Havana Marking’s documentary about the work of the anti-fascist group, Hope Not Hate, was supposed to have had its premiere at the London Film Festival earlier this month. But alas, it was not to be. At short notice, it was pulled from the festival’s programme on safety grounds; concerned for the welfare of both their staff and the audience, its organisers said they’d reluctantly taken the “heartbreaking decision” to withdraw it. In the end, it was left to Channel 4 to debut the film, in which Hope Not Hate works to expose a UK “race science” (aka eugenics) network of far-right activists with links to organisations in Europe and the US.
Watching the film, I wondered why the LFF had been so anxious. The material is certainly incendiary, but the individuals involved in these networks also seem to have scattered at the first sign of trouble: at the film’s end, they issue statements denying some of the allegations made against them; at least one, we’re told, is no longer involved, and their wealthy American backer, seemingly appalled by the discovery of what his cash was paying for, has also broken ties. I understand that the LFF may have received specific threats. But having seen the documentary, they would also know that this film has a lot to say about cowardice. If it’s our moral duty to stand up to such bullies, we must also remember that some are often a good deal more faint-hearted than they appear outwardly.
It seems to me that the biggest risk to safety by far in this case is to the brilliant and brave staff of Hope Not Hate, all of whom appear on camera, named and easily identifiable – and I wonder a little at the fact they decided to do so. The film follows Harry Shukman, an investigative journalist, whom Hope Not Hate sends undercover to befriend far-right activists, and all of the strategies involved in this dangerous work are duly revealed, including the hidden cameras he uses, their lenses disguised as buttons, and the top of an old box of dental floss used to protect their too-sensitive off switches. His strategy at conferences and demos is a boyish eagerness: he must egg on the men (they’re all men) without seeming too obvious. Afterwards, watching the film back with a colleague, he squirms at the character he has been playing. “Chris from rural Cambridgeshire” is a racist, an anti-Semite and a misogynist, and Harry is made queasy by his own rather convincing performance.
I’ve nothing new to say about the fascists themselves. All the old clichés apply. What are they really afraid of, you wonder, as they spout hate over a drink? At a “race science” conference in Tallinn, Estonia, in 2023, Shukman, undercover, talks to Ryan Williams, who makes a podcast called The Absolute State of Britain. “It’s very hard to find a good woman,” he tells Shukman. When two women from an Essex village tell Paul Golding, of Britain First, he’s not welcome to campaign there, his response is: “Let’s hope they [Muslims, immigrants] f*** her up the arse.” You don’t have to be Dr Freud to understand what’s going on here; to see the link between a certain kind of inadequacy and a person’s move ever rightwards. It’s vile and dangerous. But it’s also, at bottom, pathetic.
And of course your average fascist doesn’t always come with a neon light in the form of, say, a shaved head, an England flag, or a ready Hitler salute. Some like to cosplay as extras from Peaky Blinders, in ties and tweedy hats, while others you’d take for bookish liberals until they get going. Matt Frost (sometimes known as Matt Archer) is a young, good-looking, well-spoken Cambridge graduate who, when Shukman first encounters him, is running a newsletter called Aporia – and to be honest, if he was Simon Schama himself, he could not seem more plausible. But his interests are, as they appear in the film, extreme (we’re told later that he has now “stepped down” from Aporia). His plan, and that of his German associates, is to take “race science” and to “tie it to policy”. His work, in other words, is aimed at “the elite”.
In a climactic scene, Shukman flies to Athens to meet Frost/Archer and a German colleague, in the hope of discovering their financial backer (this turns out to be Andrew Conru, the founder of the dating site Adult Friend Finder, though since the film was made, he has – seemingly in horror – broken all links with the Human Diversity Foundation, a eugenics network linked to Aporia). Shukman is posing as a potential backer himself, and for this reason wants to appear wealthy. Yes, he has flown in from Milan! he tells them. Yes, dinner in this swanky Athenian restaurant is on him! he insists. Courtesy of his hidden camera, we see an expanse of white damask on which sits the delicious food they eat, the glasses of wine they drink – and in the end, it’s relatively easy. Over the carpaccio of seasonal mushrooms dressed in olive oil and lemon juice, Shukman gets the name he needs, their (repellent) kingdom for an entrée.
