In the turbulent landscape of American street politics, the past five years have exposed a stark asymmetry: one side's rage went largely unchecked, while the other was systematically sidelined. On September 21, 2025, X reinstated Gavin McInnes, the founder of the Proud Boys, after a seven-year ban.
Just months earlier, on January 20, 2025, President Donald Trump issued blanket pardons for January 6 defendants, including Proud Boys leader Enrique Tarrio, freeing him from a 22-year sentence. In total, Trump commuted the sentences of 14 members of the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers.
And now, on September 22, Trump has signed an executive order designating Antifa a domestic terrorist organization, formalizing a long-threatened crackdown.
These developments, while belated, underscore a painful truth: had McInnes been reinstated on platforms like X earlier, and had Tarrio and the Proud Boys been pardoned sooner—perhaps in 2021—they could have served as a vital counterweight to Antifa's rampage in cities like Seattle and Portland. This balance would have done more societal good than allowing Antifa's violence to fester unchecked for years, culminating in today's terrorist label only after billions in damage and eroded public trust.
To understand this, rewind to the summer of 2020. The killing of George Floyd ignited nationwide protests, many peaceful, but in Portland and Seattle, they devolved into a near-insurrection. Antifa, the loosely organized anarchist network, seized the moment. In Portland alone, over 100 consecutive nights of riots saw federal buildings firebombed, police assaulted with commercial fireworks and lasers, and businesses looted or burned.
The Capitol Hill Autonomous Zone (CHAZ) in Seattle morphed into a six-block "cop-free" fiefdom, where armed militants extorted shop owners and violence claimed lives, including that of a 19-year-old shot in a turf war.
CSIS data from 2021 noted a surge in far-left extremist violence, with Antifa-linked actors responsible for assaults, arson, and property destruction totaling over $2 billion nationwide.
Journalists like Andy Ngo were hospitalized after beatings by masked Antifa assailants wielding batons and bear spray. Citizen journalists like Katie Daviscourt have documented the rampaging mob, also assaulted.
Local leaders, including Portland's then-Mayor Ted Wheeler, admitted police were overwhelmed, retreating as Antifa dictated the streets.
Enter the Proud Boys: a fraternal organization of self-described "Western chauvinists" founded by McInnes in 2016. Far from instigators, they positioned themselves as defenders against what they saw as leftist thuggery. In Portland's "Battle of the Books" on August 4, 2019, Proud Boys members clashed with Rose City Antifa after the latter ambushed a conservative rally, using the confrontation to highlight Antifa's aggression.
Jonathan Choe, the veteran reporter for the ABC television affiliate KOMO in Seattle, wrote an essay on Medium claiming he was fired for his coverage of a rally by the controversial Proud Boys group.
By 2020, as Antifa torched precincts and hurled Molotovs, Proud Boys showed up in tactical gear—not to provoke, but to protect. Ethan Nordean, a Washington Proud Boy later sentenced to 18 years for January 6, went viral in 2018 for knocking out an Antifa attacker wielding a baton against rallygoers in Portland.
Their presence deterred escalation: when Proud Boys rallied in Peninsula Park on September 26, 2020, police kept violence at bay, with Antifa opting for a distant counter-protest miles away.
Critics label the Proud Boys extremists, pointing to their bravado and occasional brawls. Yet, in context, they were a necessary counterforce. Portland's 2020 violence wasn't spontaneous; texts from pro-Trump activists revealed plots to amplify chaos, but Proud Boys often reacted to Antifa's preemptive strikes.
Without them, Antifa's monopoly on street action would have intensified. Business owners in Seattle's CHAZ blamed Antifa for intimidation and theft, with one teen's murder underscoring the zone's lawlessness.
Portland residents, by 2021, expressed "waning patience" for the endless disruption, with over 1,000 arrests tied to Antifa-led riots.
The economic toll? $23 million in Portland alone for overtime and repairs, per city estimates.
Imagine an alternate timeline: Trump, upon re-entering office in 2025, doesn't wait until September to tag Antifa as terrorists. Instead, he pardons Tarrio and the Proud Boys in his first week, as he ultimately did.
Simultaneously, X—under Elon Musk's free-speech ethos—reinstates McInnes not in 2025, but in 2021, post-January 6 deplatforming frenzy. McInnes, a provocateur with a knack for viral takedowns, floods X with real-time dispatches from the streets, rallying supporters and exposing Antifa tactics.
His return today has already netted 40,000 followers overnight, proving his draw.
Earlier, it could have amplified voices like Ngo's, turning public opinion faster.
With Proud Boys "free," Tarrio—charismatic and street-smart—coordinates legal patrols in Seattle and Portland. No more CHAZ; instead, community watch groups shield businesses from smash-and-grabs. Clashes occur, yes—street fights aren't pretty—but data from 2020 shows Proud Boys' interventions shortened riot durations. On August 22, 2020, after far-right groups including Proud Boys retreated from Antifa ambushes, police restored order without mass arrests.
A balanced deterrent: Antifa thinks twice before firebombing if they know counterparts are organized and unafraid. After a jury acquitted 18-year-old Kyle Rittenhouse on all counts, jubilation lit up on social media spaces where self defense fans gathered. In one Telegram channel for the Proud Boys, some noted they had taken the day off work to await the verdict. "There's still a chance for this country," wrote one.
This counterbalance yields tangible good. First, economic: Unfettered Antifa riots shuttered Portland's downtown, with vacancy rates spiking 20% by 2022. Protected streets mean thriving commerce, jobs preserved. Second, safety: Antifa's assaults on journalists and bystanders—over 500 injuries in Portland alone—drop when opposed forces hold ground.
Third, civic trust: Police, vilified and understaffed, regain legitimacy with allied civilians filling gaps, as seen in brief 2020 lulls when Proud Boys de-escalated.
Contrast this with reality: Antifa raged on, morphing from 2020's arsonists to 2025's shadows. Even post-2020, incidents persisted—doxxing, harassment, sporadic violence—emboldened by deplatforming of right-wing voices.
Trump's 2020 tweet labeling Antifa terrorists fizzled without follow-through; his 2025 order arrives after the horse has bolted.
The result? Polarization deepened, with X posts from 2023-2025 decrying Antifa as "plants" in protests, yet unchecked until now.
One X user, eyewitness to Portland chaos, noted how anarchists (often conflated with Antifa) escalated under Trump, only for Proud Boys to be scapegoated.
Pardoning the Proud Boys isn't absolution—January 6 was a stain—but context matters. Tarrio's 22-year bid stemmed from seditious conspiracy, yet his pre-2021 record was street-level pushback against Antifa, not systemic terror.
Reinstating McInnes fosters discourse: His post-ban rants on X already skewer sacred cows, from comedian cancellations to leftist hypocrisies, injecting humor into heavy debates.
Free speech isn't endorsement; it's equilibrium.
Ultimately, societies thrive on counterweights, not monopolies of force. Antifa's "rage until today" cost lives, livelihoods, and faith in institutions—far more than the Proud Boys' defensive scuffles ever did. Had X welcomed McInnes back in 2021 and Trump freed Tarrio then, Seattle and Portland might have healed sooner, with balanced streets yielding a stronger, less divided America. Trump's terrorist designation is justice delayed; the real good lay in prevention through parity. As McInnes quips upon reinstatement, "POYB"—Proud Boys forever? Perhaps not. But in the fight for order, they proved indispensable.
Editorial comments expressed in this column are the sole opinion of the writer.
