After the “scuffle,” Richard Spencer urged the crowd back into order. He did this as if he was somehow innocent of instigating the violence, as though he was existing there as a neutral party. I’m just telling it like it is, was his underlying sentiment and disposition.

I’m pretty sure it’s at this point that I started to have what I can only describe as a dissociative experience. I felt dizzy, confused, and awash with a vague fear. Not fear of Spencer, or even of the giant skinhead sitting four feet away from me with SS tattoos on his forearm. It was more of a generalized fear: of what was happening in this room, in this country, and the world; that we were politely listening to a white supremacist tell it like it is, the same matter-of-fact way we might listen to a physics lecture on a college campus; or that a white supremacist could somehow see himself as a neutral party.

Whenever it started, I was in some sort of this haze for the majority of the rest of the event. I tucked my phone and my wallet into my socks, grabbed my sign, shakily stood up, and started walking around the right side of the event.

I may not have been able to be a jolly clown, but I wasn’t going to let Azzurra and Spencer be the only clowns standing up.

Three clowns. Another from this article, photo by Smiley N. Pool/Dallas News Staff Photographer

We tried to muster a conga line, and other interaction from the crowd, but for the most part things continued in this way for the event: us holding signs, or bowling pins, or dancing, while a Nazi waxed philosophical about a white nation.

A supporter of Spencer’s (judging by the hoots and hollers) muttered to me “that get-up is just going to make it easier to find you outside.” A different crowd member threatened to “lay hands on” Azzurra if she didn’t “get out of [his] face” (she was merely walking by him). I overheard a different small cluster of younger crowd members whispering about “beat[ing] the shit out of those libtards after the event,” I was unsure, but assuming, I was the “libtard” in question.

Meanwhile, more crowd members gave us high-fives, hugs, thumbs-ups, raised fists in support, and lots of “Thank you”s. A group of students of color formed a line on the right side of venue and raised fists in opposition of Spencer and solidarity with one another. Several other groups left during the speech in protest, often yelling their thoughts on the way out.

Photo from this article, taken by Spencer Selvidge / Reuters

By the time Spencer finished his schtick, the crowd was down to half of what it started as. Folks queued up for a Q&A and asked questions. There was another violent outburst. There were times when Spencer directly antagonized a specific crowd member to attack him, or argued the benefits of making fun of people with disabilities.

And all this while, I couldn’t help but revisiting the feeling, and the awareness, that this is all too normal. People were asking questions during the Q&A that were meant to intellectually one-up Spencer, or challenge inconsistencies in his message — all the same stuff that happens at normal college lectures. Or, at the very least, they were the same as questions at a “controversial” speaker — the same things that happen when I give talks on college campuses. As if this was just a “controversial” event.

His arguments aren’t rational. He’s a professional troll who manipulates facts to sell a narrative that appeals to people struggling to find a sense of self, and who aren’t opposed to (or in full favor of) racial genocide on the path to that calling. He won’t be disillusioned by a quippy one-liner.

A lot of people started with their questions with comments of “I came here to hear you out,” or “I may disagree with you, but I listened politely,” which, again, sent these ripples of discomfort through me. Is it polite to listen quietly to a white supremacist? my mind raced. Polite to whom? Or whom is this politeness benefitting?

I don’t consider myself a rude person, but I draw the line at protecting Nazis from disrespect.

We kept up our clown antics, as the juxtaposition became louder and louder. It felt more crucial we were there, like just by standing there I was yelling “THIS IS NOT NORMAL. DON’T LET THIS BECOME NORMAL.”