On Saturday, Feb. 21, the National Socialist Movement staged a rally in Raleigh, N.C., in honor of George Washington’s birthday. They were joined by Neo-Nazis, Skinheads, and Klan members from around the nation. “When in doubt, follow the news choppers.”

We turned right, and made a beeline for the helicopter circling on the horizon.

The downtown Raleigh skyline loomed in the distance and then swallowed us whole, a beautiful Saturday afternoon blocked out by high-rises.

It seemed appropriate that there would be no sunshine at the Nazi rally.

Conversation in the car stopped as we passed some of Raleigh’s Finest on the corner. It looked like they were cracking jokes or talking about the weather; I couldn’t tell. All I could see was that each one was equipped with three feet of wooden stick and a gas mask.

Clearly this was serious.

We drove by steadily increasing groups of police, their cars blocking the side streets leading towards the Capitol building. Traffic was thick, and we could make out some sort of commotion ahead. We inched along.

To our right, a young-looking mob stretched the length of the block. They brandished pieces of cardboard with painted swastikas, and for a moment I was terrified we were about to drive through a gauntlet of Hitler Youth.

A second glance put me at ease. The mob was behind barricades. The mob was not all white. And most tellingly, the handmade swastikas had the universal “no” sign over them. Moving past in Kenny’s car, I noted the spectrum of ages, skin tones and walks of life represented by the protestors. It would have made a lovely photograph.

We parked in a garage just off the main street and made it to the protest site just as the Nazis were due to show up. Their permit was from 2:00 to 4:00, and at 2:03 they were nowhere to be seen.

There were plenty of people already there, at least 300 and growing. They wore t-shirts and jeans, button-downs and khakis, dresses, bow ties, leather jackets, black trench coats and Mohawks. A man in clown makeup and a rainbow wig approached me, and asked if I’d like “a multi-cultural sandwich. Peanut butter and jelly with white and wheat bread.”

I declined, and noticed a sign on his shirt that designated him a member of the KKKK: Klowns against the Ku Klux Klan.

It was a circus. People were taking pictures as if it were their child’s first birthday party. I could hardly fault them; I had a camera around my neck and another in my bag. I wanted to make sure I could prove this was real.

On second thought, that wouldn’t be difficult. When I told them I was leaving New England to attend college in the South, they all had the same reaction: “Matt … They burn crosses down there.”

“Oh no,” I assured them. “I’m going to North Carolina. I’m sure the cross-burning doesn’t start until Georgia.”

And so I found myself standing across the street from the North Carolina Capitol building, waiting for a National Socialist Movement rally to begin. By now even the main streets had been blocked off by police cars. No protestors were allowed on the rally’s side of the street, an unspoken rule that would doubtless be enforced by the large numbers of police assembled.

The men and women in blue stood shoulder-to-shoulder facing us, forming a human fence down the middle of the street. Behind them, riot teams moved in formation around the Capitol building, adjusting their facemasks and checking their teargas launchers. Down the street, some horseback police kept the crowd in line.

Overhead, the snipers settled into position atop the surrounding buildings.

At 2:45, a charter bus arrived, and what looked like a squad of 20 brown-shirted state troopers poured out. Their shirts were ironed and tucked in, and their ties were straight. They walked with purpose. It’s the swastika armbands that gave them away.

The crowd booed.

All I could think was, “Oh my god … These guys are for real.”

The Nazis crossed the south lawn and set up their podium and sound system near a statue of George Washington.

A chant started. “No more Nazis/No more hate/Why do you show up so late?”

I wondered, “Where’s the rest of them?”

Assembled before me were nearly 40 men and women in Nazi uniforms, Klan robes, sweatshirts, baseball caps, and sunglasses. They carried flags of the Third Reich, the Skinhead Movement, and the thirteen original colonies. They held homemade signs which read “White Revolution: The Only Solution” and “Death to Race Mixers.”

They looked normal. I could pass any one of them on the street, and not think twice, but for those distinctive outfits.

And they were talking. I know this, because whenever there was a lull in the crowd’s mood, I could hear the distant crackle of a PA system.

There was no way the crowd was going to let the Nazis’ message escape the 100 square yards granted to them by their permit, nor could the Nazis construe the assembled mass as support for their cause.

At one point, a Nazi’s flag drooped and touched the ground. Immediately, a section of the crowd began to point and laugh. His reaction was classic – throwing his arms wide and beckoning with his free hand, challenging two dozen protestors to a brawl.

Were it not for the enormous police presence, he would have been taken up on his offer.

It occurred to me that 50 years ago, there may well have been a reversal of this situation: 40 protesters standing before the courthouse steps, surrounded by a mob incised by their radical views on race relations.

Only there would have been no police protection.

My, how America changes.

Now I am able to witness a black policeman keeping the peace no more than 15 feet from the Nazi’s podium. I am able to witness snipers lying prone on the roof of the capitol building, no more than 30 feet under the American flag.