I wish this were a joke, but it isn’t. The state has made it clear that my long and distinguished tenure in Antifa must come to an end. I hate that it’s come to this. 

I’ve already begun the offboarding process. My exit interview is scheduled, my credentials revoked. 

First, the wardrobe. The Antifa closet is deeper than people realize. Not just the black hoodie. There are the blacker hoodies. The ceremonial black T-shirt for formal occasions. The backup black T-shirt in case of marinara. I’ve bagged them all for disposal, though I’m unsure if there’s a designated drop-off site or if I should just leave them next to the bins at Goodwill and let the system sort it out.

Next, the meetings. Tuesdays at seven, sharp - don’t forget to tip the machete sharpening guy. You miss two and they put you on a corrective action plan. Three and they take your lanyard. I’ll miss the coffee, if I’m being honest. Not the speeches. Those ran long. But the coffee was decent, and the donuts had that powdered sugar that coats your fingers and interferes with forensic printing.

I’ve emailed my chapter lead to confirm whether I need to return my Antifa badge. It never scanned properly at the clubhouse door anyway. The clubhouse, for those asking, is exactly what you’d expect: folding chairs, a whiteboard that still says “ACTION ITEMS,” and someone who knows how to work the projector but refuses to admit it.

My children are taking it the hardest. They’ve been enrolled at Antifa Charter since kindergarten. Strong curriculum. Emphasis on critical thinking, recess, and not being terrible to other people. We’re looking at alternatives, though options are limited this late in the year. The public schools say they don’t offer a direct transfer for “Formerly Antifa Adjacent,” so we may have to start from scratch.

Then there are the tattoos. I was young. We all make choices. At the time, it felt meaningful to have “LIVING WAGES FOR ALL” inked across my forearm in a tasteful serif. The removal process is expensive, but I’m told it fades over time, like most things that mattered to me in my twenties.

There’s also the matter of my Antifa loyalty points. I had enough saved for a branded tote. I’ve reached out to customer service to see if I can redeem before my account is terminated. No response yet, which tracks.

I’ve canceled my subscription to the newsletter. Unsubscribed from the listserv. Deleted the group chat, which immediately created three new group chats to discuss the deletion of the first one. Some habits die harder than others.

I understand why this had to happen. You can’t have people loosely organizing around the radical idea that fascism is bad. It creates confusion. It resists tidy definitions. It refuses to sit still long enough to be neatly labeled, regulated, and filed.

Better, I suppose, to imagine it as a building with a sign out front. A place you can padlock. A budget you can zero out. A thing you can point to and say, “There. That’s the problem. We handled it.”

It’s comforting, in a way. Like thinking the ocean can be drained by banning waves.

In any case, I’ll comply. I’ll turn in my badge, clear out my locker, and take one last look at the whiteboard before I go. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at home, trying to remember where I put my regular clothes and hoping all of my marching for equal rights kept me in shape enough that they’ll still fit.

Reference: https://www.usnews.com/news/us/articles/2026-04-06/desantis-signs-florida-law-to-label-groups-as-terrorists-and-expel-student-supporters

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I Regret to Inform You: I Must Resign from Antifa