MAY 21 • 2020 | 13
school, she said, one of her biggest
mentors had been a Black dean;
she even named her son after him.
None of that stopped Dietz
from joining the NSM. Thanks
to Schoep’
s rebranding, she didn’
t
know about its Nazi ties. She only
knew it as a civil rights group for
white people, and, she tells the
JN, that was enough for her. She
was initially motivated to join by
her anger at the left for what she
believed was their own intolerance
of people with right-wing views.
“When I first got involved, my mission was to show that these
individuals were human too,
” Dietz said. “I guess you could say I
was pretty naïve.
”
Like Schoep, Dietz rose through the ranks of the group quick-
ly. Shortly after joining, she became the NSM’
s propagandist,
responsible for editing the group’
s online videos and crafting its
message on social media in order to lure in new followers. In a
major accomplishment, she got the NSM reinstated on Twitter
after being previously banned for hate speech.
Dietz said it was only later, after she was already immersed in
the group, that she realized what its members believed all along:
“The Jews control everything.
”
“I didn’
t even know what anti-Semitism was,
” she said. “I had
never been really exposed to that.
” One day she finally asked
Schoep what it meant. “He’
s like, ‘
You’
re kidding, right?’
”
In August 2017, Schoep took the NSM and their new, swasti-
ka-free flags to Charlottesville, Virginia, to march in the now-in-
famous “Unite the Right” rally. What unfolded there would prove
central to his decision to leave the group.
Organized by an array of far-right and white supremacist
groups in response to the Charlottesville city council’
s attempts
to remove a statue of Confederate general Robert E. Lee, the
rally became one of the largest public displays of anti-Semitism
in American history. Hundreds of marchers chanted, “Jews will
not replace us!” and one individual drove his car into a group of
counter-protesters, killing one and injuring 19.
One month after the rally, a group of 10 Charlottesville resi-
dents filed a civil suit against the organizers, naming Schoep as a
co-defendant in his capacity as leader of the NSM. Drawing on a
statute known as the Ku Klux Klan Act of 1871, which gives the
president power to combat white supremacist organizations, the
lawsuit (which is still ongoing) accuses the Unite the Right orga-
nizers of conspiring to commit racist violence.
Today, Schoep calls the rally “horrific” and denies that either
he or the NSM played a role in planning it. “I wasn’
t even on the
speakers list,
” he said, claiming that he “wasn’
t really interested
in going,
” but went anyway because he saw defending the preser-
vation of the Lee statue and other
“historical” memorials as “
a good
cause.
”
But being named in the suit
“
stressed me out,
” he said. Even as
he made public statements defend-
ing the NSM, he said he realized
he couldn’
t be a part of the group
anymore.
This led to a series of dramatic
twists. Schoep confessed to James
Hart Stern, a black activist he’
d
become friendly with, that he
wanted to leave the NSM. Stern
successfully convinced Schoep to hand legal ownership of the
group over to him; planning, as he told reporters at the time, to
use the group to deter new followers through techniques like
playing Schindler’
s List on its official website.
As soon as Schoep had turned over the group, Stern attempted
to “
plead guilty” to the lawsuit on behalf of the NSM. Because
this was a civil case, he was legally prohibited from doing so.
The move felt like a betrayal to Schoep, and the two had a bit-
ter falling-out; he wrested control of the NSM back from Stern,
only to formally announce his retirement from the group a few
weeks later, in March 2019. (Stern died of a heart attack that
October, at the age of 55.)
Dietz was on the NSM’
s board of directors at the time Schoep
left and briefly became the legal owner of the group before she,
too, made the decision to leave after two years on the inside. In
the process, she dissolved the NSM in the state of Michigan.
Another member would soon revive the group in Florida, and
today the NSM continues to spread hate without its former lead-
er, including through its Detroit chapter. At the city’
s June 2019
Pride Parade, several NSM members marched while screaming
ethnic and homophobic slurs at passersby. Many chapters have
returned the swastika to their flags, as well, according to Eaton,
who has continued to monitor them.
But Schoep and Dietz were now home free. Both still living in
the Detroit area, they connected with each other on the outside
to form an anti-hate group called Beyond Barriers. Today they
describe the NSM as a “
cult,
” and are both grateful to have left.
When people still in hate movements reach out to Schoep, he
tries to convince them to leave, too. Dietz, the onetime propa-
gandist, makes their videos.
There is a growing international community of people who
have left hate groups. They call themselves “
formers.
”
Among the more famous formers: Derek Black, son of Don
Black, founder of the white nationalist website Stormfront
(Derek lived for a time in Michigan after his retreat from hate);
Megan Phelps-Roper, granddaughter of Westboro Baptist
Church founder Fred Phelps; and, now, Schoep.
We wanted America to break
down... That’s when the
movement would rise up and
people would be looking for
answers.
— JEFF SCHOEP
continued on page 14
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