I went to a protest with antifas once. The girl I was dating at the time was mildly heavy into that scene. (She‘s extremely tiny, so idk how she would last more than a few seconds in a tussle with Natzees; I never asked). It was a protest on a street corner in East [CITY] near a supermarket. Now, [CITY] is one of the most segregated cities, economically and racially, in the country. Once you are well east of the interstate, you are solidly in the part where nonwypipo live. So bougie Antifas, mostly students at [University in City], rolling up was, for all their “we protect the community” jazz, pretty hilarious considering it was clearly NOT their community at all.
The protest was generally anti-Trump themed and led by some local Mexicams who were decidedly less radical than the antifas. Obviously the Antifas wanted to go full sperg like they do but apparently a previous protest where they got way out of hand with the direct action had sullied their reputation with the locals. The woman in charge of the whole thing flatly told us that anti-police rhetoric would not be allowed. Telling Antifas they can’t say ACAB is like telling a fish to stay away from water, but of course, being a Woman Of Color actually from the poorer, POCer community of extremely segregated [CITY], the progressive stack (and, you know, basic manners) made us stuff it.
So we yelled anti-Trump things at passing cars and got some of them to honk at signs with similarly themed messages. The whole thing was about as radical as a DNC convention. It wasn’t exactly a failure, I suppose, but it also obviously didn’t accomplish anything but making us feel marginally more powerful. (Not that breaking bank windows doesn’t produce the same effect.)
I distinctly remember sitting on the grass docilely with my GF and a couple others eating candy the Mexicams had given us, comparing the moment to our fiery rhetoric on the drive over, and thinking “Damn, we’re just kids, aren't we?” And I was right.
