They approached the National Mall in ragged rows, four abreast, to the beat of a snare drum and carrying upside-down American flags, supposedly signaling a nation in distress, and small round shields that appeared to be more symbolic than serviceable.
The Patriot Front, a white supremacist group that came into existence in 2017 after Charlottesville, asserts on its website, “Our people, born to this nation of our European race, must reforge themselves as a new collective capable of asserting our right to cultural independence.”
Once on the Mall the marchers arranged themselves in several more or less parallel lines facing a speaker who began pontificating about the formation of a white ethnostate.
That is when Joe Flood, a writer and photographer who looks like the stereotypical image of an accountant who spends his days crunching numbers in a windowless basement office, wheeled up on a red bicycle. He was wearing shorts and a T-shirt that stretched over his ample belly.
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He didn’t look like someone who was about to harass 150 masked white supremacists.
The Southern Poverty Law Center says that the Patriot Front is an “image-obsessed ... white nationalist hate group”” that “focuses on theatrical rhetoric and activism.”
The Anti-Defamation League said that “since 2019, Patriot Front has been responsible for the vast majority of white supremacist propaganda distributed in the United States.” According to the ADL, the Patriot Front specializes in “flash demonstrations.” In January and February, its members participated in 897 “instances of activism in 44 states and the District of Columbia.”
Joe Flood had heard that the Patriot Front was coming to town, and he wanted to be there to greet them.
“Hi,” he yelled. “Hi, fascists.”
Then the taunting began.
First, a word about taunting.
Taunts are not ideological; they’re personal. They are not intended to convert; they’re intended to irritate. They aren’t meant to stimulate conversation; they’re meant to get under the skin.
Think the classic French taunting scene from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.”
Or, if you are biblically literate, think Elijah challenging the priests of Baal to a cook-off on Mt. Carmel. “The prophet whose god sends down lightning to burn to a crisp the offering on the altar wins. Losers die.”
The Baalite priests went first. They outnumbered Elijah 450-1.
They danced, they cut their bodies, they pleaded with their god to send down fire from heaven.
Elijah sat on the sidelines taunting. “Cry louder,” he yelled. “Maybe your god’s asleep. Or maybe he’s meditating.”
“Or maybe he’s in the bathroom.”
OK, that’s not word for word what he said. Strictly speaking, Elijah said, “Maybe your God has wandered away.” But check the footnote; the Hebrew phrase that is translated “to wander away” was probably a euphemism for “taking care of bodily functions.”
Taunting was not a sport for the mild-mannered.
“This guy (the Patriot Front speaker) was giving this speech,” Joe Flood explained to a reporter. “He kept having to stop and pull it out of his pocket and then start reading it.”
“So, every time he stopped, I would yell at him and say he was boring. And then I said, ‘Why can’t you memorize your speech?’ ”
Evidently, some of the far-right insurrection planners had been embarrassed by the turn-out on Jan. 6. Not by the number of rioters but by their appearance — lots of camo, old football helmets and Army-Navy store paraphernalia.
A memo must have gone out instructing the Patriot Front marchers to look stylish in navy blue shirts, khaki pants, dark sunglasses, white ball caps and matching masks. Definitely, a new look for insurrectionists.
Still, there was plenty of variety in the styles of march-wear.
“You’re not even matching,” Joe Flood yelled. “Cargo pants are OUT.” “You wear Walmart khakis.”
“Losers” was a recurring image in Flood’s barrage of taunts. “You were the losers in your high school class.” “No one likes you.”
The Patriots marched behind a banner that said, “Reclaim America.” Flood challenged the marchers to “reclaim your virginity.”
After a flurry of barbed taunts, one of the zingers finally got through to the speaker, who had managed to maintain his composure to that point.
“You look like General Custer’s illegitimate son,” Joe Flood yelled.
“The guy side-eyed and looked at me,” Flood said, “and I thought, ‘I got you. I got in your head. Now, get out of my town.’ ”
Triumphant, Joe Flood — Elijah-on-wheels — got on his red bicycle and pedaled home.
