Anti-Fascism and the Three Way Fight in Québec

A critical three-way-fight analysis of antifascist organizing in Montréal over the past seven years. Originally posted to Three Way Fight. 

In his “Afterword” to Three Way Fight: Revolutionary Politics and Antifascism, Michael Staudenmaier writes: “The three way fight is not an ideology or a fixed political line. It is a framework that can be used to interpret a world in flux, in service to a revolutionary struggle for a truly free society.” (p. 335: All page number references are to the book Three Way Fight.) While the book focuses on anti-fascism, Staudenmaier’s comment makes clear that the “framework” being discussed has a more generalized application. I would argue that the three way fight concept is a useful tool for a dialectical analysis of any social conflict, insofar as it prioritizes the idea that the complex forces at play, including the state and its various institutions, are not static but are in a constantly shifting balance. Without an accurate understanding of that balance, or at least a strong approximation thereof, we will be unable to formulate effective revolutionary politics.

Reflecting on the diverse ideas advanced in this book led me to consider anti-fascist organizing in Montréal over the last seven years—effectively the response to the far-right upsurge that Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential victory unleashed throughout the European world, and to some degree the world at large. Given my intimate involvement in the local anti-fascist movement, any criticisms i raise here are de facto self-criticisms. I am not trying to advance either a model for action or a programmatic framework; i am simply suggesting that there are things we need to do to build upon what is already an impressive and, in many ways, very successful movement.

Whether or not Donald Trump is a fascist is open to debate. I tend to agree with Matthew N. Lyons’s assessment that Trump and his overall project lack some key elements necessary if we are to use the f-word: “an overriding vision to systematically transform society according to a certain ideology” and “an independent organizational base in order to dismantle or systematically transform the political system.” (pp. 222–23) Trump has these qualities in a rudimentary sense, but without the necessary coherence and cohesion to effectively act upon them. That said, developments since the events of January 6, 2020, leave open the question of where Trump’s continuing evolution as a charismatic far-right leader might take him. Two recent issues have certainly added fuel to fire. The first is Trump’s seeming embrace of and then rejection of Project 2025, which proposed a sweeping right-wing restructuring of government in a profoundly authoritarian and centralized direction. The second was Trump’s recent comment that “in four years, you won’t have to vote again.” Some people, particularly on the left, heard this as a threat to cancel elections and hold power indefinitely, while others have argued that he meant this was the last opportunity for him to be president, as he wouldn’t be on the ballot in four years, so there would be no point voting. Even if Trump’s intent were the former, he would clearly require the support of most of the state apparatus, including the military, to achieve that, and that seems to me a very unlikely scenario.

The important issue is that, as Rowland Keshena Robinson argues, “a number of explicitly white nationalist organizations, theorists, and influencers have been highly motivated and emboldened by Trump.” (p. 56) The African Peoples Caucus of the Twin Cities Industrial Workers of the World, for its part, does not consider Trump a fascist but, rather, “a right-wing populist” who, beyond the white nationalist organizations that Robinson identifies, has “mobilized a broad coalition of the right.” (p. 301)

The far right in Québec

All of that is of more than passing interest if you live anywhere in Canada. It is axiomatic that where goes the US goes Canada—for reasons that are geographic, demographic (Canada’s population is one-tenth that of the US), and economic (63.3 percent of Canada’s international trade is with the US). Under those conditions the jolt of the Trump victory was felt almost immediately in Canada, taking the form of an explosion of new far-right groups and the reinvigoration of some existing groups that had been largely dormant. In Québec, we witnessed public activity running the gamut of the far right, but most important initially was the rise of Islamophobic, anti-migrant, and, to a lesser degree, ultranationalist groups, with these groups substantially blurring the lines between all three ideological components.

In general, these groups failed to gain traction and faded relatively quickly, but a handful established themselves as recognizable entities in the public eye. Of particular significance in Québec in the early period were La Meute (meaning: wolf pack), whose first foot forward was Islamophobia, but which was also virulently anti-migrant, and Storm Alliance, which was anti-migrant, but with no shortage of Islamophobia—both also had ultranationalist tendencies. Not surprisingly, the two groups frequently cooperated and had overlapping membership.

La Meute called its first major demonstration on March 4, 2017, to protest federal motion M-103, which condemned Islamophobia in the wake of the January 17 Québec City mosque massacre, with no sanctions attached. Montréal has a long and proud history of preventing far-right activity in our city, but we weren’t ready for the substantial turnout or the quasi-military nature of the La Meute demonstration. For the first time in more than two decades, the far right successfully marched in our city. Six weeks later, on April 23, three hundred people representing a diverse Islamophobic movement marched in Montréal, outnumbering the ineffective counter-protesters by a factor of four.

The response to these two defeats and the clear growing threat posed by the burgeoning far right was a series of public assemblies in the spring and summer of 2017. These assemblies brought together a number of constituencies, ranging from NGO-style community groups, particularly those active in migrant communities, to far-left organizations and individuals, including established anti-fascist entities like RASH. This attempt at building a popular front ultimately failed. At each assembly, committees would be formed, tasks would be divided up, people would volunteer, but little would come of it, with one exception, the committee tasked with ensuring follow-up, which over the course of the following year in weekly meetings would become Montréal Antifasciste (MAF), the group that would anchor the anti-fascist movement in Montréal.

In 2017–2018, MAF and its allies faced off with La Meute and Storm Alliance numerous times, most frequently at the irregular refugee border crossing on Roxham Road at the Québec-New York border, and with one or two exceptions we shut down their demonstration or contained and neutralized it. A number of factors contributed to the decline of both organizations by the end of 2018, of which successful counter-demonstrations was only one. The groups were also undermined by ego-driven internal conflicts, allegations of financial malfeasance, and sex scandals, all of which played out in public. Most importantly, however, the victory of the Coalition Avenir Québec (CAQ), a right-wing populist party, in the October 2018 provincial election rendered them irrelevant. The CAQ would establish a law prohibiting religious symbols in the public sector that was widely understood as a hijab law, would establish new and very low immigration limits, and would amp up language laws in a way that constituted an attack on the anglophone minority, migrants, and Indigenous populations. In short, Québec’s two largest far-right groups, both of which were ultimately system-loyal, found themselves getting “yes” for an answer.

While the CAQ may have taken the wind out of the sails of the Islamophobic and anti-migrant movement in Québec, it substantially reinvigorated the ultranationalist movement, which is a more mixed bag of tricks, encompassing both system-loyal and system-oppositional tendencies. The two key system-loyal groups are Horizon Québec Actuel, primarily active through its online Nomos-TV channel, and Nouvelle Alliance, a recent addition with a strategy focused on drawing in both right-wing and left-wing nationalists, while attempting to penetrate the Parti Québécois (PQ), currently the official opposition in Québec. Both of these organizations also maintain ties with the French far-right parties, the Rassemblement National (formerly Front National) and Reconquête. (A member of Nouvelle Alliance ran as an alternate for the Rassemblement National in the recent French elections.) The key difference between the two would be found in the proto-fascist rhetoric that Horizon Québec Actuel favours. On the neo-fascist system-oppositional end of the spectrum, one finds Atalante, a Québec City–based, largely lumpen formation with historic ties to the city’s drug trade and a propensity for violence. A combination of aging, legal cases, and heavy doxxing has undercut Atalante’s viability, and all evidence suggests that it no longer exists.

Where the previous Islamophobic and anti-migrant wave favoured public demonstrations, the ultranationalists tend to prefer online activity, banner drops, postering and stickering campaigns, and small private commemorative events meant to build internal cohesion. This is in no small part because members of the Islamophobic and anti-migrant groups tended to be boomers, while the ultranationalist groups draw a younger more tech-savvy membership. The latter also had the advantage of seeing the anti-fascist movement’s capacity to shut down far-right public events and adjusted accordingly.

The Québec anti-fascist movement was obliged to adjust to its opponent’s demographic and ideological shift, and the result was a decline in street standoffs and conflicts and an increase in doxxing, very successfully, as a perusal of MAF’s website will indicate.

The one exception to this has been countering a recent wave of anti–drag queen story hour and anti-trans demonstrations largely led by right-wing Muslims working in tandem with recycled Covid conspiracy theorists under the rubric “protect our children.” With one exception, these demonstrations have been effectively shut down or contained by an LGBTQ+-led coalition that includes local anti-fascists, other far-left groups and individuals, and members of the anarcho-communist organization Première Ligne (Front Line).

The reason for this somewhat lengthy if thumbnail history is to lay the groundwork for an examination of local anti-fascism in light of the three way fight model, to see what it has to contribute in our context.

Fascist groups in Québec?

Our milieu lacks a shared definition of fascism, with a tendency to use the f-word too liberally, to have it be, in the words of rowan, “a nasty word we call folks we don’t like.” (p. 48)

Using the 1982 Sojourner Truth Organization definition of fascism as a “totalitarian dictatorship coming to power through a mass movement of sectors of the dispossessed that breaks up the traditional institutions of bourgeois control and brings about important structural changes both within the ruling class and in the mode of exploitation while leaving intact the relations characteristic of a class society in the modern epoch,” (p. 26) the only groups active in Québec in recent years that could reasonably be said to aspire to this would be the aforementioned Atlalante and the now largely defunct Fédération des Québécois de souche, a boomer predecessor of Atalante. Neither of them pose a serious problem for the state at this juncture or have the potential to do so in the foreseeable future.

If, on the other hand, one were to adopt Rowland Keshena Robinson’s definition of fascism as “some form of particularly virulent authoritarian nationalism” manifesting “aggressive racism, reactionary and conservative traditionalism, antiliberalism, and anticommunism, as well as expansionist and revanchist approaches to foreign policy as part of a general movement toward the seizure of absolute political power, the elimination of opposition, and the creation of a regulated economic structure that will transform social relations within a modern, self-determined culture,” (p. 57) there is no group on the playing field that exhibits the necessary ideological cohesion or popular reach.

One could legitimately argue that the recently formed Frontenac Active Club is an expression of fascism, but it is programmatically vapid and shows no interest in anything much besides street fighting, and thus far only in theory. As to the random bonehead friendship circles that might like a stiff-armed salute while drinking beer and wearing black sun t-shirts, they are equally void of direction.

This is not to say that these fascists don’t need to be shut down with maximum prejudice any time they crawl out from under their rock. They continue to pose a threat to individuals who cross their path, particularly people of colour, LGBTQ+ people, and leftists, as well as being a breeding ground for potential targeted attacks on already oppressed communities. However, it remains the case that the majority of our opponents are not fascists.

That said, the rise of a powerful anti-elite conspiracy theory movement when the Covid protocols were in place, reaching its zenith with the so-called “Freedom Convoy” in Ottawa in the winter of 2022, shouldn’t be ignored. This movement demanded the resignation of the federal government, in what was an amorphous and relatively opaque expression of system-oppositional politics. Nonetheless, the germinal existence of system-oppositional politics suggests that with the correct charismatic leadership and the right issue or set of issues a fascist, or at least extremely authoritarian, movement posing a concrete threat could arise, and that’s something we shouldn’t lose sight of.

The state, capital, and the far right

To adequately frame our struggle we need to understand the relationship of the state and capital to the various far-right tendencies. The relationship between the rise of Trump and the burgeoning far right in Québec was addressed above, but there is another not unrelated key factor, the increasing economic crisis, which was rapidly accelerated by the Covid pandemic. As the previously mentioned Sojourner Truth Organization paper argues:

To understand fascism as growing out of the crises endemic to capitalism is not to say that it is a simple tool of the capitalist class. One important element in fascism is its autonomous character, expressed in a mass movement among sectors of the population who have been dislocated by the capitalist crisis and alienated from the traditional institutions of conciliation and repression. (p. 26)

If we look back to La Meute and Storm Alliance, we find a movement that was primarily led by and composed of classic petty bourgeois activists who were seeing their economic options and lifestyle increasingly squeezed by the upsurge in the concentration of capital. In the case of working-class people who came to the forefront in these and related movements, they tended to be from the classic labour aristocracy. For economic and cultural reasons these two layers of class society often end up sharing a sociological middle-class space, living in the same suburbs, shopping in the same stores, attending the same community functions, eating in the same restaurants, drinking in the same bars—and, most recently, facing the same disenfranchisement. Lacking a class analysis, they directed their attacks at perceived outsiders, whom they saw as threatening their financial security and cultural integrity. What passed for class analysis—the attack on an “elite” alleged to be organizing the putative invasion of brown and black mobs—was generally coded antisemitism, perhaps the single factor around which virtually all of the far-right tendencies can cohere, but more on that later.

In the case of the key ultranationalist groups, Horizon Québec Actuel and Nouvelle Alliance, the former has run in a byelection under the rubric of the Parti Indépendentiste, an established but minor nationalist party that has drifted steadily rightward over the years, and the latter, as previously noted, is engaging in classic entryism in Québec’s key bourgeois nationalist party.

While none of these organizations could be accused of walking lockstep with the state or capital, it is also the case that none of them have called for the overthrow of the state or have been subjected to any meaningful repression by the state, although they have occasionally been deplatformed on social media.

Atalante is the only neo-fascist group that has been able to engage in sustained, if limited, activity in recent years. In a bid for public attention, Atalante’s leader Raphaël Léveque (aka Raf Stomper) and a group of masked supporters raided the Montréal office of Vice Media on May 23, 2018, and gave journalist Simon Coutu a mock award for his reporting on Atalante. Lévesque, the only one unmasked and easily identifiable, likely purposely so, received a plethora of criminal charges a month later. This was certainly a case of overcharging for an action that amounted to little more than trespassing. The recent pro-Palestinian movement has engaged in similar actions, generally with no arrests, or at most tickets.

In June 2020, Lévesque was acquitted, but, in April 2022, the crown was successful in having the acquittal overturned. When he was finally sentenced in February 2023, he received eighteen months of probation and was obliged to make a $1,000 donation to Reporters Without Borders but did not receive a criminal record. That the state pursued charges so vigorously for what was fairly close to a non-event suggests an interest in hobbling the only active neo-fascist organization in Québec.

Devin Zane Shaw asserts that “fascism cannot take power without some factions of capital collaborating with far-right movements.” (p. 106) That raises the question: Do we see any factions of the Québec state or capital that exhibit that predisposition? While it is unquestionable that both the CAQ and the PQ have curried favour among the Islamophobic, anti-migrant, and ultranationalist far right, i see no evidence of even the farthest right of the parties contesting power either in Québec (Conservative Party of Québec) or at the federal level (People’s Party of Canada; the increasingly right-wing populist Conservative Party of Canada) seeking ties with neo-fascists. Whenever known fascists, or even far-right activists, have been exposed in their ranks these parties have purged them. These groups represent “mainstream conservatism [having been] pulled toward the far right in ideological terms.” (p. 115) I also consider it unlikely that any of these parties would go as far as Trump has in an attempt to hold power were they defeated in an election, but that remains to be seen should the occasion arise, given that there are numerous directions in which the current fraught situation could evolve.

The reality is that fascism can be anti-capitalist. As Matthew N. Lyons and Xtn Alexander argue, fascism

feeds on popular hostility to big business and the state and has the potential to gain mass support in the United States and beyond, and . . . represents a revolutionary challenge to capitalist power—not revolutionary in any liberatory sense, but in that it aims to seize power and systematically transform society along repressive and often genocidal lines. (p. 6)

Shaw provides a succinct overview of fascist anti-capitalism:

Fascism is a social movement involving a relatively autonomous and insurgent (potentially) mass base, driven by an authoritarian vision of collective rebirth, that challenges bourgeois institutional and cultural power while reentrenching economic and social hierarchies. (p. 113)

According to Lyons, the far right responds

to those grievances that people have about being hung out to dry by the capitalist system and by a state that has pretty much dismantled social programs on a massive scale. To me, that speaks to the need for a radical alternative that refuses to cede the oppositional role to the far right, that says we can build an opposition that is based on liberatory principles, that is dynamic, that speaks to people’s needs in a way that is based on solidarity rather than supremacism and exclusion and genocide. (pp. 237–38)

In this light, Kdog asserts that “We must understand that fascism is capable of donning a ‘revolutionary’ face—and must never cede our opposition to the system. Left support for the status quo concedes to the fascists the mantle of righteous opposition.” (p. 132)

Developing a programmatic vision for social change with popular reach remains a challenge to be met by the Québec anti-fascist movement.

Anti-fascism and anti-colonialism

Moving beyond general principles and ideological broad strokes, there are a number of areas that need particular attention, not least among them the relationship between anti-fascism and anti-colonialism.

Rowland Keshena Robinson adds an anti-colonial twist to the definition of fascism, contending that “fascism is when the violence that the colonialist nations have visited upon the world over the course of the development of the modern/colonial/capitalist world-system comes back home to visit.” (p. 61) He also asserts that for “any theory of fascism, much less antifascism, to carry any kind of meaningful weight in North America, it must contend with the fact of settler colonialism and its ongoing, central structuring of the entire symbolic, social, and political order of North America.” (p. 62) This observation finds its complement in the Sojourner Truth Organization’s understanding of fascism as based on

the white-skin privilege system as a means of social control over white workers as well as people of color, and . . . so long as that system continue[s] to function through the traditional institutions, the bourgeoisie as a class would have no reason to turn to fascism to maintain its rule. (p. 25)

Robinson refers to this “white-skin privilege” as “white power that is not only unashamed, but proud.” (p. 68)

This shameless white power is reflected in “an extensive project of settler self-Indigenization,” which Robinson notes is particularly “stark” in Québec. (p. 64) This calls to mind La Meute leader Sylvain “Maikan” Brouilette claiming in June 2018 that “if you are a second generation Quebecer you are indigenous,” adding “My family has been here for 400 years . . . I am Aboriginal.” Not surprising coming from a man who chose to add the Innu word for timber wolf to his name. It’s also not entirely anomalous. In October 2017, CBC reported that from 2006 to 2016 there was a 37.5 percent increase in the number of Québécois(e) identifying as First Nations and a 149.2 percent increase in the number claiming to be Metis. Brouilette has only taken a phenomenon to its ultimate conclusion: claiming to be Indigenous without even a pretense of Indigenous ancestry. This is an expression of colonialism at its bluntest: I came here, took your land, destroyed your livelihood, imprisoned you in residential schools and on reserves, and now the coup de grâce—I’m taking your identity.

This lines up perfectly with what Robinson calls “the base liberalism of settler-colonial political life and civil society.” The result being that “liberalism and fascism within the territories of North America can only be properly placed on the same ethical-political continuum of a much larger settler colonialism.” (p. 68) This leaves indigenous people with “a choice between nonfascist, nominally ‘democratic’ colonialism and fascist colonialism. . . . At best the choice lies between a slow (‘democratic’) and a fast (fascist) colonialism, in which the latter would most certainly accelerate underlying anti-Native and anti-Black logics.” (p. 69)

The CAQ has taken a number of aggressive steps to strip Indigenous people of their rights and of their very legitimacy as a people. The CAQ’s insistence that there is no systemic racism in Québec is astonishing in its willful denial of reality. This in spite of the government’s own Viens Commission report stating, “it seems impossible to deny the systemic discrimination members of the First Nations and Inuit face in their relations with the public service.” Even after an Atikamekw woman, Joyce Echaquan, videoed hospital workers mocking her in bluntly racist terms as she lay dying, the Québec government refused to sign Joyce’s Principle, a document the Atikamekw community presented to the federal and Québec governments, calling for equitable access to health care and social services in a context that protected Indigenous people’s physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual well-being. The CAQ government would not sign the document because it mentioned “systemic discrimination.”

When, in 2021, Indigenous people requested that September 30, National Day of Truth and Reconciliation, be made into a statutory holiday, CAQ leader and premier of Québec François Legault responded that Québec did not need additional holidays but needed increased productivity.

The issue again came to a head when the Montréal Canadiens began having a land acknowledgment before local games in October 2021, specifically acknowledging the Kanien’keha:ka (Mohawk Nation). Québec minister of Indigenous affairs Ian Lafrenière responded by questioning whether there had ever been a Mohawk presence on the Island of Montréal, suggesting that it had been occupied by some as yet unidentified Native nation.

Perhaps most offensive, however, is the CAQ’s decision to build a new museum devoted to the history of Québec. In the face of an outcry regarding the almost complete lack of reference to Indigenous people, Premier François Legault said, “The idea is to show the history of the nation that was French-Canadian and now Québécois, that started with Champlain,” a version of history that begins with colonialism. Historian Éric Bédard, who will play a role in determining the content of the museum, said, “the indigenous people represent a bit of the prehistory of Québec.” When challenged, he contextualized his remark by saying, “In our discipline we are accustomed to starting history with writing.”

In this context, Sylvain Brouilette’s claim to be Indigenous simply because he was born in Québec complements the CAQ’s systematic denial of Indigenous reality, including erasing Indigenous people from Québec history. This does not mean, however, that both of these anti-Indigenous expressions are the same. Devin Zane Shaw argues that “it would be undialectical to treat them uncritically as the same thing. Instead, in my view, it is more precise to contend that settler-state hegemony is formed by the mediation of bourgeois liberalism and white supremacist settlerism.” (p. 117) This parity reflects the fact that “far-right movements are system loyal when they perceive that the entitlements of white supremacy can be advanced within bourgeois or democratic institutions, and they become insurgent when they perceive that these entitlements cannot.” (p. 118) As with Islamophobia and anti-migrant sentiment, when addressing colonialism and Indigenous rights, the CAQ government’s approach integrates and weaponizes far-right elements.

For the past six years, we’ve been dealing with a right-wing populist government that has attacked Indigenous people, Muslims, migrants, and the minority anglophone community. This, as noted, has played a role in demobilizing some far-right groups, while fueling others. Given the far-right wave that is sweeping across bourgeois democracy, we require a nuanced analysis of the CAQ and other mainstream right-wing political parties and a practical approach to countering them. Our traditional approach to the far right—counter-demonstrations and doxxing—is not useful in this context.

It is entirely possible that the CAQ will lose the next election to the PQ, which is attempting an end run around the CAQ by promising policies that are more Islamophobic, anti-migrant, and anti-anglophone, as well as promising another referendum on Québec’s independence. At this point, we are not prepared to respond to that scenario.

Antisemitism

Antisemitism also deserves special attention. As i said in passing above, antisemitism plays a unique role in bridging far-right ideologies that are otherwise to some extent disparate, even sometimes in contradiction. Matthew N. Lyons asserts:

Antisemitism drives far-right politics. From the neo-nazis who call Jews the main enemy of the white race, to Patriot groups that stockpile weapons to confront “globalist elites,” to Christian theocrats who look forward to mass killings of Jews and mass conversion of the survivors, US far rightists put antisemitic themes at the center of their belief systems. (p. 134)

While the lay of the land is different in Québec, the role of antisemitism as a unifying factor for the far right is not. We see examples of either direct attacks on Jews or coded attacks on the “globalist elites” in the rhetoric of most far-right groups and individuals active in Québec.

Ben Lorber argues that the far right perceives “other hated ethnic and religious groups, such as blacks, Latinos, Arabs and Muslims, [as] external threats,” while Jews “destabilize White European-American society from within, through the gradual, imperceptible institutionalization of creeping white genocide.” (quoted p. 141) In this formulation, previously touched upon, “globalist elites” are purposely orchestrating the massive invasion of migrants, particularly Muslims, into European societies to undermine these societies’ integrity as part of their plan to take control of the world. The “globalist elite” trope was evident among the Islamophobic and anti-migrant groups active in 2017–2019, as well as in the anti-protocol conspiracy theory movement that arose with the Covid crisis—not surprising, given that a significant part of the leadership of the anti-protocol movement was made up of recycled activists from the Islamophobic and anti-migrant movement. Now we are seeing some of them turn up in the anti–drag queen story hour and anti-trans movement.

As the current genocide in Gaza and the international resistance it has inspired indicate, Zionism as an ideology vastly complicates the struggle against antisemitism. The Sojourner Truth Organization argued in its 1982 “Theses on Fascism” that “virulent anti-Jewish policies, sometimes masquerading as anti-Zionism, are important unifying ideological features of the new fascists.” We saw this in Montréal, where at least one neo-Nazi, well known for his antisemitic and Islamophobic rhetoric, attempted to insinuate himself into the pro-Palestinian movement both online and on the ground. Anti-fascists were able to isolate and remove him when he made an appearance at pro-Palestinian events, and after a few weeks he stopped coming out. On the other hand, the success that Zionist organizations have had in portraying all anti-Israeli sentiment, even the relatively benign call for a ceasefire, as antisemitic complicates matters, making clear the need for a more nuanced analysis of both antisemitism and Zionism.

Gender and the far right

Tammy Kovich’s essay “Antifascism against Machismo: Gender, Politics, and the Struggle against Fascism” is a tour de force on the issue of gender, both on the far right and in the anti-fascist movement.

Fascism, Kovich argues, “is an exacerbation, a more militant extension, of the patriarchal relationships between men and women that have persisted for centuries.” (p. 73) Developing this idea, she quotes Bromma, who asserts:

The anger of male dispossession fuels reactionary populist, fundamentalist and fascist trends in every part of the world. These right-wing movements are typically led by men of the middle classes, furious at losing the privileges they held under the previous male capitalist order. (p. 78)

This calls to mind the earlier observation that the Islamophobic and anti-migrant movements were led by petty-bourgeois, or, if you prefer, middle-class, men who were angry about the way they were being forced out of their previously secure social niche. It comes as no surprise that both La Meute and Storm Alliance, which had strongly masculinist leadership, were rocked by sexual harassment and sexual assault allegations, the feeling of “male dispossession” that Bromma mentions naturally accompanying the economic disenfranchisement these men were experiencing.

Kovich also draws on Matthew N. Lyons’s parsing of far-right positions on gender, localizing four broad themes:

patriarchal traditionalism, demographic nationalism, male bonding through warfare, and quasi feminism. As part of this framework, patriarchal traditionalism is most frequently formulated in religious terms, promotes rigid traditional gender roles, and emphasizes the nuclear family as the mechanism for male control over women. Demographic nationalism is primarily concerned with reproduction. It is often connected to the fear that a nation or race isn’t reproducing fast enough and/or that the stock is declining in quality (e.g., through racial mixing) and declares that women’s main duty to the nation or race “is to have lots of babies.” Male bonding through warfare is also referred to as the cult of male comradeship, and it “emphasizes warfare (hardship, risk of death, shared acts of violence and killing) as the basis for deep emotional and spiritual ties between men.” Historically associated with war in the trenches, it is today more commonly associated with street fighting and militias. . . . Lastly, quasi feminism advocates specific rights for women, although not equality, and promotes “an expanded political role for women while accepting men’s overall dominance.” (p. 80)

Although there is a small “trad wives” scene and a handful of far-right Christian organizations in Québec advocating “patriarchal traditionalism,” at this point they lack the reach necessary to insert themselves into public discourse in any meaningful way. “Quasi feminism” is a factor in a number of the groups operating in Québec, which might pay passing lip service to women’s equality, but in which women are clearly in secondary roles. Both La Meute and Storm Alliance had women on their coordinating committees, but these women were always working in the shadow of a handful of men understood to be the decisive leadership. The short-lived Montréal chapter of the neo-Nazi Soldiers of Odin (SOO) was even led by a woman, Katy Latulipe, but she was little more than a mouthpiece for an organization of macho dick-waving boneheads who were always in the forefront in public.

“Demographic nationalism,” on the other hand, plays a key role in the rhetoric and policies of organizations ranging from the governing CAQ and its key electoral opponent the PQ through far-right system-loyal organizations like Horizon Québec Actuel and Nouvelle Alliance to the neo-fascist Atalante. All of these organizations express fear of migrant populations and the need for the white francophone population to increase “to save the nation.” Predictably, this means drastically reducing the number of migrants, often demonizing migrant men, frequently shrouded in rhetoric that one might call “pseudo-feminist,” given that is both insincere and patronizing.

Kovich notes that La Meute claimed it “was founded for the protection of our women from religious fundamentalism.” (p. 88) She also mentions that the SOO conducted “street patrols to keep women safe from refugees with a propensity to rape.” (p. 85) Consistent pressure from anti-fascists, including some physical clashes, eventually drove the SOO out of Montréal to seek protection from its Atalante comrades in Québec City, after which the group disappeared altogether. More recently, Alexandre Cormier-Denis, the leader of Horizon Québec Actuel, has used his editorial space on Nomos-TV to unleash a tirade about the need to remove migrants from Québec to protect women from rape that reflected what Kovich describes as “calls to defend women [being] used to incite racialized violence and establish incredibly racist policy.” (p. 86) There are obvious ways in which the wave of populist right-wing nationalism that is beginning to gain traction in Québec lends itself to the marginalization of both women and migrants.

Kovich also discusses opportunist advocacy for the rights of LGBTQ+ people among certain sectors of the right. (p. 89) While no far-right group in Québec has adopted this tactic, there’s no shortage of opportunist handwringing about the plight of women, and to a lesser degree LGBTQ+ people, in Muslim countries at all levels of government in Québec and throughout Canada, generally in the service of imperialist aggression. The mainstream political rhetoric and the far right’s street patrols clearly complement each other.

Gender and anti-fascism

The flip side of this coin, as Kovich puts it: “Even in supposedly progressive circles, the popular image of the antifascist is a male body, often a white male body.” Later, she elaborates:

There is a thread that flows through antifascist movements, and while it does not exclusively define contemporary antifascism, it is influential and worth noting. The thread is an orientation/attitude that tends toward machismo. This inclination is one of bravado and dogmatic combativity, and it leads to a political position that prioritizes confrontation while it more or less ignores (or at least downplays) other aspects of struggle. It reproduces some of the worst characteristics of hegemonic masculinity with a self-righteous zeal and considers discussion of things like sexism to be needlessly divisive and a distraction from the “important things.” This strain is almost exclusively concerned with physical conflict with fascists, where if you aren’t willing or able to “throw down,” you aren’t an antifascist. It is individualistic and leans toward an orientation of doing what one wants, regardless of the consequences. It is concerned more with the act of the fight itself than it is with the outcome. There is no room for nuance or any consideration of context, and strategy largely falls by the wayside. These characteristics can be described as machismo, and an antifascism rooted in machismo is the political equivalent of a bar fight—as haphazard and chaotic as it is incoherent and often sloppy. (p. 103)

It would be foolish to say that none of those dynamics ever surfaced in local anti-fascist work, but it has been understood since the outset that they undermine our effectiveness. When organizing counter-demonstrations, strategic concerns have always been central, generally accompanied by a commitment to avoiding physical clashes if the far-right event can be otherwise neutralized, while vigorously defending ourselves if attacked. Physical conflict has, in fact, been limited to shoving (more often with the police than with the far right) and minor fisticuffs.

Gender diversity is an issue that can’t be ignored, but the reality is that women, trans, and nonbinary comrades are always well represented at anti-fascist events in Québec, at times even outnumbering the cis-men. In a more general sense, the issue of gender is nestled within the larger problem of popular reach. The movement lacks the public components necessary to effectively expand beyond the anonymous group that organizes the counter-demonstrations and doxxes far-right militants. This anonymity is entirely reasonable in the age of doxxing and ubiquitous videoing. Obviously, acting as the public face of the anti-fascist movement would entail certain risks, but without a public-facing anti-fascist organization that can engage with other organizations and the public at large in a transparent way, both our capacity to grow and to normalize anti-fascist politics in society at large are hampered. Kovich points out that “historically, there existed a wide range of antifascist cultural spaces. These included things like reading groups, social clubs, collective kitchens, daycare centers, workplace organizations, and sports associations.” (p. 100) These structures were interwoven into the daily lives of numerous people and both met a social need and modeled, at least in part, a vision of a more positive future.

One initiative that did gain traction in Montréal was a group called Food Against Fascism. Every Saturday for a couple of years it served a free healthy meal to anyone interested on the same street corner in downtown Montréal. It gained quite a following, with weekly regulars, some arriving with plastic containers to take leftovers home, and everybody from students, locals, and tourists who just happened to walk by chowing down. There was a literature table with information about various local struggles and initiatives, and there were people there to answer questions and engage in dialogue. The politics were obvious but second to feeding people, and this was a successful growth model, both in terms of its own volunteer membership and the number of people it reached with its message. One of its most important functions was to create a space for people interested in anti-fascism but not yet ready to throw themselves into a group of masked militants ready for a street confrontation or unable to do so for one reason or another. Although Food Against Fascism still exists, like numerous organizations, it was diminished by the Covid crisis and has been unable to resume its weekly street-corner kitchen. Nonetheless, it continues to provide food at left-wing demonstrations and events.

Equally important, from 2017 to 2019, local anti-fascists played a key, if quiet, role in a coalition of left-wing and community groups that organized an annual mass anti-racist demonstration in the autumn. The 2017 demonstration drew around four thousand people, with a broad array of organizations clearly visible, and was a very positive experience for the organizers and the participants. The 2018 demonstration drew eight thousand people, predominantly from Muslim communities, largely in response to the CAQ election victory a few days earlier and the accurate perception that this would mean anti-Islamic and anti-migrant legislation. The 2019 demonstration was vastly reduced in numbers by cold rainy weather, drawing less than a thousand people. The Covid crisis put this initiative on ice for several years, and when an effort was made to reinvigorate it in 2022, it rapidly foundered and faded away.

Closer to our anti-fascist movement but still reaching to people outside of it is the Black Flag Combat Club, which is open to movement members at large and engages in self-defence training. These comrades play an important role in providing the skills necessary for securing our spaces, events, and demonstrations.

A related project developed by the anti-racist and migrant movement was an anti-racist soccer league. It appears to have become more ad hoc since the Covid crisis.

With the loss of its two public-facing projects, the anti-fascist movement lost the capacity to effectively reach outside of the far left. In this light, a related problem raised by Kovich is pertinent:

Antifascism in and of itself is a necessarily limited struggle. It is a reactive and defensive movement that, while incredibly important, is much more of a jumping-off point than a desired final destination. In the past, many groups rooted their antifascist work in a commitment to revolution and pushed for a broader vision of collective liberation and societal transformation. (p. 101)

Fleshing this out, Kovich quotes from a February 2017 Upping the Anti editorial: “Rather than be dismissed as secondary issues that fall behind the primary goal of confronting fascists, disability justice, anti-racism, and feminism should be at the forefront of any revolutionary analysis.” (p. 102)

While the anti-fascist movement in Montréal clearly recognizes both the limited nature of anti-fascism—taking out the garbage so other groups can work unimpeded—and the centrality of other struggles, its direct ties to those struggles are tenuous, partly as a result of the constraints imposed by anonymous organizing. The local anti-fascist recognizes and has begun to address this problem, and there are reasons to believe that a public-facing anti-fascist group acting at a popular level is beginning to take shape.

Kovich calls on anti-fascists to “couple antifascist politics with feminism and conceptualize gender liberation as a nonnegotiable component of antifascism . . . mean[ing] centering gender considerations and taking trans politics and queer struggle seriously, not treating them as peripheral concerns.” Montréal anti-fascists have centered feminism and have very directly worked as part of the LGBTQ+-led resistance that arose against far-right anti–drag queen story hour initiative and anti-trans politics. Although there has been some limited success in integrating more mainstream left organizations, including unions, into this struggle, it has nonetheless largely unfolded within a far-left context.

It would be dishonest to suggest that gender politics have never been a source of tension and dissatisfaction within the local anti-fascist movement, and related issues certainly played a role in shifts in membership at various points. It is unfortunate in this regard that the Sisterhood, a RASH-related women’s anti-fascist organization, folded several years ago and a similar effort within the younger anti-fascist movement rapidly lost steam.

Anti-fascist tactics

Any appraisal of anti-fascist struggle inevitably leads to a discussion of the tactical approach to be taken. First and foremost, it needs to be clear that tactics are just that and should not be confused with strategy; any given strategy might include or preclude specific tactics. Founding Anti-Racist Action (ARA) member Kieran addresses this in an interview with KPFA Radio:

along with militant tactics against [far-right] organizing, [we] have also tried to engage with the communities that the fascists are targeting. And that can be from interviews or leafleting, to building cultural events like shows with bands, to trying to connect with the people in those communities who already have an antifascist impulse, possibly because of their identity or how they see the world. But we try to bring a message that this program that the right wing and the fascists are selling is not in our interest as working-class people. And that it is a dangerous and divisive one, and that it’s going to lead to a common catastrophe if enacted. And in fact, many of the concerns people have would be better served by organizing a united multiracial, multicultural, antifascist movement that challenges the system. (p. 291)

For several years following the January 2017 Québec City mosque massacre, a handful of local anti-fascists worked sporadically on an ad hoc basis with a local mosque in a coalition that involved progressive church people, concerned community groups, and politicians from every level of government. While the anti-fascists were able to maintain and express their radical politics, their inability to publicly connect themselves with any organization effectively rendered them concerned individuals, substantially curtailing the possibility of growth or positive coalition building. As Kieran points out, “it can’t just be a squadron of elite antifascists carrying out a technical operation that’s going to win this. [W]e need to get the masses of working-class people in our milieus from all different kinds of communities and identities together.” (p. 295) At the risk of redundancy, without a public face, we have no effective way to do this.

Ultimately, if we want to avoid a situation where our conflict with the far right is perceived by most people as what members of the Atlanta General Defense Committee refer to as a “squad-versus-squad” dispute that has little or nothing to do with them, (p. 306) we have to “develop a base within [the targeted] community or within [the] working class that is going to be able to continually be able to [sic] confront the fascists and make it a hard place for the fascists to organize and grow.” (p. 296)

The black bloc

Any reflection on tactics in the context of anti-fascism and far-left resistance in general inevitably leads to a discussion of the black bloc and masking. Assessing a failure that arose from the decision to act as a black bloc, Atlanta General Defense Committee members argue:

Black bloc is a tactic, not a strategy or an identity, and a single tactic should never be our default. Instead, we’ll have to put our goals up front, then decide on a strategy to achieve those goals, and tactics that might be useful as part of that strategy. Furthermore, those who insist on bringing the “black bloc” identity, regardless of the local context, will end up being obstacles to building a mass antifascist movement.

They, nonetheless, acknowledge that “this doesn’t mean that the black bloc tactic will never be useful in some situations.”

In my experience an aggressive black bloc can serve to rapidly render a demonstration a game of cat and mouse with the police, with other demonstrators caught in the middle. While this may work, or at least do limited harm, when the demonstration is made up entirely of members of the far left, in a broader setting it is likely to further alienate people from a far left they are already skeptical of.

This situation arose at a March 2019 anti-racist demonstration that was organized by the same activists who organized the annual mass demonstrations mentioned above. The gathering point was a large open area outside the St. Laurent metro station. The anti-fascist contingent theatrically descended St. Laurent street masked, in black bloc formation, and surrounded by a haze of multi-coloured flares. I was with the contingent unmasked and in my normal street clothes, which allowed me to intervene and attempt to calm a group of Muslim women who were panicking because they thought the demonstration was being attacked. When i assured them that we were “on their side,” one of the women poignantly responded, “I don’t care which side you’re on, you scare me.” Shortly thereafter, an old friend who was there with her grandchildren asked me if they were safe or if they should leave. The anti-fascist contingent admittedly made a visually captivating entry, but to what end?

This experience suggests to me that the Atlanta General Defense Committee comrades’ conclusion is likely correct:

First, to prevent fascism from normalizing, we have to normalize antifascism and make it something that people who are not already activists can identify with and find a way to participate in. We have to ditch the black bloc as a uniform. We have to assess each situation in its own context, but we think the default should be to dress like how we expect the crowd to dress, while keeping the bandannas in our back pockets. (p. 313)

In the aforementioned KPFA Radio interview Kieran addresses the issue of masking:

[W]e’ve noticed that if you are a smallish group of people all masked up in a larger demo, the police will actually focus on you—instead of becoming camouflaged, you are actually in the spotlight. The cops may not immediately know who you are, but if they focus on the masks, they can just wait until an opportune time and surround and detain the masked-up people and ID or arrest them. We’ve seen this happen a couple of times. (p. 297)

Adding:

Another related consideration is that masks can make it harder to further develop a base—to talk to people at an action or other event, to have discussions and arguments. There is also the very real factor that folks can get confused as to what people in the masks stand for—and not just liberal pacifists either. (p. 298)

It is not my practice to mask or dress black-bloc style, so often people who want to know what is going on are willing to engage with me or have even approached me—because i have a face. This suggests that it would be useful to have people who are willing to risk the exposure available to talk to other demonstrators, observers, and passersby when the black bloc tactic is used in a broader demonstration, as, for example, at some of the recent pro-Palestine mass demonstrations.

Clearly, adopting a black bloc formation feeds into the “squad-versus-squad” dynamic addressed above, particularly when the far-right adopts a parallel approach. I also note in passing that i rarely have any difficulty identifying specific comrades when they are masked, just as we are generally able to identify particular members of the far right when they come out in black bloc formation. I conclude that the same must be true for the cops who regularly track these demonstrations and actions.

I agree with Atlanta General Defense Committee and Kieran that masks should not be entirely ruled out. I do, however, think we should carefully assess their utility for every action, because, again, i agree with Kieran:

This speaks to what actually provides security—I would say it is having a real working-class base of support for your organizing, for your projects. Regular people who have a stake in the organizing, who understand the need for militant action, who are willing to stand up and defend each other, both politically and physically, who give a shit if one of their friends or comrades is attacked or arrested. (pp. 297–98)

Paul O’Banion argues that “optics matter.” (p. 326) Photos of the black bloc rampaging in the streets, smashing corporate symbols, and skirmishing with the police are not necessarily positive optics if our goal is to reach outside the far left. While recognizing that “we need people on the front lines with skills in martial arts, first aid, and communications,” just as “we need people with hacking and doxing skills,” “to defeat the fascists in a decisive way, we need to subsume our tactical struggle to the political one.” (p. 327)

At the end of the day,

We can better win our battles with fascists in part by turning out far greater numbers than them. To do this well, we need to reach out beyond those already convinced of the need for militant antifascism, going outside our scenes and comfort zones, having difficult conversations, developing politics with a wider group of people than are currently involved. (p. 330)

As more than one author argues, the people opposed to the far-right will always be a majority, but to involve that majority in the struggle and to put them on the street will require us to “out-organize” the far right, which means “we need to better develop and clarify just what our politics are.” (p. 332)

The challenges we face

In spite of the apparent growth of support for the Democrats since Kamala Harris replaced Joe Biden as the party’s presidential candidate, it is still entirely possible that Donald Trump will be the next US president in January 2025, and Pierre Poilievre’s right-wing populist Conservative Party of Canada may win the next Canadian election. The governments of our two bordering countries, as well as those of numerous states and provinces, would then be in the hands of a right wing with extremist tendencies that would to some degree have relied upon the far-right vote to attain power. It is a matter of no small significance that this is also occurring at a point when the far right is scoring unparalleled victories in Europe—even the recent Nouveau Front Populaire (NFP) victory in France is less a victory than a near miss, given that the Rassemblement National won 37.1 percent of the popular vote, compared to the NFP’s 26.3 percent.

This overall trend lays the groundwork for numerous possible developments on the right, and we need to determine what challenges we may be facing. This requires not only an analysis of these far-reaching developments at the state level but also of the relationship between these mainstream right-wing parties and the far right that will undoubtedly manoeuvre to take advantage of the opening this situation creates, as well as a clearer understanding of the relationship between these electoral parties and the rest of the state and the various sectors of capital. During the George Floyd crisis in the US in 2020, for example, the military refused in no uncertain terms to enter the fray, leading to protracted tension between then President Trump and the military leadership. Closer to home, the CAQ has received consistent criticism from business associations for its migrant policy, which has worsened Québec’s labour shortage, and its more draconian language policies, which saddle businesses with major expenses if they are to comply and discourage trade with Québec. There is no reason to believe that the PQ would reverse these policies if elected.

Further, we need to recognize that the popularity of the right-wing bourgeois parties and the growth of the far right are the result of popular dissatisfaction. While our opponents may appear absurd to us, particularly those wrapped up in conspiracy theories of the variety that drove the Freedom Convoy, surely the largest and most broad-based far-right upsurge in Canada in the current period, it is a given that their behaviour makes sense to them. We need a clearer understanding of the rage that is driving far-right activity, and to achieve this we need a serious class analysis of our opponents and their various ideologies, not only to adequately resist and neutralize them but also to develop a liberatory program that addresses the needs of their base and offers a solution that is not grounded in the increased oppression of already marginalized communities.

Québec presents a particular complexity that must be addressed: the national question. The role that nationalism plays in Québec is complicated and encompasses the entire political spectrum. There are left-wing, even far-left, nationalists, centrist nationalists, right-wing, including far-right, nationalists, hard nationalists, soft nationalists, and former nationalists who have turned their backs on nationalism for a variety of equally intricate reasons. A subtle understanding of Québec nationalism and its opponents is essential for any movement to intervene effectively in the coming social conflict.

Questions for the near future

I have taken the position that although there is a strong risk of substantial far-right growth in Québec and throughout the European world in the foreseeable future, i don’t think the conditions exist for that growth to evolve into a popular fascist movement in Québec or Canada.

I could be disastrously wrong. Certainly there are people arguing with some conviction that the constellation being created by the pattern of far-right electoral victories is laying the groundwork for the development of full-blown fascism in the immediate future. If that proves correct, then the ground upon which we are operating is astronomically different from that which i presume in everything I’ve written here, and it raises a number of questions:

• What is the basis for that assessment?
• If we believe fascism is imminent, how do we organize a mass response in our current conditions?
• Do we believe that our current security measures would protect us from the extreme repression fascism would imply? (I don’t.)
• Can we imagine building the underground structure we would need in that situation? (I can’t.)
• Are we doing anything to prepare ourselves for that situation? (I don’t think so.)
• If we believe that fascism is on the horizon, but we are not taking measures to respond to it, what does that mean?
• Can we imagine our organization surviving a fascist onslaught? (I can’t.)

These questions are only a starting point for that discussion.

Photo credit: Annie Ouellet