré boli porušené. A potom som začal verbovať aj ja. Začal som robením white-power hudby. A čoskoro som sa stal lídrom tejto neslávne známej organizácie, ktorú viedol ten muž v uličke, ktorý ma vtedy naverboval, a ktorý bol prvý neonacistický skinhead v Amerike, a ktorý ma radikalizoval. Ďalších osem rokov som veril klamstvám, ktorými som bol kŕmený. A aj keď som o tom nikdy nevidel žiadny dôkaz, neváhal som viniť každého Žida na svete za to, o čom som si myslel, že bola biela európska genocída nimi podporovaná cez multikulturalistickú agendu. Vinil som ľudí inej farby pleti za zločiny, násilie a drogy v meste, úplne ignorujúc fakt, že som sám páchal násilné činy každý deň, a že v mnohých prípadoch to boli bieli rasisti, kto prinášal drogy do centier miest. A vinil som imigrantov za to, že bielym Američanom brali prácu, úplne ignorujúc fakt, že moji rodičia boli ťažko pracujúci imigranti, ktorí sa usilovali prežiť napriek tomu, že od nikoho iného nedostávali pomoc.
For the next eight years, I saw friends die, I saw others go to prison and inflict untold pain on countless victims and their families' lives. I heard horrific stories from young women in the movement, who'd been brutally raped by the very men they were conditioned to trust, and I myself committed acts of violence against people, solely for the color of their skin, who they loved, or the god that they prayed to. I stockpiled weapons for what I thought was an upcoming race war. I went to six high schools; I was kicked out of four of them, one of them, twice. And 25 years ago, I wrote and performed racist music that found its way to the internet decades later and partially inspired a young white nationalist to walk into a sacred Charleston, South Carolina, church and senselessly massacre nine innocent people.
Počas nasledujúcich ôsmich rokov som videl priateľov zomierať, videl som ostatných ísť do väzenia a spôsobovať nesmiernu bolesť nespočetným obetiam a ich rodinám. Počul som desivé príbehy od mladých žien v hnutí, ktoré boli brutálne znásilnené tými mužmi, ktorým boli naučené dôverovať. A sám som páchal násilné činy na ľuďoch len kvôli farbe ich pleti, kvôli tomu, koho milovali alebo kvôli bohu, ku ktorému sa modlili. Zásoboval som sa zbraňami, lebo som očakával rasovú vojnu. Zo šiestich stredných škôl ma vyhodili zo štyroch, z jednej dvakrát. A pred 25 rokmi som skladal a hral rasistickú hudbu, ktorá si po desaťročiach našla svoju cestu na internet a čiastočne inšpirovala mladého bieleho nacionalistu, ktorý vkročil do kostola v Charlestone, v Južnej Karolíne a bezhlavo zmasakroval deviatich nevinných ľudí.
But then my life changed. At 19 years old, I met a girl who was not in the movement, who didn't have a racist bone in her body, and I fell in love with her. And at 19, we got married, and we had our first son. And when I held my son in my arms in the delivery room that day, not only did I reconnect with some of the innocence that I had lost at 14 years old, but it also began to challenge the very important things that drew me to the movement to begin with: identity, community and purpose -- things that I had been struggling with as a young boy. And now, I struggled with the concept of who I was again. Was I this neo-Nazi hatemonger, or was I a caring father and husband? Was my community the one that I had manufactured around me to boost my own ego, because I felt self-hatred for myself and I wanted to project it onto others, or was it the one that I had physically given life to? Was my purpose to scorch the earth or was it to make it a better place for my family? And suddenly, like a ton of bricks hit me, I became very confused with who I'd been for the last eight years. And if only I'd been brave enough to walk away at that moment, to understand what the struggle was that was happening inside of me, then maybe tragedy could have been averted.
Ale potom sa môj život zmenil. Keď som mal 19 rokov, stretol som dievča, ktoré nebolo v hnutí. Nemala v sebe ani kúsok rasizmu a ja som sa do nej zamiloval. V devätnástich sme sa vzali a mali sme prvého syna. A keď som v ten deň v pôrodnej sále svojho syna držal v rukách nielen že som znovu našiel niečo z nevinnosti, ktorú som stratil, keď som mal 14 rokov, ale tiež to spochybnilo najdôležitejšie veci, ktoré ma v prvom rade viedli k hnutiu: identitu, komunitu a zmysel -- veci, s ktorými som zápasil ako mladý chlapec. Tentokrát som znovu zápasil s predstavou toho, čo som. Bol som neonacistický šíriteľ nenávisti alebo starostlivý otec a manžel? Bola mojou komunitou tá, ktorú som si okolo seba vytvoril, aby som si posilnil svoje ego, pretože som voči sebe cítil nenávisť a chcel som ju premietnuť na iných, alebo ňou bola tá, ktorej som fyzicky dal život? Bolo mojím zmyslom spáliť zem alebo spraviť ju lepším miestom pre moju rodinu? A zrazu ma to zasiahlo ako tona tehál. Bol som zmätený z toho, kým som posledných osem rokov bol. A ak by som bol dosť statočný vtedy odísť, pochopiť ten boj, ktorý sa vo mne odohrával, tak by tragédia možno mohla byť odvrátená.
Instead, I did compromise. I took myself off the streets for the benefit of my family, because I was nervous that maybe I could go to jail or end up dead, and they would have to fend for themselves. So I stepped back as a leader, and instead I opened a record store that I was going to sell white-power music in, of course, because I was importing it in from Europe. But I knew that if I was just a racist store selling racist music the community would not allow me to be there. So I decided I was going to also stock the shelves with other music, like punk rock and heavy metal and hip-hop. And while the white-power music that I was selling was 75 percent of my gross revenue, because people were driving in from all over the country to buy it from the only store that was selling it,
Namiesto toho som spravil kompromis. Pre dobro rodiny som sa stiahol z ulice, pretože som sa bál, že by som mohol skončiť vo väzení alebo mŕtvy a oni by sa o seba museli postarať sami. Odišiel som z pozície lídra a namiesto toho som si otvoril obchod s hudbou, v ktorom som samozrejme plánoval predávať white-power hudbu, pretože som ju dovážal z Európy. Ale vedel som, že rasistický obchod predávajúci len rasistickú hudbu by v tamojšej komunite nebol prijatý. Tak som sa rozhodol, že budem regále zásobiť aj inou hudbou, akou je punk rock, heavy metal a hip-hop. A kým white-power hudba, ktorú som predával, tvorila 75 % môjho hrubého príjmu, pretože ľudia z celej krajiny cestovali, aby si ju kúpili v jedinom obchode, ktorý ju predával,
I also had customers come in to buy the other music. And eventually, they started to talk to me. One day, a young black teen came in, and he was visibly upset. And I decided to ask him what was wrong. And he told me that his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. And suddenly, this young black teenager, who I'd never had a meaningful conversation or interaction with, I was able to connect with, because my own mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and I could feel his pain. On another occasion, a gay couple came in with their son, and it was undeniable to me that they loved their son in the same profound ways that I loved mine. And suddenly, I couldn't rationalize or justify the prejudice that I had in my head.
mal som aj zákazníkov, ktorí si prišli kúpiť aj tú inú hudbu. A nakoniec sa mi začali prihovárať. Jedného dňa vošiel mladý čierny tínedžer, ktorý bol viditeľne znepokojený. A rozhodol som sa, že sa ho spýtam, čo sa deje. Povedal mi, že jeho mama bola diagnostikovaná rakovinou prsníka. Zrazu som sa s týmto čiernym tínedžerom, s ktorým som nikdy nemal zmysluplnú konverzáciu alebo interakciu, vedel zblížiť, pretože mojej mame tiež diagnostikovali rakovinu prsníka a dokázal som cítiť jeho bolesť. Pri inej príležitosti vošiel gay pár so svojím synom a bolo pre mňa nesporné, že svojho syna milovali tak hlboko ako som miloval ja svojho. A zrazu som nemohol obhájiť alebo zdôvodniť predsudky, ktoré som mal v hlave.
I decided to pull the white-power music from the inventory when I became too embarrassed to sell it in front of my new friends. And of course, the store couldn't sustain itself, so I had to close it. At that same time, I lost nearly everything in my life. I used it as an opportunity to walk away from the movement that I'd been a part of for eight years, the only identity, community and purpose that I'd really known for most of my life. So I had nobody. I lost my livelihood because I closed the store. I didn't have a great relationship with my parents, even though they tried. And my wife and children left me, because I hadn't left the movement and disengaged quickly enough. And suddenly, I didn't know who I was again, or where I fit in or what my purpose was supposed to be. I was miserable inside, and I often woke up in the morning wishing that I hadn't.
Rozhodol som sa z ponuky stiahnuť white-power hudbu, lebo mi bolo príliš trápne predávať ju pred mojimi novými priateľmi. Samozrejme, obchod sa nemohol udržať, takže som ho musel zavrieť. V tom čase som stratil takmer všetko v mojom živote. Využil som to ako príležitosť odísť z hnutia, ktorého súčasťou som bol osem rokov, od jedinej identity, komunity a zmyslu, ktorého som poznal väčšinu svojho života. Takže som nemal nikoho. Stratil som svoje živobytie, lebo som zatvoril obchod. Nemal som dobrý vzťah s mojimi rodičmi, aj keď sa o to snažili. A moja žena a deti ma opustili, pretože som neopustil hnutie a neodpútal sa od neho dosť rýchlo. A zrazu som opäť nevedel, kto som alebo kam patrím, alebo aký má byť môj zmysel. Vnútorne som sa cítil biedne a často som sa ráno zobúdzal so želaním nezobudiť sa.
About five years in, one of the few friends that I had was concerned about my well-being, and she came to me and she said, "You need to do something, because I don't want to see you die." And she suggested that I go apply for a job where she worked, at a company called IBM. Yeah, I thought she was crazy, too.
Po asi piatich rokoch sa jedna osoba z môjho malého okruhu priateľov bála o moje zdravie, prišla za mnou a povedala: "Musíš niečo spraviť, pretože ťa nechcem vidieť umierať." Navrhla, aby som sa uchádzal o prácu tam, kde pracovala ona, v spoločnosti, ktorá sa volá IBM. Áno, aj ja som si myslel, že sa zbláznila.
(Laughter)
(smiech)
Here I was, a closeted ex-Nazi covered in hate tattoos. I didn't go to college. I'd been kicked out of multiple high schools multiple times. I didn't even own a computer. But I went in, and somehow, miraculously, I got the job. I was thrilled.
Takže som bol skrytý ex-nacista pokrytý nenávistnými tetovaniami. Nechodil som na vysokú. Niekoľkokrát som bol vyhodený z niekoľkých stredných škôl. Ani som nevlastnil počítač. Ale išiel som a nejakým zázrakom som tú prácu dostal. Bol som natešený.
And then I became terrified to learn that they'd actually be putting me back at my old high school, the same one I got kicked out of twice, to install their computers. This was a high school where I had committed acts of violence against students, against faculty; where I had protested out in front of the school for equal rights for whites and even had a sit-in in the cafeteria to try and demand a white student union.
A potom som sa so zdesením dozvedel, že ma vlastne posielajú na moju starú strednú školu, na tú, z ktorej ma dvakrát vyhodili, inštalovať ich počítače. Toto bola stredná škola, na ktorej som páchal násilné činy na študentoch, na učiteľoch; kde som pred školou protestoval za rovnaké práva pre bielych, a kde som obsadil jedáleň, žiadajúc založenie klubu bielych študentov.
And of course, as karma would have it, within the first couple of hours, who walks right by me but Mr. Johnny Holmes, the tough black security guard I had gotten in a fistfight with, that got me kicked out the second time and led out in handcuffs from the school. He didn't recognize me, but I saw him, and I didn't know what to do. I was frozen; I was this grown man now, years out of the movement, and I was sweating and I was trembling. But I decided I had to do something. And I decided I needed to suffer under the weight of my past, because for five years I had tried to outrun it. I'd tried to make new friends and cover my tattoos with long sleeves, and I wouldn't admit it because I was afraid of being judged the same way I had judged other people. Well, I decided I was going to chase Mr. Holmes out to the parking lot -- probably not the smartest decision that I made.
A samozrejme, vďaka karme prešlo len pár hodín a kto okolo mňa neprešiel nik iný pán Johnny Holmes, silný čierny ochrankár s ktorým som sa dostal do pästného súboja, kvôli ktorému ma druhýkrát vyhodili a vyviedli zo školy v putách. Nespoznal ma, ale ja som ho videl, a nevedel som, čo mám robiť. Zamrzol som; už som bol dospelý muž, roky som bol mimo hnutia a potil som sa, a triasol som sa. Ale rozhodol som sa, že musím niečo urobiť. A rozhodol som sa, že musím trpieť pod ťarchou svojej minulosti, pretože päť rokov som sa ju snažil predbehnúť. Snažil som sa nájsť nových priateľov a skryť tetovania dlhými rukávmi, a minulosť som nepriznal, pretože som sa bál odsudzovania, tak ako som ja kedysi odsudzoval iných ľudí. Tak som sa rozhodol sledovať pána Holmesa na parkovisko - asi nie najmúdrejšie rozhodnutie, ktoré som urobil.
(Laughter)
(smiech)
But when I found him, he was getting into his car, and I tapped him on the shoulder. And when he turned around and he recognized me, he took a step back because he was afraid. And I didn't know what to say. Finally, the words came out of my mouth, and all I could think to say was, "I'm sorry." And he embraced me, and he forgave me. And he encouraged me to forgive myself. He recognized that it wasn't the story of some broken go-nowhere kid who was going to just join a gang and go to prison. He knew that this was the story of every young person who was vulnerable, who was searching for identity, community and purpose, and then hit a wall and was unable to find it and went down a dark path. And he made me promise one thing, that I would tell my story to whoever would listen. That was 18 years ago, and I've been doing it ever since.
Ale keď som ho našiel, nastupoval do auta a ja som ho poťapkal po pleci. Keď sa otočil, spoznal ma, ustúpil o krok dozadu, pretože sa bál. A ja som nevedel, čo mám povedať. Nakoniec z mojich úst vyšli slová a jediné, čo som vedel povedať, bolo: "Prepáčte." A on ma objal a odpustil mi. A povzbudil ma k tomu, aby som odpustil sám sebe. Spoznal, že nešlo o príbeh nejakého zlomeného zbytočného dieťaťa, ktoré sa pripojí ku gangu a pôjde do väzenia. Vedel, že toto bol príbeh každého mladého človeka, ktorý bol zraniteľný, ktorý hľadal identitu, komunitu a zmysel, a potom narazil na prekážku a nemohol ich nájsť, tak išiel cestou temna. A musel som sľúbiť jednu vec, že poviem môj príbeh každému, kto ho bude počúvať. To bolo pred osemnástimi rokmi a odvtedy to robím.
(Applause)
(potlesk)
You might be asking yourself right now: How does a good kid from a hardworking immigrant family end up going down such a dark path? One word: potholes. That's right. Potholes. I had a lot of potholes when I was kid. We all had them -- you know, the things in life that we hit that invariably just kind of nudge us off our path, and if they remain unresolved or untreated or not dealt with, sometimes we can get dangerously lost down pretty dark corridors. Potholes can be things like trauma, abuse, unemployment, neglect, untreated mental health conditions, even privilege. And if we hit enough potholes on our journey in life, and we don't have the resources or the help to navigate around them or to pull us out, well, sometimes good people end up doing bad things.
Možno sa samých seba teraz pýtate: Ako môže dobré dieťa z ťažko pracujúcej rodiny imigrantov skončiť na takej temnej ceste? Jedno slovo: výtlky. Presne tak. Výtlky. Ako dieťa som mal veľa výtlkov. Všetci sme ich mali - poznáte to, tie veci v živote, na ktoré narazíme, ktoré nás vždy nejak odklonia od našej cesty a ak ostanú nevyriešené alebo neliečené alebo nevybavené, tak sa kvôli nim niekedy môžeme stratiť vo veľmi temných uličkách. Výtlky môžu byť veci, akými sú trauma, zneužívanie, nezamestnanosť, zanedbávanie, neliečené psychické poruchy a dokonca aj privilégiá. A ak narazíme na dosť výtlkov na našej životnej ceste a nebudeme mať prostriedky alebo pomoc, ktorá by nás navigovala, alebo nás odtiaľ vytiahla, tak niekedy môžu dobrí ľudia skončiť tak, že robia zlé veci.
One such person who had potholes is Darrell. Darrell is from upstate New York. He had read my memoir, and he was really upset about the ending. You see, I'd gotten out of the movement and he was still in. And he emailed me and he said, "I didn't really like the way that turned out." And I said, "Well, I'm sorry."
Jeden taký človek, ktorý mal výtlky, je Darrell. Darell je zo severného New Yorku. Prečítal si moje memoáre, a bol naozaj znepokojený ohľadom záveru. Viete, ja som sa z hnutia dostal a on v ňom ešte stále bol. Poslal mi e-mail, v ktorom napísal: "Naozaj sa mi nepáči, ako sa to skončilo." Ja som povedal: "No, to je mi ľúto."
(Laughter)
(smiech)
"But if you want to talk about it, we could certainly do that."
"Ale ak sa o tom chceš rozprávať, určite by sme mohli."
And after a couple of weeks of going back and forth with Darrell, I learned he was a 31-year-old military veteran who had been injured and was really angry about not being able to go to Afghanistan to kill Muslims. And one day on the phone, he told me that he had seen a Muslim man in the park praying, and that all he wanted to do was kick him in the face. I flew to Buffalo the next day, and I sat down with Darrell, and I asked him, "Have you ever met a Muslim person before?" And he said, "No! Why the hell would I want to do that? They're evil. I don't want anything to do with them." I said, "OK." So I excused myself, and I went into the bathroom and I took my phone out in the bathroom, and I Googled the local mosque, and I called them very quietly from the bathroom, and I said, "Excuse me, imam, I need a favor. I have a Christian man who would really love to learn more about your religion."
A po pár týždňoch písania si s Darrellom som sa dozvedel, že to bol 31-ročný veterán, ktorého zranili, a bol veľmi nahnevaný, lebo sa nemohol vrátiť do Afganistanu, aby zabíjal moslimov. Raz mi počas telefonátu povedal, že videl moslima modliť sa v parku a jediné, čo chcel spraviť, bolo kopnúť ho do tváre. Ďalší deň som letel do Buffala, sadol som si s Darrellom a spýtal som sa ho: "Už si niekedy predtým stretol moslima?" A on povedal: "Nie! Prečo by som to dopekla chcel? Sú zlí. Nechcem mať s nimi nič spoločné." Povedal som: "Okej." Ospravedlnil som sa a odišiel na toaletu. Tam som vytiahol svoj mobil, vygooglil som si miestnu mešitu a veľmi nenápadne som tam zavolal. Povedal som "Prepáčte, imám, potrebujem láskavosť. Mám tu kresťana, ktorý by sa naozaj chcel naučiť viac o vašom náboženstve."
(Laughter)
(smiech)
"Do you mind if we stop by?"
"Bol by problém, ak by sme prišli?"
Well, it took some convincing for Darrell to go, but finally we got there, and when I knocked on the door, the imam said he only had 15 minutes left for us, because he was preparing for a prayer service. I said, "We'll take it." We went in, and two and a half hours later, we came out after hugging and crying and, very strangely, bonding over Chuck Norris for some reason.
Nuž, stálo to nejaké to presviedčanie, aby Darrell išiel, ale napokon sme sa tam dostali a keď som zaklopal na dvere, imám povedal, že na nás má len 15 minút, pretože sa pripravoval na modlitebnú službu. Povedal som: "Berieme." Vošli sme a o dve a pol hodiny sme vyšli, po objímaní a plači a z nejakého zvláštneho dôvodu po zbližovaní sa cez Chucka Norrisa.
(Laughter)
(smiech)
I don't know what it was about that, but that's what happened. And I'm happy to say now that Darrell and the imam, you can often find them at the local falafel stand, having lunch together.
Neviem, čo na tom bolo, ale tak sa to stalo. A s radosťou vám môžem povedať, že Darrella a toho imáma môžete často vidieť pri miestnom stánku s falafelom ako spolu obedujú.
(Applause)
(potlesk)
You see, it's our disconnection from each other. Hatred is born of ignorance. Fear is its father, and isolation is its mother. When we don't understand something, we tend to be afraid of it, and if we keep ourselves from it, that fear grows, and sometimes, it turns into hatred. Since I've left the movement, I've helped over a hundred people disengage from extremist movements, from white supremacist groups --
Vidíte, je to tým, akí sme navzájom odlúčení. Nenávisť sa rodí z nevedomosti. Strach je jej otcom a izolácia je jej matkou. Keď niečomu nerozumieme, zvykneme sa toho báť a držíme sa od toho, ten strach rastie a niekedy prerastie do nenávisti. Odkedy som opustil hnutie, pomohol som vyše sto ľuďom odpútať sa od extrémistických hnutí, od skupín za nadvládu bielych --
(Applause)
(potlesk)
to even jihadist groups. And the way I do that is not by arguing with them, not by debating them, not by even telling them they're wrong, even though, boy, I want to sometimes. I don't do that. Instead, I don't push them away. I draw them in closer, and I listen very closely for their potholes, and then I begin to fill them in. I try to make people more resilient, more self-confident, more able to have skills to compete in the marketplace so that they don't have to blame the other, the other that they've never met.
až po džihádistické skupiny. Nerobím to tak, že sa s nimi hádam, že s nimi debatujem alebo tak, že im hovorím, že sa mýlia, aj keď verte, že niekedy by som chcel. To nerobím. Naopak ich neodstrkujem. Vtiahnem ich bližšie a veľmi pozorne počúvam o ich výtlkoch, a potom ich začnem vypĺňať. Snažím sa robiť ľudí húževnatejšími, sebavedomejšími, schopnejšími uplatniť sa na trhu práce, aby nemuseli obviňovať iných, iných, ktorých nikdy nestretli.
I'd like to just leave you with one last thing before I go. Of all the people I've worked with, they will all tell you the same thing. One, they became extremists because they wanted to belong, not because of ideology or dogma. And second, what brought them out was receiving compassion from the people they least deserved it from, when they least deserved it.
Predtým, ako odídem, by som vám rád povedal ešte jednu vec. Všetci ľudia, s ktorými som pracoval, vám povedia rovnakú vec. Po prvé, stali sa extrémistami, pretože chceli patriť, nie kvôli ideológii a dogme. A po druhé, čo ich vyviedlo preč, bolo získanie súcitu od ľudí, od ktorých si to zaslúžili najmenej, keď si to zaslúžili najmenej.
(Applause)
(potlesk)
So I would like to leave you with a challenge: go out there today, tomorrow -- hopefully every day -- find somebody that you think is undeserving of your compassion and give it to them, because I guarantee you, they're the ones who need it the most.
Takže by som vám rád dal výzvu: choďte von; dnes, zajtra -- v najlepšom prípade každý deň -- nájdite niekoho, o kom si myslíte, že si nezaslúži váš súcit, a dajte im ho, pretože vám garantujem, že oni sú tí, ktorí ho potrebujú najviac.
Thank you very much.
Ďakujem veľmi pekne.
(Applause)
(potlesk)