Letters From My Sister

This summer my twin-sister had a very disturbing experience in the company of Nathan Taylor. She recounts this and offers a related apology in the form of the following open letters:

Dear Nathan, 

Apparently my eyes were tightening. I had been to your double knitting workshop a year previously, you had spoken then about the diversknitty tag on Instagram and how you loved seeing knitting posts from such a cross section of society. Now you were here, and had delivered a key note speech which I had unfortunately missed. I thought that you must be open to debate. How wrong I was. 

Apparently my eyes were tightening. I had approached you with a friendly query about how things were going for you. You told me about the online abuse you had suffered. How you were worried about the impact on your business. How you had watched your Instagram following tick down. How it had ticked back up, how you were going to be okay. I thought that you were okay. How wrong I was.

Apparently my eyes were tightening. I had seen your poem and some useful responses. I asked if you had read any of the anti-racist resources that had been suggested. You told me that you were not going to engage with them any more, they had lost an ally. You had been misunderstood and bullied, hounded by trolls, called a hater. You aked if I thought you were a hater. I didn’t. How wrong I was.

Apparently my eyes were tightening. I was grasping for words to inspire a rethink. “No, I don’t think you’re a hater”. I got no further. Your eyes widened, you drew up tall, accused me of being “one of them”, shouted at me to get out of your sight. I turned and walked away, red faced and flustered, you raced after me shouting “How dare you!” Towered over me, waved your finger at me. “You do know I was on suicide watch this week!”. I didn’t. How wrong I was.

And now my heart was pounding. I kept walking away, desperate to find a safe place. Thankfully I found one, and some wonderful friends. I was afraid for you. You were suicidal, and violently angry. I hadn’t raised my voice, or verbally disagreed with anything you said, yet you had exploded. Clearly you were unhinged, and would apologise once you were back in control. How wrong I was. 

And my heart just kept on pounding. I asked my friend to go and inform the guild’s Chair about the incident. The board needed to know how vulnerable you were, and how I had somehow triggered a violent outburst. I hoped that you would calm down, quickly realise that you needed to distance yourself from triggers, and get professional support. How wrong I was.

And my heart just kept on pounding. I met later with the Chair and two of the directors. I apologised for approaching you, for not seeing how vulnerable you were. Hoped that the guild would not be damaged by my naivety and your vulnerability. I offered an apology in the hope that would help you, did not require one in return. I agreed to keep silent about the incident, and hoped that this would help you heal. How wrong I was.

And my promise began to burn. I watched in horror as a traumatised British Asian dyer recounted the truth about her encounter with you at Yarningham. I felt sick when she spoke about your violence. I thought that surely now a woman of colour had been abused, you would acknowledge the truth about yourself. That you would seek forgiveness and reconciliation. How wrong I was.

And my promise continued to burn. I read that witnesses were saying you had been attacked, that you were the victim in this, that she had flown at you, that she was to blame. Surely my fellow knitters would see through this gas-lighting, surely you would speak the truth when you recovered. How wrong I was.

And my promise continued to burn. I heard that alt right groups were claiming this was a pre-planned sting. That your business had been deliberately destroyed. That women of colour and their allies were targetting individual businesses like yours for kicks. I hoped that you would put the record straight to defend the diverse community you had once so warmly applauded. How wrong I was.

But now the burning is ended. This is my truth. I forgive you, though you have not asked for this. I continue to feel concern for your safety. I hope that you will not be misled by the alt right people who are now supporting you. That you will see through their toadying for what it is – a platform to achieve their political agenda. I hope you will find integrity and peace, and the grace to apologise.

Dear Almas,

I am deeply sorry that my silence has added to your trauma. I see that I have prioritised the unwise promise I made over your needs. I hope that breaking my silence now helps to set the record straight. I have witnessed your honesty and courage. You are an amazing woman, and I admire you.

With love,
Marie