In an oak-paneled library on the ground floor of a mansion outside Columbus, Ohio, a curious experiment in political organizing was underway. Dozens of far-right conservatives, along with a handful of leftist activists, had gathered at this Italian-style villa to hash out an alliance built around opposition to Israel and foreign wars.
To kick things off, a 26-year-old progressive Democratic candidate named Jose Vega acknowledged the first of many challenges that would beset the event.
“I heard the livestream got hacked,” said Mr. Vega, who is running an insurgent campaign against a pro-Israel New York congressman, Ritchie Torres.
Billed as the “first bipartisan event uniting America First candidates and influencers opposed to AIPAC, endless wars and the Epstein cover-up,” the gathering last Saturday afternoon was an effort to expand a movement most closely associated with Nicholas J. Fuentes, a white nationalist influencer, and outspoken antisemite.
Mr. Fuentes’s following comprises a small but growing faction of young conservatives who feel betrayed by President Trump for his failures to deliver on core campaign promises. Some figures aligned with this camp are already running for office.
The event in Ohio skewed young and male. The event was sparsely attended, and many of the around 50 guests were dressed in their Sunday-best suits and loafers. This style was accessorized with America First hats, cross necklaces and a few diamond-studded earrings. One attendee in his early 20s carried a copy of Patrick J. Buchanan’s 2001 book, “The Death of the West.”
Some of these young MAGA dissidents sipped Celsius and Monster Energy drinks, while others popped Zyn, scanning social media and monitoring group chats. (In the men’s bathroom, the crushed remains of what appeared to be Adderall dusted the ledge of a toilet-paper dispenser.)
The concept of America First, as espoused by Mr. Fuentes on his nightly streams, is centered on closed borders, isolationism, Christian principles and opposition to foreign influence. As a real-world political movement, well, it hasn’t coalesced into an effective force.
This lack of hard power was one reason a trio of activists, among them a Fuentes acolyte named Amy Dangerfield and her husband, Daniel DeBrincat, had organized the event they called America First United.
Mr. Fuentes, for his part, has distanced himself from the conference, excoriating the notion that his movement could go on without him. Yet despite a low-wattage speaker list and the optics of a room dotted with some empty chairs, the gathering was a glimpse at the strange political forces set loose during the president’s second term. As young voters, on the right and the left, bristle at Mr. Trump’s military operation in Iran and Israel’s continued war in Gaza, many are looking to dream up new political avenues.
Ms. Dangerfield, a 30-year-old podcaster from Australia, was one such malcontent.
“We felt like we had to do something,” said Ms. Dangerfield, who was dressed in a bubble-gum-pink blazer. She is a recent convert to the America First program, but it has become her political home, and she is eager to see it coalesce into a coherent force.
“We were sick of staying online and just complaining about things, saying ‘I wish things were different,’” said Ms. Dangerfield, who is in the process of obtaining U.S. citizenship. “We have to get people elected that are for Americans, that want to put Americans, in America, first.”
On the agenda that day was a loose goal to define what a bipartisan America First movement might look like.
For the next several hours, a procession of long-shot, down-ballot candidates cycled before the room. Mark Moran, a progressive provocateur with slicked-back hair, vamped on a populist-sounding message about plights of young Americans. Dan Bilzerian, a macho podcaster who has used his platform to begin a congressional bid in Florida on an anti-Israel agenda, called into the event on FaceTime to condemn “Jewish supremacy.” He also condemned what he called Mr. Trump’s willingness to “sell out” America.
Another Republican candidate, Dennis Feitosa, who is running for Congress in California, suggested that politicians who were recipients of gifts from foreign countries be punished as traitors and put to death.
The left-leaning speakers in attendance were largely shunned by the nationalist-identifying majority. During breaks, they kept to themselves, waiting for their time at the mic. Taking the podium, Jerrad Christian, a progressive candidate running for Congress in Ohio, acknowledged the surrealness of this eclectic gathering. “This is a weird-ass situation now, isn’t it,” he said, as the room emptied out.
Later in an interview, Mr. Christian said, “I saw it as an opportunity to speak to people who wouldn’t normally hear me, even if that’s a single person.”
But despite its stated mission of uniting both ends of the political spectrum, Mr. Christian lamented, the conference couldn’t escape the customs of the far right.
The room percolated with fiery condemnations of “AIPAC shills” — supporters of the powerful pro-Israel lobbying organization — and immigrants. Most indulged in the coarse language that has become default among the right: There was a flow of epithets for homosexuals, slurs for intellectual disabilities, and antisemitic comments. The women in the room were exhorted not to be “whores” and the men not to be “sluts.”
More peaceable language was reserved for networking. “Do I follow you? Should we go make a video?” one shaggy-haired content creator could be heard asking another.
But a low-level trepidation hung over the proceedings. Many expressed doubt that a left-right coalition built predominantly on a mutual hostility to Israel would be able to overcome hard-wired ideological disagreements.
Michael Rectenwald, a croaky-voiced 67-year-old who helped Ms. Dangerfield recruit the left-leaning speakers at the conference, waved away such concerns. “This is a stable, primary set of issues that are fundamental for both the right and the left today,” he said. A former professor at New York University, Mr. Rectenwald is also the founder of AZAPAC, an anti-Israel lobbying group. He didn’t try to oversell the importance of the day’s gathering.
“This is a very emergent movement,” he said. “It is not fully developed, and I’m sure there will be criticisms of it.”
The presence of Sameerah Munshi, a conservative Muslim activist who had been invited to speak that day, provoked the hard-liners in the room, among them Joel Webbon, a Christian Nationalist activist and pastor. “I’m going to say some things up there that probably won’t get me invited back,” Webbon said, before delivering a vision of America First that excluded leftists, racial minorities, non-Americans and non-Christians.
More pressing concerns, however, seemed to be weighing on the younger segment in attendance.
As one conferencegoer in his early 30s put it to me: “Aura loss.”
Another, sizing up the crowd, said, “Welcome to chud hell.”
The concerns echoed the dynamics that govern most social functions: Was it uncool to be here? Were the guests also deeply uncool?
As footage of the conference appeared online throughout the day, critics on social media began to ridicule the event. They mocked its tiny audience, its low production value and a speaker list that lacked star power. Viewers of the event stream on the platform Rumble observed that only about 500 people had tuned in.
Much of the online dissent was driven by loyal supporters of Mr. Fuentes. (Ms. Dangerfield said that Mr. Fuentes did not respond to a text message asking him for his blessing. Mr. Fuentes did not respond to a request for comment for this article.)
To detractors, Mr. Fuentes’s refusal to support the gathering was damning, and the online criticism seemed to seep into the room. One far-right influencer in attendance, who spoke on a panel that afternoon, had posted earlier on X that she was convinced Mr. Fuentes was the only figure who could lead the movement.
One America First content creator, Jackson Heaberlin, dismissed the abuse as anonymous backbiting. “These groypers are a bunch of toxic soy losers who literally got woked out,” he said in an interview “Literally. They’re telling us you can’t say ‘America First’ because that’s Nick’s thing. It’s just so corny, dude.” Still, the specter of Mr. Fuentes loomed.
One attendee, wearing a bright blue America First hat, was worried he might be photographed at the event and draw Mr. Fuentes’s ire.
Around 11 p.m., some two hours behind schedule, the final speaker concluded and the building’s staff swooped in to clear the room of chairs. Ms. Dangerfield and her partners seemed unconcerned with the blowback. Rather, as production crews dismantled lights and coiled cables, they appeared giddy. Ideas of a second America First United event were floated. Perhaps in Las Vegas, and perhaps, in deference to the online masses, with no leftists on the bill.
Nearby, a case of Heineken beer appeared, and the remaining stragglers began to pass around the glass bottles.
As Ms. Dangerfield scanned her social media mentions, she suggested that a successful version of America First might not be one helmed by Mr. Fuentes. Instead, she offered, it might be best embodied by figures like James Fishback, a long-shot candidate for governor in Florida, or even Mr. Bilzerian.
“I love Nick, I respect Nick,” Ms. Dangerfield said. “But there is a difference between podcasting and doing something.”
Nathan Taylor Pemberton is a reporter covering politics and culture for The Times.
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