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“Antifa” is commonly considered to be part of the far-left, a group Trump said was partially responsible for violence in Charlottesville, Virginia.
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Before this summer, Phoenix’s antifascist movement existed primarily in the far-left corners of social media and the rowdier pockets of civil-rights protests.

Its adherents — mostly young, mostly masked and often carrying bats — seemed to appear at any politically charged demonstration, but often drawing little notice.

An Aug. 22 Trump rally in downtown Phoenix changed that.

The word “antifa” has now made its way to mainstream political discourse, both locally and nationally. In the Phoenix area, it’s membership is fluid and secretive but has drawn attention far beyond its ranks.

It is a disjointed collective of far-left-leaning activists who see themselves as the line of defense against neo-Nazis, white supremacists and the so-called alt right.

Where antifa veers from its counterparts is in its tactics. While other left-wing groups court media attention, antifa operates behind pseudonyms and masks. They believe violence is justified by harassment or hate speech. And perhaps most importantly, they believe activism is most effective outside the parameters of government.

Phoenix police have warned against them. Academics question their tactics. But those involved are convinced they must work outside the normal advocacy process to be heard.

The Republic interviewed two people who said they were members of the movement and confirmed their identities, but none would provide their names for publication.

Here’s what we know about the antifa movement, its goals and its impact, based on interviews with members of law enforcement, other activists and researchers who study antifa.

Multiple ideologies and approaches

Modern-day antifa traces its roots to the militant anti-fascist movements that spread in Europe in the 1920s and 1930s.

One of the largest antifa or antifa-adjacent groups in Arizona is the John Brown Gun Club, which is an offshoot of Redneck Revolt, a national network of left-wing militants. John Brown Gun Club adherents are anti-racist, anti-capitalist, anti-fascist, and heavily armed. Its membership looks to recruit the white working class, offering a leftist alternative to far-right movements such as the neo-Nazis, the Ku Klux Klan or Minutemen.

Others in the movement lean toward the Antifascist Action Phoenix Facebook page, which organizes actions and other community events. While its philosophies overlap with the John Brown Gun Club, Antifascist Action Phoenix adherents aren’t known to carry guns and don’t narrow their scope to white working class. 

Their protest targets are Trump supporters, white nationalists and anyone who discriminates based on race, ethnicity, gender or religion. They argue that hate speech inherently leads to violence, and that the First Amendment has its limits. Much of their activism is blocking any platform from the far right. 

Phoenix’s antifascists often enlist themselves as backup for other left-wing causes. They were at the Arizona State Capitol in 2015, primed to defend immigrants as they prepared legalization paperwork. They were in Fountain Hills in 2016, blocking the roads into a Donald Trump rally and screaming obscenities at his supporters. And they were at Phoenix’s Immigration and Customs Enforcement headquarters in February, trying to stop a van carrying a woman toward deportation. 

The Trump rally: What happened?

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Before the Trump rally, almost no one in Phoenix outside the movement called them “antifa.”

But the Aug. 22 Trump rally in downtown Phoenix gave the collective a local stage. 

“You know they show up in the helmets and the black masks, and they’ve got clubs and they’ve got everything,” Trump said to his audience as he mocked his protesters. “Antifa!”

Less than an hour later, a group of people in black bandannas with anti-fascist flags approached the barrier separating Trump’s protesters and supporters.

A few from the group tossed gas canisters at Phoenix police.

Within minutes, chaos erupted. Police shot various forms of pepper spray at the crowd and later blamed “antifa” for instigating.

MORE: Trump protests in Phoenix: What caused the night to unravel?

“What happens, unfortunately, is as these people disperse, they don’t leave the area,”  Phoenix Police Sgt. Jonathan Howard told reporters recently as he showed footage of the event. “They actually intermingle and they conceal themselves within the crowd.”

Police say a few continued to toss objects at the officers, and soon officers retaliated against the protesters at large. The night ended in chaos, with peaceful and non-peaceful demonstrators alike coughing through tear gas and dodging pepper balls.  

Police arrested a handful of protesters at the event, though none who identified as antifa. Still, police are taking the collective’s message seriously, monitoring their presence online and in demonstrations.

MORE: Phoenix to seek independent review of police response at Trump rally

And their message of rejection of establishment partnerships is beginning to resonate among well-known local activists, many of whom feel failed by the traditional system. 

“It gets to the point where, they see that peaceful protest is not helping out so people react emotionally,” said Salvador Reza, a civil-rights activist and longtime centerpiece at protests against former Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio.

“It’s provoked by desperation that peacefulness hasn’t worked.”

Police: ‘They won’t work with us’

To local police, the antifa movement is the feral version of its counterparts.

Groups such as Black Lives Matter are willing to talk with officers and compromise, Howard said. BLM organizers, for example, will work with police officials to plan an acceptable march route. 

“With antifa, they don’t have any true organization that can help us establish some ground rules … ‘here’s what your rights are, here’s what we’re going to agree on, here are the things we’ll work with you on, here are some lines,’ ” Howard said. “They won’t work with us to come and find some common ground.”

MORE: President Trump’s August rally cost Phoenix taxpayers more than $450,000

Many members of Phoenix’s antifa are veterans of other, related movements of yesteryear. They may have marched in the Occupy movement or Anonymous protests. Many identify as anarchists.

Howard said the latest iteration is more concerning.

“They’re significant enough that we need to be aware of them,” Howard said, adding that its adherents’ entire goal is “disruption.”

“I don’t know if it’s the tension in the overall, nationwide atmosphere, but they seem to be more disruptive than they have been in the past,” he said.

Perspective: Academics offer pros, cons

Mark Bray, a Dartmouth professor and author of a new book, “ANTIFA: The Anti-Fascist Handbook,” said the movement has reignited several times throughout history in response to what groups believe are immediate threats.

“It’s largely a defensive activity,” Bray said. “Some people have likened it to a firefighting action. It’s intended to respond to overt actions of fascist politics.”

Antifa members are united more by what they don’t want than what they want, Bray said.

“It’s a way for people who are social democrats to get on the same page against a common enemy and put aside differences,” he said.

Bray said the lifespan of antifia movements often aligns with their perceived threat. Their members may take up another environmental or criminal-justice cause after their foes fade from power.

“If there’s a dozen problems you think are going on, you’re going to put your time into the one you think is most immediately relevant,” he said. “When that isn’t relevant, people usually move on.”

‘To say that those two are the same is missing the politics’

The word “antifa” has been used as a slur by some on the political right, either by painting all leftist movements with the fringe brush or likening anti-fascists to alt-right or white supremacist movements.

In a highly publicized exchange, Trump shot back at criticism that he was too slow to condemn the white supremacists who had engaged in violence in Charlottesville, Virginia. He doubled down on his contention that both sides, including the “alt-left” were to blame.

MORE: Trump’s denouncement disappoints, angers white nationalists

Bray said this is a false equivalency because there’s a difference in someone being confrontational in the name of anti-Semitism and white supremacy and someone being confrontational in the name of racial equality.

“To say that those two are the same is missing the politics and the values behind it,” he said. “I don’t think you can ever talk about any political tactic or strategy without also taking into account why it’s being done.”

It’s often difficult to draw a firm line around antifa, but critics of the movement say it’s important to distinguish them from peaceful protesters.

Adherents believe that hate speech inherently leads to violence, and treats it as a first punch. Their confrontational approach, they say, is to take away the platform from white supremacists before they gain more power.

But Brian Levin, director of the Center for the Study of Hate & Extremism at California State University in San Bernardino, said this justification grants leeway to invoke violence whenever the mood strikes.

“Their definition of a ‘defensive’ action, and who a fascist (is), is so sweeping, it makes them nothing short than an armed mob looking to bust heads,” Levin said. “And they’ll assault journalists, law enforcement or researchers.”

Inside the Antifascist Action Phoenix group

Republic reporters spoke to two area residents who identify as antifa about this night and their overall presence in the Valley. The Republic has confirmed their identities, but the individuals asked that their real names not be used out of fear of retaliation.

The woman and man are two of the administrators behind the Facebook page “Antifascist Action Phoenix,” but stressed their collective has no formal organization or leaders. They said it’s difficult to give even a ballpark estimate of their ranks in Phoenix, but that at least a few hundred people were involved. 

The two described adherents as a “mishmash” of 9-to-5 workers, activists, environmentalists and the like. They’re not necessarily anarchists but are all anti-capitalists, they said.

They stressed that everyone who opposes fascists could count as antifa but conversely were quick to distance themselves from other self-proclaimed anti-fascists. Their branch, they said, had nothing to do with the group that clashed with police at the Trump rally.

There are varying degrees of participation, but as of early October their Facebook page had about 3,100 followers. Both said they saw spikes in interest after both Trump’s election and his inauguration. 

The two said the local antifa members support Black Lives Matter and immigration activist groups such as Puente but believe those groups are limited in what they can accomplish because still work within the bounds of traditional politics. They will start petitions, work to change laws and meet with police or other government officials.  

They said their anonymity frees them to work in the way they see fit, without worrying about public relations.

The two said the most common ways they help the community are as backup, supporting members of diverse communities who feel intimidated by racists.

They said one of their most high-profile targets had been Jon Ritzheimer, an Arizona militia member who staged anti-Muslim protests in the Valley before making national headlines in an armed occupation in Oregon last year. He pleaded guilty to a charge that he conspired to impede federal officers through intimidation, threats or force.

The two said the local branch does community service work as well. They hand out food at parks, set up a table at First Fridays and hold picnics with community members to address their neighborhood’s needs. 

The two said alt-right has been known to masquerade as antifa to soil its name. They pointed to a local, satirical Facebook page that mocked antifa but that had gained more followers than their own. 

Mainstream activists show understanding, empathy 

Amanda Blackhorse has spent more than a decade fighting racism in the some of most peaceful means possible.

She is a 35-year-old Navajo woman, mother, social worker and Native American advocate who lives in Phoenix. In a 2006 case, Blackhorse and others argued the NFL’s Washington Redskins’ name was offensive to American Indians and therefore not eligible for trademark registration.

In 2014, the U.S. patent office’s trademark board agreed and revoked six team trademarks. Later that year, the team filed a new suit against her and the group to overturn the decision.

A Supreme Court ruling this June effectively ended her 11-year legal battle against the team, in the Redskins’ favor.

“We have gone through the ‘correct’ channels or the peaceful channels of litigation and peaceful protesting,” she said. “I feel like we have been assaulted enough and it’s now time for more approaches that really defend who we are as people. We’re done laying down for the world to walk all over us. We have to do something else.”

Blackhorse visited the Standing Rock Reservation during protests against the Dakota Access Pipeline, when thousands of people from more than 250 Native American tribes convened in what may have been the largest, most diverse display of tribal resistance in centuries.

In response, law enforcement used tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannons against protesters in freezing temperatures.

‘The fight is against the system’

Although she does not identify as “antifa,” doesn’t wear black to protests or use violence in any way, she said she understand why activists are moving in that direction.

“I think the climate right now calls for something as radical as that,” she said. “I see it more as a defense for our people rather than an aggressive approach.”

Reza, the immigrant-rights activist and Arpaio foe, echoed Blackhorse’s disillusionment.

Reza watched as Trump pardoned his political ally last month, lifting what would have been Arpaio’s only legal consequences in a decade-old racial profiling case.

“For 10 years, you go and prove it in the court of law,” Reza said. “The guy is guilty as charged — he’s been racially profiling (Latinos), then violating a court order.

“And then what happens? You have … Donald Trump say, ‘I’m the president, I can pardon anybody.’ “

Reza, who for years has advocated peaceful demonstrations, said he wouldn’t condemn antifa, and understood the frustration.

“The fight is not against them, the fight is against the system. The system wants us to fight against each other,” he said. “We cannot lose that target. I don’t have time to be fighting with antifa.”

READ MORE:

Here are the 18 hate groups that operate in Arizona

Phoenix police share footage of response to Trump protest

Diaz: What is Antifa? Too dangerous to be admired — or ignored

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