 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

■ ■ ■

■ ■ ■

