A small group of middle-class white kids step out of a Mercury Sable and look at the prison in front of them. It is a low, sprawling building in Chester County, with no visible entrance and a lonely air. Their friend Jason Robbins has spent the past three days here.

As he approaches the building, Brian Leach, a big, preppy union organizer, makes an observation about the facility: In a way, Robbins is lucky to be here. A real prison, he says, often beats a holding facility.

Josh Freedman, a 26-year-old administrative assistant, agrees with him, and they begin a review: "the Tombs," in New York City, has a terrible reputation, but it's positively luxurious compared to the brigs at the Navy Yard. And nothing, says Leach, stacks up in sheer misery to central booking in Baltimore.

"That," he says, "is a terrible place."

These are the sorts of conversations you have when you're a part of the fight on the fringes, an ongoing series of protests, skirmishes, allegedly unjust arrests, and yes, tongue-in-cheek newspaper articles featuring the people most Americans think of as freaks. Much of the American left believes that the appropriate response to extreme right-wingers is to ignore them; not Anti-Racist Action, an "anti-racist, anti-sexist and anti-homophobic" youth movement best known for its willingness to physically confront its rivals. According to ARA, "fascism"—a term the group employs often, and liberally—spreads like a cancer if left unmolested. So when a neo-Nazi or anti-gay group holds a rally, ARA shows up with bandanas and baseball bats.

"It's street warfare," Leach explains matter-of-factly.

ARA does not offer membership numbers but is capable of mobilizing hundreds of protesters, and sometimes manages to turn streets into battle zones—most memorably, in 2001, in York, when the group teamed with locals to chase a neo-Nazi gathering out of the town by fighting in the streets and vandalizing their vehicles. Not surprisingly, police aren't too fond of these tactics. Leach has had a rubber bullet lodged in his knee, and over the years, many ARA folks have accumulated rap sheets.

The Philadelphia ARA chapter's preferred antagonist is anti-gay evangelical activist Michael Marcavage—himself no stranger to central booking—although they don't promote violence against Marcavage's type. Neo-Nazis, Leach explains, are often white men who feel threatened by the advance of race and gender equality, and think they can gain power through membership in a supremacy group. Getting beaten up by a bunch of pinkos might disabuse them of this notion. Christian activists, on the other hand, don't share that "might-makes-right" mentality.

"It just doesn't pay to beat up church ladies," Leach explains.

Still, he says, a "fascist" should never be comfortable, and so two weekends ago ARA held a demonstration at the Chester County home of Randall and Linda Beckman, members of Marcavage's Repent America organization—a tactic they say is justified because it "shows [the Beckmans] how it feels." A neighbor, perturbed by the crowd of youths shouting on her quiet, rural street, called the cops, who broke up the gathering and arrested Robbins, charging that he resisted arrest and assaulted a police officer. Thus did an activist from Philadelphia come to face the prospect of 20 years in a Chester County prison.

Robbins' preliminary hearing is held in a small courtroom, in a diorama-like courthouse in Chester County. The courtroom regulars seem slightly taken aback by the turnout: About 15 ARA members, looking like the clientele of the Silk City Diner, and some sweater-wearing supporters of the Beckmans crowd the room to watch the proceedings. Robbins' parents are here, too, eyes mostly on the floor. They look up when their son is escorted in.

A 26-year-old student at Community College of Philadelphia, Robbins is a relatively new member of ARA. He grew up in Bloomsburg, and now rooms with Freedman, who describes him as a big Star Wars fan who loves his cat and role-playing games. Robbins is about 5 feet 6 inches, 260 pounds. His legs are bound by an ankle chain.

The case against Robbins is rather straightforward. Officer Richard L. Fagley Sr., a middle-aged cop with the East Pikeland Police, received a report that there was a group of people in a gray van threatening a family on Oak Ridge Lane. There was no crowd when he arrived, but there was a van, and a single man—the defendant—in the driver's seat, reading a Harry Potter book. Fagley approached the van and asked the defendant for identification, to which the defendant replied, "Fuck you, I have rights." Then, Fagley says, he opened the door, began to pull Robbins out of the van, and Robbins punched him, nearly knocking him into the icy street. ARA members claim Fagley pulled Robbins out of the car and thrust him onto the street for no reason, damaging his knee (after the incident, Robbins was taken to the hospital). An eyewitness testified that she saw the policeman and activist struggling, but could not see if a punch was thrown.

During his testimony, Fagley seemed more embarrassed than angry. The man seated at the defendants' table was clearly no supervillain; during cross-examination, Robbins' own lawyer referred to his client as "short and fat." Later, the attorney yanked him up indifferently by the scruff of his jacket, just as one might lift a bag out of the trash can. Fagley saw trouble coming and pointed out, rather tenderly, that Robbins' legs were tied up with the legs of his chair.

In fact, everyone—ARA, the Marcavage supporters—seemed a little milder than usual. For people who speak of revolution and salvation, in a country that is at war, in a city where the murder rate is climbing uncontrollably, all animosities had been boiled down to a single punch, which may or may not have been thrown. Maybe this had a calming effect.

Or maybe not. By Saturday, ARA was demonstrating outside of Marcavage's Lansdowne home, calling him a "fascist scum" and inviting him to come outside and join them. Marcavage declined the invitation, but has sworn his intention to keep attending gay pride events in the Philadelphia area.

Robbins, for his part, was released upon posting $1,000 in bail after the hearing. He walked out of the courthouse and into a swarm of his friends, where he could be overheard complaining about the effect his arrest might have on the end of his semester. According to Freedman, Robbins will not be participating in any ARA actions until the case is over.

"He told me that all he wants to do is go by the jail to pick up some of his things," Freedman says, "then go home and play with his cat."