That night we met the Polish Neo-Nazis

Once, way back in my youth, in 1994 or 1995, my American friend and I visited "SCK" - Studenckie Centrum Kultury - the nightclub at Opole ''WSP" - Wyższa Szkoła Pedagogiczna (teacher training college). Now Opole University.

We went there often. Practically every night after a day of teaching English. To drink, dance and chat to girls. In our foolish youth.

One night we got speaking to some Polish Neo-Nazis, who also frequented the club. They were always looking to beat up any black or foreign students who happened to unfortunately stray across their path.

Once I saw this happen some other time. With my own eyes. It was an ugly sight. Left me with a bad feeling in my stomach.

I was outside the club and there were dozens of students all around. Standing, sitting, talking, drinking. I noticed that there was some kind of commotion.

And then I saw him. The black student on the ground. Trying to get up. Then stumbling along. He had a giant swollen lump coming out of his head. Where a white supremacist had kicked him hard with his boot. Very hard.

And the weirdest most unsettling thing about it was this: nobody around was doing anything. All the beautiful, young Slavs were just sitting around in their trendy clothes and shoes, seemingly unconcerned. More likely afraid. Much so.

That black student was all alone in the world. Being hunted by a pack of wolves.

Anyway, back to that night when we drank with the white supremacists.

We sat down at a table with them. We had always been curious about them. Who they were. There was the leader and his dumber, brutish foot soldier.

The American asked them in faltering Polish why they supported Hitler. That he had been the enemy of the Poles. I don't remember the answer. But I do remember this: they suddenly raised their arms in the Nazi salute and shouted 'Heil Hitler!’

Then I got up and went to get a beer at the bar. The brute followed me. Stood next to me as I was waiting to order. I was frightened. Then he grunted something, swaying his leering head towards me. Drunk. I don't know if I even spoke Polish very well then. I didn't say much if anything. Kind of got away.

Strangely they never beat us up, despite being foreigners. Perhaps because we were white.