One of the strangest trends in modern politics is the growth of the professional anti-fascist. The bread and butter of these men and women is in vanquishing the fascist hordes that seem to crop up every week or so. In the United Kingdom, where I live, these types congregate in organizations with names like ‘Hope not Hate’ and ‘Unite Against Fascism.’ Meanwhile, the magazine ‘Searchlight’ scours the seedy underbelly of British politics to find the next big ‘far-right’ threat.
You, like me, might find the idea of a Western democracy succumbing to a fascist takeover somewhat far-fetched. Even just a cursory glance at the election results of the last few decades will be enough to tell you this. Put simply, it’s a poor return for the skinheads. Anyone searching for a time-honored way to stop fascism could do a lot worse than rely on the ballot box.
The anti-fascist does not see it this way. Danger is constant. If we aren’t careful, there will be legions of burly men in black uniforms jackbooting down London before we know it. This attitude ensures that tiny nationalist groups receive an entirely disproportionate amount of attention, when their very behavior and ideas is what keeps them tiny and insignificant. That isn’t all.
There is an old story, possibly apocryphal, that involves Margaret Thatcher claiming that the setting up of a new government department to solve a particular problem is never a good idea, as the problem will never go away. The employees of the new department have an interest in ensuring that it won’t. A similar principle is at hand in anti-fascism. Once the inevitable splits and falling outs occur, the anti-fascist must find a new bunch of extremists to get angry with, so as to justify his continued crusade. The result is that the definition of fascism becomes increasingly flexible. New enemies must be found that fit the mold. Those who choose to stray too far from politically correct orthodoxy will do just fine.
See the treatment meted out to Nigel Farage, leader of the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP). UKIP, for the uninitiated, is a ragtag collection of disaffected conservatives, working class ex-Labour Party voters, and anyone who happens to resent the political establishment in general. They are not too fond of the European Union and mass immigration. In the popular parlance this makes them ‘a bit right-wing’ and therefore wrong. Unsurprisingly, Farage is a frequent target for harassment. Last year he was barricaded inside an Edinburgh pub. In another incident he was not even able to enjoy a pub dinner without protesters barging in, forcing him and his family to flee by car. He doesn’t have much luck with pubs.
As far as these protesters are concerned UKIP represents a dream scenario: an increasingly popular movement that stands in opposition to views that are socialist totem-poles. Genuine fascists are usually isolated and powerless, too strange and incompetent to reach the mainstream. National Action, for example, is an operation (operation might actually be a little too kind) of around 50 members who appear happy to do nothing more than put up offensive graffiti and photograph themselves giving Nazi-salutes—albeit with their faces covered. National Action stays in the shadows. UKIP are irresistibly open and easy to find. The choice is obvious and so the game goes on.
Anti-fascist groups do have a purpose. They fill an important need for their members. This is the desire to feel noble and special and pure in soul. After all, fascism is bad. And they are anti-fascists. So they must be good. Watching these protesters in action we are invited to witness a psychodrama of good versus evil. It is political peacocking at its very worst, a narcissistic display of self-righteousness. They may claim their objective is the protection of the most vulnerable, but this rings more hollow the closer you observe them. What they are really after, and I suspect, so are the people they oppose, is the validation that comes from being part of the group.
At your typical event, the anti-fascists and whichever motley crüe they happen to be squaring off against will be cordoned by lines of police officers. Each side will then shout abuse at the other until they get bored and go home. Isolated scuffles will break out among those who successfully dodge the attention of the police (this is a tantalizing aspect of protesting, the chance to commit violence yet feel virtuous) but on the whole the big showdown is an anti-climax. There might be a couple of press articles and the odd news report—and that’s it. The memory of the protest fades and the bulk of the public probably do not even realize there was one.
What the protesters are searching for is Cable Street. The Battle of Cable Street is the favorite legend of British left-wing lore. One day in October 1936, Oswald Mosley and his blackshirt followers are about to enter London’s East End. But then a band of brave socialists and anarchists strike back: Mosley and his gang are chased out of the East End to the cheers of the townspeople. The truth is a little more complicated. The anti-fascists attacked the Metropolitan Police, who were trying to escort the outnumbered Moseley and co. The police then tried to restore order until Moseley gave up on his plans to march. This fable, however, loose it is with the facts, is what draws the modern day anti-fascists onto the streets. They desperately want the glamour of their own Cable Street story, choosing to ignore that the political atmosphere of England in the 21st century is rather different from the England of the 1930s. No matter, the game will just keep running. The allure is too strong.
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