For a year and a half, John Safran hit the streets to document the rise and partial fall of Reclaim Australia, a group protesting Islam and multiculturalism. In this extract Safran finds himself at a rally on a Sunday in Melton.

Two skinheads standing in the middle of the road in Melton lock eyeballs. They are a mirror reflection of each other. The socialists and anarchists cir­cled around them, however, seem to know something I don’t. That one is a Nazi and the other is an anti-Nazi.

With the 'patriots' out of sight and inaccessible, Melton locals have become the proxy UPF for some of the anarchists

“Fuck off,” screams the first skinhead. “I’m a skinhead, you’re a fucking disgrace.”

“You never asked for my political opinion,” counters his reflection.

“Your name is Angus,” throws in one of the socialists. “You’re a fucking Nazi. We all know this.”

“White laces, mate,” snaps the first skinhead, glancing down at Angus’s shoes.

Not sure what that means, but this is the point of distinction. The first skinhead has black laces.

Trembling, Angus tells a local journo poking her dictaphone at him that he’s nineteen and from a country town three hours’ drive from here.

“Tell ’em what the white laces are about!” demands the first skinhead.

“Um,” begins Angus, “so what happens is ... there’s an associa­tion with –”

“White means fucking white pride, you prick!” snaps the first skinhead.

“Well, that’s the assumption, mate. However, people –”

“Are you a Sharp?” the first skinhead interrupts, referring to Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice.

“Sharp?” Angus sounds like a nervous politician buying time. “No. I believe in the traditional skinheads who are apolitical. You know, in 1969, how you had the –”

“I know all about 1969, cunt!”

Angus ducks through the mob, past the police line to the far-right mob on the other side. An anarchist manages to poke Angus in the bottom with a flagpole, though.

Melton’s been bubbling for two hours now. The “patriots” skid­ded in in their utes an hour before the advertised time. They planted their flags in the grass right in front of the city council building. This council has approved the building of a mosque. Over 100 cops in riot gear then jogged into place, sealing the “patriots” off from the world. I can only see the tips of their flagpoles from where I stand on tippy-toes, here on the leftwing side. A couple of hundred have rocked up for the left, a couple of hundred for the right.

There was expansive space for rallying in Melbourne and Bendigo. This is not the case today. The socialists and anarchists are pushed up close to the police, confined to the same strip of grass as them. They can wander back, but they wander onto a road. (That’s where the White Shoelace versus Black Shoelace battle went down.) Across the road, locals have gathered in a park to watch the circus that has rolled into town. Melton folks have also bundled together a little further up the road, near the shops.

Some left-wingers have brought a banner, “fuck off nazi scum”, that features a struck-out swastika and a middle finger. For some reason, this giant banner – this giant middle finger – is propped up to face the Melton folks up the road.

In fact, with the “patriots” out of sight and inaccessible, Melton locals have become the proxy UPF for some of the anarchists and socialists. A few gangly anarchists with bandanas pulled over their faces chant at a man in double denim: “Go home, Nazi! Go home!”

“I live here,” he says.

Now Double Denim is grumbling to the police. He complains that cops have hassled him for wearing a motorcycle helmet in the street, yet are letting these masked anarchists roam free. “Why can’t I do it?” he mopes.

The anarchists continue to berate him: “Go home, Nazi! Go home!”

I tell Double Denim the “patriots” are here to protest council approval of a mosque. He says he doesn’t mind if a mosque is built here.

I pull on my sunnies. Why didn’t I bring sunscreen? Why didn’t I bring water?

Three kids on BMXs look on from the park. One of these BMX bandits, an 11-year-old, is particularly feisty.

Anti-Nazi protesters confronting the United Patriots Front rally in Melton, Victoria. Photograph: John Safran

“Fuck you!” he shouts towards the crowd of socialists and anar­chists; then, inexplicably, “Rice Bubbles!”

“Why are you against those guys?” I ask.

“Because this is our country,” the kid cries. “And they want to take our country. Fuck them!”

I don’t understand. She’s telling a street full of white Australians to fuck off back to their own country

“But who’s trying to take over Australia?” I ask.

“Dunno.”

“This is our country,” screams a female twenty-something. “Fuck off to your own!”

I don’t understand. She’s telling a street full of white Australians to fuck off back to their own country. Are the white lefties prox­ies for Muslims and refugees? Or maybe she means she wants this foreign race of hipsters to fuck off back to their own country of inner-city Melbourne.

“Look at that guy. He’s got goggles,” the BMX kid says of one such hipster. “There’s no oceans in Melton!” he screams at the man.

‘Was this scarier than you thought it was going to be?’

I spot Ahmet, who has shown up with seven of his Turkish buddies to provide security for the socialists and anarchists, standing under trees near the police line. The bandanas pulled over their faces are theatrical – a couple feature skull jaws, others feature hot-rod flames. Tight T-shirts with anarchist slogans show off their gym bodies. People want photos with them, like they’re characters at Disneyland.

Ahmet and the Seven Turks stare ahead, like Buckingham Palace guards when the tourists pull faces. But Ahmet’s eyes, poking above the skull jaw, reveal he’s upset. Like the socialists at the first Reclaim rally who weren’t prepared for men in turbans, Ahmet wasn’t expect­ing to face off a woman.

John Safran. “‘Was this scarier than you thought it was going to be?’ I shout.” Photograph: Penguin Random House

A grandmother, a mother and a son gripping Aussie flags – and each other – push through the crowd of socialists and anarchists. This is the only way for them to reach the Reclaim side.

“Was this scarier than you thought it was going to be?” I shout.

“Yeah,” quivers mum.

“What did you think this was going to be?”

“I don’t know. Not this.”

A Samoan teenager is wearing a hat that reads “Samoan”. It’s like he’s in one of those political cartoons where everything’s labelled so there’s no confusion. He lives nearby and was pedalling past on his bike. Now he’s come to the rescue of the family with the flags. He is pushing the anarchists away. “I’ve got a mum, bro,” the Samoan screams at them. “If you did that to my mum …”

A dad and his family stride through next. A big inflatable hand with an Aussie flag print is squeezed over his real hand. Anarchists dressed like ninjas swarm around.

“How you going today?” squawks one.

“Fucking excellent,” the dad snaps back.

“Go home, Nazi! Go home!”

One of the ninjas leaps and kung-fu chops the Aussie-flag inflat­able hand. The hand hits the street. Four ninjas stomp on the hand and it pops. The dad darts off.

“Little faster, mate!” snickers one of the ninjas.

“You guys stay here,” Ahmet tells his Seven Turks. “Relax.” He weaves through the ninjas, squats and picks up the deflated inflatable hand. He folds it and elbows through the mob. “Listen, please,” he says, passing over the deflated hand to the dad. “This was not appropriate to be taken off you. This is our flag too, you know what I’m saying? I’m not here about burning flags.”

The dad thanks this burly man hidden behind a skull-jaw bandana.

“I’m a Muslim,” Ahmet reveals.

The dad and his family look surprised.

Ahmet has more to say. “My people are innocent of these crimes that Isis done, man,” he begins. “You know, every week we have a Muslim woman getting attacked on the streets. A woman! At least attack our men, you know? We know everyone’s emotional. Everyone’s scared. I promise these Isis people will kill us before they kill you guys.” Ahmet looks over the police line to the tips of the UPF flags. “You know, this isn’t the answer. This is what they want us to do.”

“We just don’t want them in the country to begin with!” the dad says of terrorists.

“We don’t too!” insists Ahmet.

“Then why don’t you get rid of them?”

Ahmet explains that before he was married he “couldn’t get a girl to text me back. You reckon I can get rid of terrorists?” Everyone laughs.

“Then why do you need to cover your face then?” asks the woman.

Three shirtless Meltonite teens are facing off some ninjas

Ahmet says white supremacist groups take photos, and after the rallies harass the people in those photos. That’s why they need the masks.

“There’s too many people out there being racists!” responds the dad. So he doesn’t think he’s one of them. “You know, it’s silly. Why? Why?”

“Listen, if you find yourself stuck in the thick of it, you come next to any of us.” Ahmet motions to his Seven Turks. “We’ll protect you.”

Jesus! What was that? An explosion?

I dart up the street. Someone’s thrown a slab of Jack Daniel’s cans and the IED is now dribbling bourbon onto the street. Three shirtless Meltonite teens are facing off some ninjas. One of the Meltonites holds a BMX over his head. Is he going to chuck it at the ninjas?

I ask him what he’s protesting about.

“Don’t want to come over here in our country and respect the way we live? I reckon they should respect it. They expect us to go over there and respect them and the way they live. We respect their turf over there. They can respect ours.”

I’m confused as to who he’s talking about. “The Muslims or the protesters?” I ask.

He motions down the street to the protesters. “The Muslims.”

As I leave, he’s still holding the BMX over his head.

No Room for Racism protesters at a United Patriots Front rally in Melton. Photograph: John Safran

The No Room for Racism MC is a human beatboxer, pounding his mouth to You’re The Voice. The crowd dances and chuckles. This week John Farnham told Reclaim Australia to stop pumping out his songs at its rallies. The beatboxer wraps up his Farnsey and tells the crowd to huddle together. It’s time to march up the street in solidar­ity with Muslims and refugees.

The folks at the front prop up high the giant banner, “fuck off Nazi scum”, with the big middle finger. But before a step can be taken an anxious bald man runs in front of the march.

“What is wrong with you?” he screams. “Mohammed, Alayhi salaam, he promoted peace even in the time of war!”

He’s like the guy blocking the tanks at Tiananmen Square. Mel rushes over to find out what’s what. He says he’s a local, a Muslim.

“This sign is not right!” he cries. “Islam does not promote hate!”

“Can I just explain?” Mel says. “It was a couple of people who made that banner. They don’t represent all of us.” She says that for some people this rally is “really personal. It’s about attacks – physi­cal attacks – on Muslims,” so the sign reflects that anger. She tries to upsell him to socialism. “For other people it’s more of a general prob­lem. Like, why are people being divided, when it’s actually the rich who are screwing us all over, do you know what I mean?”

Before this rally, everyone in the community was getting along. Now this is what’s going to cause conflict Jihad

“I get discriminated every fucking day! I get pulled over!” the man cries. “You know what my name is?”

“No,” Mel says.

“My name is Jihad.”

“Oh.”

“I’m the one that got harassed all my life. Do you know the meaning of jihad?” He turns from Mel to the crowd. “Who knows the definition of jihad?”

“Religious struggle, man,” offers a socialist wearing reindeer antlers for some reason.

“No, no, no!” Jihad responds. “There’s gonna come a time in this world when holding onto your faith is like holding onto a hot piece of coal. How long can you hold onto that hot piece of coal? That is jihad. Jihad is in every religion. It’s the struggle to keep your faith.”

Hang on, isn’t that what Reindeer Antlers said it meant? Regardless, Jihad goes on to say that jihad decidedly does not mean violence.

“What kills me,” he continues, “before this rally, everyone in the community was getting along. Now this is what’s going to cause conflict. Our Prophet, Alayhi salaam, when he talks about ummah, his community, He talks about Muslims, Christians, Jews, Buddha, everyone!”

The socialists and anarchists receive all the flak from locals who are annoyed by the rally, which seems unfair. They only rocked up because the far right rocked up. The Reclaimers are out of sight and out of mind, sealed off by the police. What would have happened if the layout was the other way around, the socialists and anarchists out of sight and the Reclaimers on the street? Would the various BMX enthusiasts be hassling them?

“You know what I reckon?” Mel tells Jihad. “You should come to the next event with the biggest banner, that says what you want it to say.”

Depends What you Mean by Extremist cover

“I just had to say my two cents, because I don’t agree with it.”

“Yeah, cool, thanks mate. Good on you.”

I, of course, am thoroughly delighted to have witnessed this. The Melton Muslim objecting to the rally defending Muslims, on scriptural grounds. Mel notices that I’ve been here to catch this scene. She looks thoroughly undelighted.

The socialists and anarchists march into town with their giant middle finger, and I head towards my car.

This is an edited extract from Depends What you Mean by Extremist by John Safran, published by Hamish Hamilton, an imprint of Penguin Random House.