Historian Mark Bray, assistant teaching professor at Rutgers University, and the author of the partisan 2017 Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook, which The New Yorker describes as “a how-to for would-be activists,” has relocated from New Jersey to Spain after receiving multiple death threats, some of which were sent to his home.

Bray blames his decision on a campaign by the Rutgers chapter of Turning Point USA, which circulated a petition calling him “Dr. Antifa” and demanding his dismissal. Speaking with Newsweek, Bray described the harassment as part of a larger national pattern that he claims has intensified under the Trump administration—a trend, he believes, that reflects the country’s shift toward a more authoritarian political climate. And readers will see, Bray flips the authoritarian problematic on its head.
I disagree with Turning Point USA’s petition (I was myself the target of a petition by leftwing students who sought my dismissal for criticisms of gender identity doctrine). And, of course, I condemn death threats. I have written recently about the rise of domestic violence on the left, so I would hope my position on this is clear. But the irony of Bray’s concerns is rather delicious given that he himself is proudly authoritarian and promotes Antifa, a designated domestic terrorist organization, as a means of establishing a political climate in which those with whom Bray and his ilk disagree are harassed, intimidated, and even subject to violence.
In this exposé, I reveal the contradictions in Bray’s thought. I also examine the work of Canadian sociologist Stanislav Vysotsky, who, like Bray, albeit less openly sympathetic to antifascism as expressed by the politics and actions of Antifa, fails to condemn collective violence or the ideology that animates Antifa.
Bray is a duplicitous individual. He describes his book as “partisan history,” openly describing it as written “from the perspective of the anti-fascist movement.” Yet, Bray recently told the media something very different about the character of his scholarship. In a statement he made to the New York Times last Wednesday, he said, “My role in this is as a professor. I’ve never been part of an Antifa group, and I’m not currently.” He then added: “There’s an effort underway to paint me as someone who is doing the things that I’ve researched, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
What Bray is telling the NY Times could not be further from the truth. In fact, he announces in the introduction to The Anti-Fascist Handbook that “at the very least 50 percent of author proceeds will go to the International Anti-Fascist Defense Fund, which is administered by more than three hundred antifa from eighteen countries.” He is not only an intellectual partisan of Antifa, but helps fund them. Perhaps this is why he fled the country.
Bray’s Antifa rationalizes the authoritarianism of so-called “antifascism” by arguing, in typical fashion, that fascism must be confronted and dismantled before it gains political strength. For Bray, the liberal principle of open discourse and tolerance of dissent, which I advocate for on this platform and in the classroom, is naïve and even dangerous. This is because it allows fascist ideas to grow under the protection of free speech. His solution is militant antifascism—a willingness to disrupt, silence, and even physically “resist” those he and his ilk smear as “fascists.” This is not repression, he contends, but “preemptive self-defense.”
The contradiction in Bray’s argument should be obvious to a clear and objective mind: he “opposes” authoritarianism by adopting its fundamental premise: that a select moral vanguard should determine which ideas may or may not be expressed, and, furthermore, coercion to silence those whose ideas are deemed beyond the line of the freely expressible is warranted. While claiming to defend freedom, his framework licenses censorship and violence whenever they serve what he regards as the “greater good.” Such logic more than blurs the line between opposing tyranny and imitating it—it erases it. It becomes the thing itself.
Beneath the contradiction lies a deeper presumption common to social justice politics—one of epistemic certainty. Bray’s argument assumes that only he and those who share his ideology can correctly identify “fascism” and distinguish it from other forms of political expression. Bray thus is a self-appointed commissar in an authoritarian movement. It is based on this claim to absolute truth that Antifa finds its moral authority to harass, intimidate, and harm those they identify as “fascist”—actions that move beyond the rule of law. The ethic expressed here presumes that the rule of law in the context of a state is an illegitimate arrangement. This is anarchism.
What is fascism in Bray’s mind? Absurdly elastic, Bray’s definition of fascism encompasses a range of nationalist, right-wing, and traditionalist views. (He leans on Robert Paxton’s 2004 The Anatomy of Fascism for his definition, which famously proceeds without the economic, legal, or political analysis of fascism in the same systematic way that, for example, Franz Neumann does in his 1942 Behemoth: The Structure and Practice of National Socialism.) Bray ostensibly differentiates between conservative or right-wing views and fascist movements, while at the same time acknowledging a blurry boundary in practice. In effect, he treats the views of tens of millions of ordinary Americans as nascent fascism, while, again, granting his movement the authority to decide what beliefs and expressions are legitimate—and to use violence against those Antifa deems illegitimate in theirs.
Bray’s antifascism is not a critique of a social phenomenon but grounded in an ideological vision of society—one that is rhetorically democratic and egalitarian, but, in reality, militantly opposed to both modern and traditional principles and values. From his standpoint, any defense of inherited norms, national identity, selected religious traditions, or traditional culture can be potentially described as a precursor to fascism. Thus, Bray’s anti-fascism doesn’t protect society from tyranny; it seeks to impose a conception of the “just society,” against which all dissent to a particular politics is condemned as dangerous and to be met with various forms of coercion—harassment, intimidation, and violence.
Liberal democracy and republicanism, by contrast, rest on epistemic humility: the recognition that no faction or individual can be trusted to decide who may speak or peaceably assemble or which thoughts can be expressed. Free expression is defended not because every idea is good, but because no authority can be safely empowered to decide which ideas are too dangerous to hear. By rejecting that principle, Bray’s militant antifascism undermines the very pluralism that distinguishes a free society from a repressive one. In this way, Bray’s work exhibits the same absolutism that has marked authoritarian movements throughout history.
This is the mark of the authoritarian threat to the West I have described on this platform for years. While Bray rightly warns of the dangers of genuine fascism, his solution replicates its structure of thought and action; thus, his warning hails from an illegitimate place. This is why I argue on Freedom and Reason that antifascism, as conceived by Antifa, is an element of the New Fascism, which is not an idea, but actions pursued on the streets of the West and in the halls of its governments. The tendency here is totalitarian monopoly capitalism. Antifa is its street-level expression. For true believers, anarchism is an ideology blind to its own consequences. For those who know better, the contradiction is a smokescreen.

Social media is awash in memes identifying those defending the West from fascism as “Antifa.” However, any real antifascist would condemn Antifa. Indeed, that’s how you know who a genuine antifascist is: whether they condemn or defend Antifa. Eisenhower and the Greatest Generation are not to be compared to the cluster B types and nihilistic misfits who make up Antifa. The comparison is an insult to their sacrifices.
President Donald Trump’s recent designation of Antifa as a domestic terrorist organization is the authentic expression of antifascist politics of today. Trump is nipping fascism in the bud by cracking down on Antifa and interrogating its organizational structure and funding sources. Antifa appeals to the First Amendment to defend their actions. But only peaceful protests are protected by the First Amendment—the finest articulation in the modern period of the principles Antifa tramples every time its members engage in coercion against citizens and government officials. How could anarchists believe in the First Amendment, anyway? They don’t believe in the government that recognizes and protects those rights!

Bray is not the only academic who is—if in this case tacitly—sympathetic to Antifa’s brand of militant antifascist action. In a 2020 book and a 2015 article published in an academic journal, sociologist Stanislav Vysotsky, an associate professor of criminology at the University of the Fraser Valley, argues that militant antifascism functions as a form of community self-defense rather than as a form of chaos or criminality. His central contention is that militant anti-fascists engage in what he calls “prefigurative politics,” meaning they enact the kind of society they wish to see—one without oppressive hierarchies or state violence—through collective and direct action.
In “The Anarchy Police: Militant Anti-Fascism as Alternative Policing Practice,” published in Critical Criminology in 2015 (you can find the full text here), which precedes Bray’s handbook, Vysotsky examines how antifascists fill the vacuum left by state inaction or complicity in confronting far-right organizing. In this space, he contends, militant antifascists act as a grassroots, non-state policing force. Unlike formal police institutions that protect existing power structures, antifascist groups monitor, expose, and disrupt fascist and white supremacist organizing to safeguard their communities.
This view parallels the practice Southerners during Redemption described as “self-help,” that is, collective extralegal action associated with the lynching of those viewed as threatening what whites perceived as an inherent moral order. Vysotsky’s conclusion states as much, only the conception of the moral order is switched: “This article posits that there may be confrontational, even violent, forms of action that can be taken to ensure safety and order that are consistent with anarchist principles.”
Such action, Vysotsky argues, challenges the monopoly on violence claimed by the state—a monopoly he fails to see or denies as necessary for the preservation of a democratic republic. Recall Max Weber’s definition of the state as an entity that claims a monopoly on the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory. While many actors, such as individuals, groups, or organizations, might use force, only the state is recognized as having the right to do so. For Weber, this monopoly is what fundamentally distinguishes the state from other forms of social organization.
In the United States, the right of individuals to use force in self-defense under certain conditions is recognized. However, as the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution make clear, the federal government is the vehicle through which collective self-defense is manifest. Without this arrangement, any action dressing itself in the ethic of collective self-defense represents an expression of mob rule. This is precisely why the United States was established as a constitutional republic (see Our Constitution and the Federal Authority to Quell Rebellion).
Legal systems, the military, and the police all operate under this authority (i.e., legitimate power), enforcing laws and ensuring order (see Concerning the Powers of the US Constitution—And Those Defying Them; also Posse Comitatus and the Ghosts of Redemption). Without this recognized monopoly, the state’s authority would fragment, leading to chaos with competing sources of power. Thus, Weber’s definition links political legitimacy directly to the state’s exclusive right to authorize and wield force. It is this political legitimacy that current-day antifascism seeks to undermine so that, via disorder, the social order can be reordered not through democratic processes but by the force of the mob. This is why the police and other law enforcement are among the targets of Antifa action, which we are seeing playing out on the streets of America as I write this essay.
In American Antifa: The Tactics, Culture, and Practice of Militant Antifascism, published in 2020 (here Vysotsky cites Bray’s work), Vysotsky situates Antifa within a broader political culture of anarchism, emphasizing that militant tactics—such as confrontation, disruption, and doxxing—are rooted in a defensive posture against fascists and racist threats. Vysotsky argues that these groups operate through decentralized networks, emphasizing collective action. He insists that militant antifascism is reactive rather than inherently violent—it emerges in response to what he supposes are real threats from fascist movements and the failure of state institutions to protect marginalized communities.
Vysotsky’s framing is clever, but its intent is obvious. If the government moves to suppress Antifa violence, then Antifa and its allies accuse the government of the very behavior it claims to be defending its communities from. This functions as a form of preemptive justification, where accusations of oppression are used to reframe violence as morally necessary, and any attempt to curb it as further proof of the original threat. Putting the matter as he does, Vysotsky flips the aggressor–victim dynamic, a rhetorical move that reframes defensive action as aggression, thereby justifying the very actions that provoked it—in this case, the duty of the state to secure domestic order and protect civilians and property. At its core, then, the rhetoric constitutes a form of moral reversal, in which those defending themselves from terrorism are portrayed as the true aggressors (we see this in the rhetoric of Hamas and other Islamic terrorist groups). When the government moves to suppress Antifa violence, Antifa and its allies—including Democrats and the mainstream media—claim that the state is enacting the very oppression Antifa is resisting.
Thus, in his writings, albeit in sideways fashion, Vysotsky valorizes militant anti-fascism as a legitimate, community-based response to the dangers of fascism, which is evidenced by the appearance or threat of legitimate collective defense, portrayed by anarchists as “state violence,” and, moreover, as an experiment in establishing non-state forms of justice and safety—that is, policing actions that usurp state authority. His analysis reframes Antifa not as the extremists they are, but as a form of ethical resistance that reflects broader anarchist commitments, foremost among them the rejection of allegedly oppressive power structures, i.e., the necessary functions of democratic government.
Even while speaking in organizational terms, Vysotsky obscures the fact of organization by arguing that what makes something “antifascist” isn’t belonging to an organization but participating in a shared political (sub)culture and repertoire of the tactics we see on the streets. Antifa, in his view, is not an organization but a “network of affinity groups.” Vysotsky could argue that apparent support for Antifa in his writings is defensible because, as an ethnographer, he is attempting a second-order account of the emic perspective of the (sub)culture under study. But it is often the case that advocacy wears the fig leaf of neutrality to disguise affinity.
It is noteworthy that Vysotsky claims that the depiction of Antifa as agents of chaos and criminality is a mainstream media construction. Yet we find mainstream reviews of Bray’s book not only praising his work but endorsing its purpose: After fawning over the book, the Los Angeles Review of Books states, “The book is at its best when criticizing the liberal view that official democratic institutions alone are sufficient to prevent a fascist seizure of power.” The Baltimore Beat writes that the “‘Antifa Handbook’ is hard history, a call to action, and an even-handed and reasonable explanation as to why we need to be way less damned reasonable.” The Progressive writes, “In the Trump era, Bray’s Handbook is essential reading.” This is a selection of reviews in the progressive-dominated media amplifying Bray’s advocacy for violent street-level violence against those Antifa designates as “fascists.” As noted, Vysotsky read Bray’s book and, presumably, was aware of the positive reviews of it as he was writing a book that can be reasonably seen as a tacit defense of Antifa.
Vysotsky is more openly sympathetic to Antifa in a 2017 article published by In These Times, “Towards a Broad Left Front Against Fascism,” in which he argues for unifying against the “far-right” rather than smearing those taking antifascist action. He emphasizes the importance of collective resistance to a dangerous force, strongly suggesting a stance supportive of antifascist efforts. Indeed, he criticizes liberals, e.g., Peter Beinart, who make many of the “same critiques of antifascist tactics that have become commonplace among the Right.”
These critiques, Vysotsky argues, effectively represent “apologism for white supremacy.” Thus, he has presumed a leftwing mythology about the West, that the belief and defense of a national community is a racist expression. He admits that Beinart’s critique of Antifa “rests on an assertion that the movement challenges the state’s monopoly on power, a claim that antifa are unlikely to argue with.” He then, fallaciously, writes, “At a time when the legitimacy of the state’s use of violence is under critique from the Left, it rings hollow to criticize activists for challenging this monopoly on force.” Criticism of the legitimacy of various state actions is not the same as challenging the state’s monopoly on the use of force. The former is necessary in a democracy. The latter, in action, constitutes insurrection. At any rate, Vysotsky is endorsing the Antifa position.
Readers might find Bray and Vysotsky to be marginal figures in the political landscape. But as we have seen, Democrats and talking heads in the mainstream media defend Antifa, too, mostly by either insisting that Antifa is not an organization or that it doesn’t exist at all! At least these two academics recognize the reality of Antifa, even if they deny that it is a terrorist organization.
For the record, Antifaschistische Aktion (Antifa) was founded in 1932 in Germany. It was initiated by and under the command of the Communist Party of Germany (KPD). The KPD had an official paramilitary arm, the Roter Frontkämpferbund (RFB), paralleling to the Nazi Sturmabteilung (SA). The RFB was banned in 1929 by the Weimar government because it was a violent, revolutionary, paramilitary organization that threatened public order and the democratic system. Of course it did not go away. The KPD continued to organize violent street action through its front group Antifa. While there is no analogy to the SA in today’s America, Antifa is alive and well and supported by today’s Democratic Party. And while there may be a smattering of communists in Antifa, it is, for the most part, composed of nihilists of the anarchist persuasion—hell bent on disrupting liberal freedoms and democratic institutions and processes.
I want to close with what I said in last Thursday’s essay: Would you know fascism if you saw it? In these passages, I describe Mussolini’s Blackshirts and Hitler’s Brownshirts. The parallels between these historical examples of street-level fascism and Antifa are unmistakable:
Before and during their rise to power, Mussolini’s Blackshirts and Hitler’s Brownshirts disrupted public meetings and universities to silence dissent. They would enter classrooms, lecture halls, and political assemblies to shout down speakers, intimidate professors, and break up events organized by liberals and other perceived enemies of their movements. These actions were part of a broader strategy to suppress free speech, enforce ideological conformity, and create a culture of fear that paved the way for fascist control of intellectual and public life.
The Blackshirts waged open street warfare against the public, burning buildings, beating political opponents, and even killing activists and political figures. Their violence was tolerated—even quietly supported—by sympathetic businessmen and officials. Likewise, the Brownshirts engaged in street battles with civilians and law enforcement, using intimidation and violence to destabilize the public order. They assaulted citizens and political opponents. Their violence included murders of activists and political officials. Again, their violence was tolerated, even tacitly supported by businesses and government officials.
Does this sound familiar? Antifa is “just an idea,” you say? Nothing to see here? The federal government should do nothing about this? Maybe expose the sympathetic elites who tolerate and tacitly support them? Maybe expose those who tell you that Antifa is “just an idea”? Do you have a timepiece handy? Can you tell what time it is? Would you know fascism if you saw it?














