Proud Boys and antifa: When a right-wing activist met a left-wing anti-fascist

Since the election of Donald Trump, extreme right-wing groups and left-wing activists have battled on American streets. It's happened in New York, Berkeley, Charlottesville and elsewhere. But one liberal enclave might be the epicentre of the fighting: Portland, Oregon, a progressive city in the Pacific north-west.

Two activists who have been on opposite sides in the Portland clashes agreed to meet and talk. But would they have any common ground?

I didn't think they would both be in the same room, until they were both in the same room.

We had agreed to meet on neutral ground - a cannabis club in east Portland. Recreational use of weed is legal in Oregon, and one thing Luis and Rob have in common is that they think liberalising drug laws is a good idea.

Luis, nervous and on edge, enters wearing sunglasses and a hat. Rob is wide-eyed and, it seems, intent on at least a verbal confrontation.

These two men, separated by a wide table, are sworn enemies. They've met on the street, and online they've sent threats and abuse back and forth.

As part of the BBC's Crossing Divides season, we asked them to meet to see whether people at political extremes in the US could find any common ground.

But there's a possibility that the meeting could end in a brawl.

Three burly security guards watch over us as I read out the rules: "Number one, no violence."

Rob asks Luis to take off his sunglasses.

"I feel so much more like I'm interacting with you if I could see your eyes," he says.

Luis answers with a terse "no".

And it starts to go downhill from there.

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Luis and Rob are part of what has become a familiar scene in an unusual place. A city of 700,000 in the America's Pacific north-west, Portland has a reputation for progressive politics and chilled-out lifestyles. In some districts, less than 10% of voters cast a ballot for Donald Trump.

But ever since the 2016 election, Portland has also been a regular venue for some of the worst political violence that America has seen in decades.

Anarchist riots just after the 2016 election resulted in property damage and more than 100 arrests. Soon after, a far-right group called Patriot Prayer started repeatedly holding pro-Trump, pro-"free speech" marches.

When Patriot Prayer hits the streets, they're ed by the Proud Boys, a group that describes themselves as a fraternal organisation. Others, including the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), call them a hate group.

The marches are met by counter protests, including a loose confederation of anti-fascists - or antifa, for short.

There is no one antifa organisation or political philosophy. They're a mixed bag of anarchists, socialists and communists. But what really makes them stand out from Portland's left-wing majority is their willingness to directly confront the right-wingers.

Over the past two years, the rallies and counter-demonstrations have repeatedly resulted in injuries, smashed windows, property damage, and arrests.

On both the far right and the far left, there are people who are not afraid of violence.

In a working-class neighbourhood in south-east Portland, American flags fly from houses and basketball hoops stand guard over pickup trucks.

One modest house on a side street looks a bit different. There are political signs: "We are all immigrants. We are all family." An anti-fascist banner hangs inside. There's also a hole where a brick has been thrown in the front window.

This is the home of antifa activist Luis Enrique Marquez. It also operates as a sort of community hub, with activists heading in and out through the day, chatting, smoking and planning.

Luis, who is in his mid-40s, is talkative and polite. The anti-fascists are also anti-hierarchy, but it's clear that many younger activists look up to him.

"My personal philosophy is that wherever fascism is, I'm going be there and I'm going confront it," he tells me.

Luis has always been involved in Portland's punk, skinhead and anti-racist subcultures, but he dated his devotion to the antifa cause to Trump's election.

"I was angry," he says. "I wanted my voice heard that I didn't agree with this president."

Luis and his fellow activists wish more of Portland's liberals would them in the streets. As we talk, his comrades are prepare a mural: a cartoon version of Donald Trump as Humpty Dumpty, falling off a wall of his own creation. They plan to hang it over a busy highway.

I ask Luis about a different kind of direct action. Why do they confront the far right - isn't fighting them in the streets giving them the attention they crave?

He thinks for a long moment.

"That's kind of like the marketplace of ideas argument, right":[]}