An undercover antifascist descends through all nine circles of the alt-right inferno. Instead, they plotted their move off the internet and onto the streets, drank beer, and shot the shit. Through the Book Club I entered a network of far-right activists integrating the old guard of white nationalism with millennial internet trolls while drawing new recruits from the websites and podcasts of online youth culture. Much of their shadowy organizing happens openly in New York City bars, sometimes within earshot of the normies. This was early
Chris boasts longstanding ties to Jared Taylor and his American Renaissance journal and Shy horny girls. Sharing his astonishment, I replied that the antifascists may be right—the only way to stop Spencer is to take away his platform. It debuted as a Alt daily thumbs hand as part of Unicode 6. He hails from Central Jersey and clearly spends a lot of time on the internet. Start your day with new words, fun quizzes, and language stories.
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President Donald Trump has a 50 percent approval rating among likely voters, according to a poll released Friday by Rasmussen.
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- The Daily Stormer TDS is a neo-Nazi and white supremacist " news " and commentary website founded by Andrew Anglin ,  which associates with the alt-right.
President Donald Trump has a 50 percent approval rating among likely voters, according to a poll released Friday by Rasmussen. Thirty-one percent of those polled strongly approve of his performance, while 42 percent strongly disapprove.
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An undercover antifascist descends through all nine circles of the alt-right inferno. Instead, they plotted their move off the internet and onto the streets, drank beer, and shot the shit. Through the Book Club I entered a network of far-right activists integrating the old guard of white nationalism with millennial internet trolls while drawing new recruits from the websites and podcasts of online youth culture.
Much of their shadowy organizing happens openly in New York City bars, sometimes within earshot of the normies. This was early In the year and a half since, the alt-right has been beaten back by the combined pressure of antifascist streetfighters, PR-conscious tech companies, embarrassing internal scandals, the disaster in Charlottesville, and most importantly, a critical mass of ordinary white people rejecting openly-espoused white chauvinism—for now.
I wanted to do whatever I could to inhibit its transition from the internet to the streets, and decided I could help best by gathering information on the ground level. Looking back on this bizarre experience, I hope to provide a sketch of the people I met and the social world they inhabit. I first became aware of the alt-right after the massacre in Charleston, South Carolina. What surprised me most about the Stormer was its novelty.
Irony-soaked meme culture flowed neatly into serious fascist treatise by an angry everyman named Andrew Anglin. The Stormer offered a nihilistic rejection of daily life, to which Nazi politics almost seemed an afterthought.
And in a way, it makes sense. I had encountered neo-Nazis before. They lurk on the fringes of every punk scene, kept at bay only by violence. But the alt-right movement, though no less contemptible, was different from the old guard of self-serious skinheads and Nazi costume players.
Their podcasts sounded like my dorky high school lunch table, with many of the same jokes repeated verbatim. These were not historical reenactors. They were the kind of ordinary guys I grew up with in a downwardly mobile, opioid-soaked, white-flight wasteland. Now they are getting mad as hell, and who is helping them give their problems a name?
I spent two months on the Stormer message board, first posting a spate of generic comments, and only later inquiring about meetups.
I was contacted privately by Tom, a thirty-something weed dealer living with his father on Long Island, who vetted me with basic questions about my background and intentions.
A deindustrial interior of exposed brick, reclaimed wood, and sparse furnishings aestheticizes the urban poverty largely evacuated from the surrounding area along with the working-class Puerto Ricans who once called it home.
Archaic arcade games, invoking nostalgia for the days of Reagan, line the walls. A goofy stoner in his mids, Matt is a dead ringer for Woody Harrelson.
He had recently relocated from Alabama to the spot-gentrification surrounding the Jefferson Street L stop in Bushwick to work as a set designer. Matt showed me photos of trips to the Arizona desert, where his friends looked like the garden variety blend of hipster and hippie one encounters in North Brooklyn.
Matt fit right in. Matt never took much interest in politics before Trump, and his artistic sensibility put him at odds with his conservative father. Through right-wing trolling Matt discovered The Daily Stormer and began participating in its forum. Gradually the political stakes of the alt-right got serious. He helped establish the local Daily Stormer Book Club, one of dozens of meetups like it across the country. By the time I met him, he was a man about town in the alt-right social scene.
But that changed with the rise of Donald Trump. Matt reposts the memes his liberal friends share ridiculing Trump. A president comes and goes every four to eight years, he told me, but a real hero is for life.
He began blaming his problems on biological differences between men and women, and soon enough, biological differences between races. Eric soon realized he had always been anti-Semitic, but lacked the vocabulary to express it.
Even after becoming a full-blown neo-Nazi, Eric continued to work at a liberal tech office and lives in Greenpoint. Paul Schmieder from Middle Village, a bald and stocky Queens native in his early 30s, matched Matt with exotic vacation photos of his own.
Paul found shock-driven laughs, and, increasingly, a new vocabulary to express his fears about a world changing all around him. Paul once ran a trucking company. But he was too young, he told me, and took risks. With twenty trucks in mortgage, Paul thought the growth would last forever. But in his mortgages abruptly changed hands, the premiums went through the roof, and he was finished. Paul now lives modestly, managing a concrete company in Brooklyn.
He arrives fifteen minutes early, so nobody can give him any shit, and is happy just to smoke cigarettes in his office and take off for the day when his work is done. Paul also enjoys tweeting abuse at left-leaning politicians and media figures using his real name. Growing up in New York, Paul met plenty of Jews, including a childhood friend he still gets along with. Paul recalled a visit from his nephew, a college undergrad. Those are your people! Fearing for his nephew, Paul picked him up.
He has clearly given this issue a lot of thought. Led by the self-serious LaBeouf, an affluent pretender easily provoked to rage, HWNDU was the perfect target for alt-right trolling, and its livestream became a place of convergence. It was an uncomfortable scene for me, sitting within earshot of other patrons and the black bouncer. Eric gushed:. Whiskey Trader on 55th Street is a cool cave of finished wood and flatscreens indistinguishable from countless overpriced Midtown bars.
Though McInnes cites prominent non-white Proud Boys against accusations of racism, Proud Boys spout ultra-nationalist, anti-Muslim, anti-woman, and anti-trans rhetoric, sporting matching Fred Perry polos in the tradition of blue-collar hooligan culture. Long before street fighting erupted in Berkeley and Charlottesville, the Proud Boys embraced violence against leftists as a central tenet of their group. This time I brought my friend Max from Long Island.
Two uniformed cops guarded the door of Whiskey Trader when we arrived. Chris, in his lates, lanky and soft-spoken, works for Goldman Sachs. Sal is short and obese, always fidgeting, stammering when he talks, and supremely anxious to impress.
Max and I introduced ourselves as working-class Trump supporters. After five minutes of macho man talk about fistfights, truck driving, and laying heavy pipes, they were sold. I mentioned my connection to the Book Club, and in order not to disrupt my cover story, identified myself as a neo-Nazi to every Proud Boy I met. Gavin has a strict policy: no Nazi imagery or language is allowed in public, and especially when you talk to the press. Otherwise, you can believe and say whatever you want among other Proud Boys.
They never showed. As the hours wore on, many Boys, and even a few women, marched into Whiskey Trader. They were mostly white-collar shitlords testing the waters of trolling in real life. I met one, among dozens, who worked with his hands.
Matt from the Book Club showed up unexpectedly, and lots of people in attendance knew him. Despite their questionable racial composition, Matt later told me, the Proud Boys are an important bridge between normie conservatives and fascists.
Additionally, he added, partying with them is lots of fun. The bar crawl meandered through Midtown, a sea of red MAGA hats two-dozen strong chanting pro-Trump slogans along the sidewalk. There a uniformed cop approached Sal smiling and requested he stop tweeting our location, to avoid trouble from antifascists. Sal obliged. Later, a plainclothes cop approached a heavily intoxicated Sal, flashing his badge, and asked if the Proud Boys were having fun.
Sal slurred yes, and the cop replied:. At the Irish Pub, new Proud Boys were initiated by reciting:. Cheers resounded from the other patrons. I took the pledge myself, amid applause from all corners of the Irish Pub, formally joining the group.
I suppose now is a good time to tender my resignation. Their striking non-white composition does not stop them from terrorizing the opponents of fascism and white nationalism and otherwise spewing racist venom. The crawl degenerated into a slither and wound up at Trump Tower, where the Boys breezed past Secret Service with a friendly wave.
At the Trump Bar I learned the price a man impersonating the champion of the forgotten American charges people impersonating that American for a beer.
I was then offered cocaine in the Trump Tower bathroom by one of the Boys. I befriended John, a Bushwick hipster and accountant in his late 20s.
John and his girlfriend had been ordinary conservatives until recently. Sal then walked away, without a word exchanged. Playwright Tavern is a three-story Irish pub on 49th Street. A visitor ensconced in its polished wood bowels, surrounded by nostalgic New York memorabilia, might be surprised to learn it has only existed since Its third floor offers a private dining room for functions, and on March 6, , was the setting for the New York Forum.
Matt is a friend of its founder Greg Johnson, and got me on the list. The pseudonymous Johnson is an openly gay phenomenology scholar who stomachs the locker room homophobia of the alt-right, and is in turn tolerated, even appearing on Shoah.
I thanked her for putting the event together. Seated beside me was Chris, a sexagenarian New York native with a bright-red face and snow white hair. Chris boasts longstanding ties to Jared Taylor and his American Renaissance journal and conference.