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 ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ ■