It’s been two years since the alt-right descended en masse on Charlottesville, Virginia. That weekend in August 2017 was one of violence and bloodshed, a reprehensible display of hate and bigotry that shocked the nation.
If only it had been just a display. Two years later, it’s clear that Charlottesville was so much more. It was a rallying cry, a call to action, to defend the “blood and soil” of white nationalism — a call that claimed the life of Heather Heyer, an activist protesting racism who was killed when a car rammed into a crowd of left-wing protesters, backed up, and sped away. Dozens of others were injured in street brawls, and two police officers died in a helicopter crash.
The “Unite the Right” rally was the first time in recent history that this small band of racists demonstrated in what was clearly an organized effort. It became a rare opportunity for isolated social and political outcasts to find solidarity with others who shared their toxic ideology. Their mutual hate gave them comfort, even glee. Fueled by this twisted sense of community, the alt-right took today’s polarization and President Trump’s rise to the presidency and used both to justify a platform that has no place in American society, let alone its governance.
Trump made the situation worse with his limp-wristed condemnation of what took place. To this day his words are thrown around by Democrats who use Trump as an example of how not to discourage or condemn white supremacism. “And you had people, and I’m not talking about the neo-Nazis or the white nationalists because they should be condemned totally,” Trump said. “But you had many people in that group other than neo-Nazis and white nationalists, okay?”
Trump did exclude the rally’s cowardly racists from his “very fine people” remark, but the problem is that the other group of people Trump referred to — the homegrown, southern, Robert E. Lee supporters — weren’t there in the first place. It was the neo-Nazis and white supremacists who ruled the day, and instead of offering a clear condemnation, Trump offered a vague, senseless statement that still dogs him.
Perhaps the only good to come out of Charlottesville was the partial disbandment and discrediting of the alt-right. Conservatives by and large disassociated themselves from the likes of Richard Spencer and Milo Yiannopoulos. Political figures like Steve Bannon, who once referred to Breitbart, the conservative site he ran, as “the platform for the alt-right,” lost respect and was ultimately ousted from the White House. But white nationalism is not dead and it’s not a “hoax.” It has inspired more mass killings in the U.S. over the past two years than any other radical ideology, including the recent shootings in Gilroy and El Paso, and the attacks in San Diego and Pittsburgh synagogues.
If Charlottesville taught us anything, it’s that violence reigns in the political extremes. The alt-right’s bloodlust is present in the far Left, where Antifa attacks innocent civilians in Portland’s streets, a lone-wolf terrorist opens fire on GOP congressmen playing baseball, and another murders a handful of innocents in Dayton, Ohio. These radicals exploit the fractures among us and use them to stoke fear and wreak havoc. They win because we allow them to. We bicker on social media and fight with those we politically disagree with, cutting off our own family members when the differences become too bitter. Our elected officials regularly refer to each other as racists and misogynists, slinging handfuls of mud because it’s easier than compromising.
We live in the divide we’ve created, and Charlottesville is what happens when the worst among us prevail. If there’s any thing you can do to prevent it happening again, do it.
