In the 1999 film, Fight Club, the disaffected protagonist, portrayed by Edward Norton, meets a charismatic soap salesman, portrayed by Brad Pitt. The pair bond over their shared enjoyment of violence, eventually founding the “Fight Club”, an underground fighting ring where its male members are invited to express their feelings of frustration and disillusionment through physical violence. In the now famous scene where Pitt’s character proceeds to welcome new initiants into the organization, he informs them that Fight Club has a number of rules that its members must follow. The first and most important of these so-called rules, he tells the male membership, is that ‘they are not permitted to talk about Fight Club.’ In fact, so important is this Rule, Pitt’s character re-stated it. “The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club!”

            While the themes of exclusion and disaffection explored in the film are, certainly, ordinary parts of the human experience, the channelling of these feelings into an organized ring of male-on-male violence strikes many of us as nothing more than artistic commentary on contemporary constructions of gender and masculinity. We would not, in other words, start a real fight club. And yet, in the years since the film’s release, life, as the adage holds, has come to imitate art. What once seemed like nothing more than creative storytelling is now a component of our current socio-political reality.

            Positioning themselves as small collectives of fitness enthusiasts seeking to make connections and friendships with other similarly-hobbied individuals, these clubs make no efforts to hide their true purpose. They occupy public gyms, boxing clubs, martial arts studios, and even public parks, often recording their workouts for publication online. Their members are training for what they believe to be is the upcoming race war. In white nationalist circles, these racist fight clubs are known as “active clubs.” According to the CBC, active clubs are “part of a decentralized white supremacist and neo-Nazi network that has grown globally in recent years, increasingly moving from online forums to real-world training groups and anti-immigration protests.”

            Recent data published by the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism (GPAHE), reports that the active club phenomenon has experienced rapid growth in the last several years, with 187 active club chapters in 27 countries, including Canada. The GPAHE notes: “Conceived by American neo-Nazi Robert Rundo and Russian neo-Nazi Denis Kapustin, the Active Clubs refer to themselves as ‘White Nationalism 3.0,’ an international, decentralized movement of groups working towards the fascist ideal of becoming physically-fit ‘ubermensch’ and a common goal to strengthen the white nationalist movement.” One of Canada’s “most prolific” active clubs, known as the Nationalist-13, is based in southwestern Ontario. In online videos and photos posted by the group, members’ faces are deliberately obscured, often with fascist symbols, including the Totenkopf, the grinning death mask of the Nazi SS. Members are often shown performing Nazi salutes and gestures.

          These groups are also said to have deep connections with other far-right and extremist organizations that operate (or have operated) in Canada, including the Canadian Proud Boys and the Atomwaffen Division. While the Proud Boys and the Atomwaffen Division were listed as terrorist entities by Public Safety Canada in 2021 and are said to have disbanded, media reports suggest that some of their former members have since joined active clubs.

            Active clubs’ successful use of fitness as a guise for racism is academically interesting (albeit deeply disturbing). The fascism of old wore military uniforms, combat boots, and marched across Eastern and Central Europe in a hateful quest to secure the necessary lebensraum (‘living space’ in German) for people it deemed worthy. Conversely, the fascism of today – as it manifests within active clubs – wears trainers, athletic clothing, and likely tracks its daily protein intake. Despite what may read as my facetious phrasing, this imagery was not evoked to make light of this phenomenon, but to highlight the need for us to look past the various costumes of white supremacy and interrogate the socio-political context which has not only allowed these groups to proliferate but operate so shamelessly and so publicly.

            The salience of this point is made out, I think, when we recall that white nationalists have orchestrated violent attacks in Canada in the last decade. In 2017, a white nationalist gunman opened fire in a crowded Quebec City mosque, killing 6 people. In 2021, another white nationalist drove a truck into a Muslim family in London, Ontario, killing 4 people. Active clubs and the racist ideologies that underpin them, therefore, did not spontaneously generate in Canada. They are simply a newer manifestation of a pre-existing problem, whereby racial minorities can easily become the vessels within which feelings of rage, disaffection, bitterness, sadness, or inadequacy can be easily stored by those desperately searching for an outlet. But where does this grim realization leave us and what is to be done?

           It seems to me, at least partially, that the solution to this problem requires that we give name to the horrors that go hand-in-hand with white supremacy and fascist ideologies; we must recognize that this is not some remote problem belonging to nameless, faceless ‘others’; and – finally – we must never stop violating the first two rules of Fight Club.