#2399 - Daryl Davis & Jeff Schoep

Good to see you both—Daryl, this friendship of yours is one of the wildest things about you; you’re proof that patience and simple decency can move mountains.

I never set out to pull people from hate groups; I shared perspectives they had never considered, and many chose to walk away because hate drains your life.

You’ve helped hundreds leave, and the takeaway for listeners is that some folks get trapped by bad ideas and bad circles until someone shows them a different path.

I led the National Socialist Movement for decades; my interest started in grade school because my grandfather served in Hitler’s army, and I chased that history as a teen.

How did you find them before the internet?

A library book listed addresses, so at eighteen I wrote groups by mail and joined the NSM for its link to Rockwell’s American Nazi Party, then rose through the ranks.

You were a rock singer while getting indoctrinated, which shows how messy people are.

I thought it was edgy and cool at the time, not realizing I was being trained into racism and antisemitism.

There’s a surreal American history to all this, like that prewar rally in Madison Square Garden and how symbols shift meaning across cultures.

Even institutions evolve; we’ve seen ugly chapters—from corporate ties to segregation in blood banks—give way as people learn and change.

At nineteen I was doxed on a radio show, felt cornered, doubled down, left my band, shaved my head, and threw everything into the movement, which hurt my family deeply.

Uniforms, rallies, the whole spectacle—did you ever question it back then?

Not then; living in a mostly white world, the ideology became my bubble and my identity.

So how did you and Daryl cross paths?

A film crew set up a meeting at a diner; we connected over music, then I snapped back into debate mode when I realized who he was.

We bonded on music, then I challenged his logic gently—asked why his ‘civil rights for whites’ group banned me, and he escalated because friendliness felt dangerous to his stance.

You spiked the energy because you could feel yourself liking him.

Exactly; his humanity shook the certainty that had kept me insulated.

After Charlottesville I called him, and later we shared a stage in New York; by then he was rethinking everything and moving toward helping others out.

I left in early 2019 after years of internal conflict; I tried rebranding the group, but realized I was just polishing something rotten and finally denounced it publicly.

Were you worried about retaliation?

It’s a risk, especially if you speak out, but I moved forward anyway, and many members left soon after; today the group is a shell of what it was.

People from his world began contacting me to exit, and I helped connect them to a new life rather than leave them stranded with a stigma.

Jeff, what did you do for work after leaving?

I lived off savings while I rebuilt, and now I work on deradicalization, speak globally, and collaborate with groups like the Simon Wiesenthal Center.

That’s a full reversal; I met Simon Wiesenthal years ago, and now Jeff partners with his center to keep people from repeating history.

You also brought a powerful story about your former security chief.

Duke left the movement after a Black nurse cared for him through a health crisis; they married and remain deeply in love, which shows how connection can override hate.

Leopard spots are fixed; hoods and armbands are learned, and learned beliefs can be unlearned when you cultivate respect, listening, and fairness.

How do you feel looking back on your past now?

It feels like watching someone else; there’s shame and guilt, so I show old clips before talks to prove the change is real.

Humans are tribal and malleable, which is why these movements are so sticky.

I grew up overseas among many cultures, so tribe lines didn’t make sense to me; that background helps me bridge divides now.

Jeff, did your hostility come from experience?

No; I grew up in an all-white farm town, and the hate came from indoctrination, not my own interactions.

You were attacked while inside the movement, right?

Yes; infiltrators once cracked my head with a tire iron, and I was shot at and targeted by rivals and gangs when we flaunted symbols in hostile areas.

What actually changes minds for people inside?

It’s usually a long process—small human moments, disconfirming experiences, or personal crises that make the ideology impossible to square with reality.

Daryl, does this work ever feel crushing?

It’s heavy, and not everyone changes, but I focus on the ones willing to talk and let the results inspire their friends to follow.

I’ve seen longtime extremists shift after tragedy or for their kids’ sake; the weight of the ideology on family life can finally tip the scale.

Daryl, how has this changed your music-to-activism ratio?

It flipped; I perform less now because improving race relations became my obsession, even if I’d rather be at a piano than watching crosses burn.

How controlled are these groups?

Klan and neo-Nazi groups run like paramilitaries, with public and private rallies and strict top-down rules; if the leader invites me, members stand down.

What kind of training are we talking about?

Militia-style drills and rank structures, built on a belief the government will collapse and they’ll rise in the chaos.

Language matters—white groups get called militias while Black groups doing the same are labeled militants, and recruitment often targets recent vets and police.

How do they use media to recruit?

They stage events where clashes are likely, film the mayhem, and push the clips to stir fear and attract joiners who crave action.

I first heard about a coming race war from a Nazi leader who later used riot footage as proof of ‘tyranny’; I learned how they frame chaos to build ranks.

How has the internet changed radicalization?

Now it’s a click away and often disguised; podcasts and videos avoid obvious symbols while delivering the same message.

And what is driving the surge?

Demographic change frightens a segment of white America, and that fear fuels more groups and lone-wolf violence, like the massacre in a Black church.

How hard do they push for military members?

By the end of my tenure, about half had military backgrounds; the structure and mission scratched a psychological itch, which is why leaving demands a new purpose.

What do you do when someone asks for help to exit?

We ask questions, surface interests, and help them build a healthier mission; we often steer them away from politics at first.

Exiting carries a label—‘former neo-Nazi’ sticks to you—so forgiveness and real opportunities are vital or people risk drifting back.

A lot of folks struggle to believe change, which keeps the stigma alive.

Ironically, the Jewish community I once dehumanized has shown profound grace; in synagogues I’ve felt more welcome than I ever expected, guided by ideas of repentance and repairing the world.

Did you ever actually know any Jewish people, or was it all coming from Nazi doctrine?

For most of my time in the movement, I avoided them completely and bought every anti-Semitic lie. Near the end I had a few real encounters, and the people I’d dehumanized the most turned out to be the most willing to meet me with openness.

Jews get blamed for anything and everything, so I try to pull folks out of that echo chamber by bringing them into rooms with my Jewish friends and others. One ex–neo-Nazi from Wisconsin told me he secretly watched Packers games with the sound off because his group banned sports with interracial teams, and later learned others were sneaking them too.

I once spoke with embassy staff from Cameroon who said that back home they’re simply Cameroonian, but in the United States they felt labeled and treated differently, even by Black Americans.

That tracks, and it is jarring to face prejudice from people you expected to see you as the same.

Shared trauma shapes recognition, so people who’ve carried similar burdens often wordlessly acknowledge each other. I lived across several African countries and learned we’re not a monolith, which is why a casual hello from me to a recent immigrant can be met with confusion rather than instant kinship.

Groups like neo-Nazis thrive on ignorance and fear; clinging to skin color as a bond is the shallowest possible glue. It tells you nothing about character or ability.

Wanting your food made by people steeped in that culture is about authenticity, not hostility.

Human history is messy and global, with waves of migration and multiple branches like Denisovans. Skin tone is an adaptation to climate, like a built-in vitamin D strategy, not a measure of worth.

Exactly, there’s no link to intellect, and any two people on Earth share about 99.9 percent of their DNA. That should be taught early, before stereotypes harden.

When I was a kid I watched a clumsy anti-gay speaker get dismantled by Barney Frank, and every student could see the better argument win. You do not defeat bad ideas by hiding them; you put them next to sharper thinking and let people judge.

You rarely change someone by attacking their reality; they’ll just dig in. Offer better perceptions and, when one resonates, they update themselves.

When Jeff tried to escalate during our first meeting, I stayed steady on purpose, which threw him off. That calm made room for a story from my childhood, and he caught the human cost behind my work.

I was used to people matching my volume, but he did not, so I leaned in instead of lashing out. Hearing about what happened to him as a Cub Scout made me think about my own kids, and that cracked the window for change.

If you escalate, the other person’s walls go higher; if you stay grounded, they get curious and listen.

Yelling matches solve nothing, especially with race. Keep your cool and consider how your words land, or you both become enemies and progress dies.

A small kindness, like warning oncoming drivers about a speed trap, turns a stranger’s day around and encourages them to help the next person. That mindset beats dehumanization.

With everything you have seen, are you optimistic that things are moving the right way?

I am, because the ugliness is visible and can no longer be ignored, which means this is the best time to address it. You do not have to be on the front line; pick the lane you can sustain—front, back, side, or online—because every role matters, like a film where the crew behind the camera is as essential as the star.

If someone wants to start helping today, what should they do?

I co-founded the Prohuman Foundation to center what we stand for, not only what we oppose. Be against harmful ideologies, not against people, and be actively for humanity.

Thank you, Darryl, for the work you do, and Jeff, for the courage to describe how you got pulled into and out of that world; it will help a lot of people.

Thanks for having us. It is an honor.

Jeff’s book American Nazis is out now, and Darryl’s The Klan Whisperer is available as well. Audio is coming, right?

It is in the works. Thank you, appreciate it. Bye.