OVERCOMING HATRED: How to Resist the Culture of Extremism?
At the age of 14, he transformed from a naive teenager into a committed racist, becoming the leader of a large neo-Nazi skinhead gang. However, over time, Christian Picciolini became disillusioned with the Nazi movement and its ideology. Today, he is a recognized expert in combating racism and extremism.
Picciolini’s story is a testament to a man who managed to renounce the language of hatred, offering the world an unexpected and paradoxical way to defeat hate in all its forms.
For more than 20 years, former extremist leader Christian Picciolini has been helping people around the world break free from racist delusions. Today, he is a renowned writer, a critic of white supremacy ideology, and a committed anti-racist.Having journeyed from a neo-Nazi recruit to the leader of one of America’s largest neo-fascist organizations in the 1980s and 90s, Picciolini knows everything about extremism. He understands firsthand how difficult it is to reclaim a normal, independent identity and a life free from the poison of anger and hatred.
After graduating from DePaul University with a degree in international relations, Picciolini founded the Goldmill Group, a consulting firm dedicated to combating extremism.
In 2016, for leading an anti-hate advertising campaign, Christian Picciolini received a special Emmy Award. Through numerous broadcasts, lectures, and interviews, he shares unique insights into the inner workings of neo-fascist sects and how to break free from their influence.
These themes are explored in his two memoirs: White American Youth: My Descent into America’s Most Violent Hate Movement — and How I Got Out and Breaking Hate: Confronting the New Culture of Extremism. The latter inspired a documentary series of the same name, which was widely broadcast between 2018 and 2019.
In 2021, his radio podcast Your Racist History, which delves into little-known chapters of the racist movement in the U.S., was recognized as the best in its category, earning the prestigious Edward R. Murrow National Award. The first season of the podcast is now available on various platforms.
Our almanac presents an honest and thought-provoking account by Picciolini on how people become fascists — and how they stop being them.
ХХХ
My journey away from violent extremism began 27 years ago when I left the American white supremacist skinhead movement that I had helped build.
At the time, I was only 22 years old, but I had already spent eight years in that organization. I was one of its earliest and youngest members and eventually became a leader of the most violent hate movement in America. But I wasn’t born that way.
My parents struggled to keep our young family afloat. They often had to work seven days a week, 14-hour shifts, sometimes juggling two or three jobs just to earn a meager living. As a result, I had very little quality time with them. Although I knew they loved me deeply, as I grew older, I started to feel abandoned. I was lonely, I began to withdraw, and over time, I started accumulating resentment toward them.
And then one day, when I was 14, I was standing in an alley smoking a joint. A man twice my age, with a shaved head, walked up to me. He snatched the joint from my mouth, put his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and said, «Communists and Jews want you to do this so they can keep controlling you».
I felt lonely and scared. My self-esteem was low, and to be honest, I had no idea who I was or what my purpose in life was. I was lost. But in that moment, because this man was drawing me in, I clung to him like a lifeline with everything I had. And just like that, overnight, I became a full-fledged Nazi.
Soon, I became a leader in the very organization that this man had been running. For the next eight years, I wholeheartedly believed the lies I was fed. Without hesitation, I blamed every Jew in the world for what I considered to be a genocide of white Europeans — despite having no evidence to support such a claim.
I accused immigrants of stealing jobs from white Americans, while completely ignoring the fact that my own parents were hardworking immigrants struggling to survive.
For the next eight years, I watched my friends die. I saw others go to prison and inflict unimaginable pain on countless victims and their families. I stockpiled weapons, preparing for what I believed was an impending race war. I also wrote and performed racist music — songs that later indirectly inspired a young white nationalist to walk into a church in Charleston, South Carolina, and murder nine innocent people.
Then my life changed. At 19, I met a girl who had nothing to do with the movement. She didn’t have a single racist bone in her body. I fell in love with her. We got married. We had our first son. On the day I held him in my arms in the delivery room, I reconnected — for the first time in years — with the innocence I had lost when I was 14. And if I had had the courage to leave the movement that very moment, maybe a tragedy could have been prevented.
Instead, I compromised: I stepped down as a leader in the organization and opened a music store. There, I sold racist music imported from Europe.
But I knew that society wouldn’t allow me to sustain a business solely on what I was selling at the time. So I decided to stock other genres as well — punk rock, heavy metal, and hip-hop. Of course, the «white power» music I carried still accounted for 75% of my store’s gross revenue.
My shop was the only one in the country where this music was available, so people traveled from all over to buy it. But I also had customers who came in for other types of music. Sooner or later, I started talking to them.
One day, a young Black teenager walked in, clearly upset. I asked him what was wrong. He told me that his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. And suddenly, this kid — someone I had never had a real conversation with before — made me feel a connection. Because my own mother had been diagnosed with the same disease, and I could completely relate to his pain.
Another time, a gay couple came in with their son. It was obvious to me that they loved their child as much as I loved mine. And to my surprise, I found myself unable to rationally explain or justify the prejudice I had always carried.
I made the decision to stop selling «white power» music because I felt ashamed to be profiting from it in front of my new friends. Of course, without that revenue, the store could no longer sustain itself, and I had to shut it down. At the same time, I lost almost everything I had once held dear.
My wife and children left me because I didn’t leave the movement as quickly as I should have. I was miserable. Many mornings, I woke up wishing that day would be my last.
About five years later, one of the few friends I had left became concerned for my well-being. She approached me and said, «You need to do something with yourself. I don’t want to see you die». Then she suggested that I apply for a job at IBM, where she worked.
I followed her advice and, by some miracle, got the job. One day, to my horror, I found out I was being sent to install computers at the very high school that had expelled me — twice.
It was the same school where I had committed acts of violence against students and teachers. The school where I had organized rallies for «equal rights for white people». And of course, fate had its way, because just hours after I arrived, I saw Mr. Johnny Holmes walking past me. He was a large Black security guard — the very man I had once fought, leading to my second expulsion and my arrest in handcuffs.
He didn’t recognize me. And I froze. I stood there, sweating and shaking. But then I decided I had to do something. For five years, I had been running from myself, and now I had to face my past head-on.
I found him in the parking lot as he was getting into his car. I walked up to him. He turned around, and this time, he recognized me. He took a step back in fear. «I’m sorry», was all I could say. And then, he hugged me. He forgave me. And then — he apologized to me. He made me promise that I would share my story with anyone willing to listen. That was many years ago. And ever since, I have kept my word.
You might be asking yourself right now: How did a well-off child from a hardworking family end up choosing such a dark path? The answer lies in the potholes on the road.
I encountered many of them as a child. We all do. And if those potholes remain empty, if we don’t address them, we risk getting lost in dangerous, dark places. A pothole can take many forms — trauma, abuse, unemployment, neglect, untreated mental illness, or even privilege.
If we encounter enough of these obstacles along our life’s journey, and we lack the resources and support to navigate around them or pull ourselves out, then sometimes — even good people can do bad things.
One of those who encountered such potholes was Darryl, a 31-year-old war veteran from New York. He had been wounded in Afghanistan and was furious that he couldn’t go back and continue killing Muslims. One day, he admitted to me that he had seen a Muslim man praying in a park, and his only urge was to kick him in the face.
I sat next to Darryl and asked, «Have you ever talked to a Muslim?» He snapped back, «No! Why the hell would I? They’re disgusting!» «Alright», I said. Then I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Once inside, I pulled out my phone and quickly Googled the nearest mosque. Quietly, I called them and said, «Excuse me, I need a favor. I have a Christian friend who is really interested in learning more about your religion. Would you mind if we stopped by?»
It took some convincing, but eventually, Darryl agreed to go. Two and a half hours later, we walked out of that mosque after speaking with the imam, hugging and crying. I’m happy to report that to this day, Darryl and that imam can often be seen having lunch together at a local falafel stand.
Hate is born from ignorance. Fear is its father, and isolation is its mother. When we don’t understand something, we tend to fear it. And if we keep avoiding it, our fear grows — sometimes into hatred.
Since leaving the movement, I have helped more than 100 people walk away from white supremacist groups and other extremist organizations.
I do this not by arguing with them, not by condemning them, and not even by proving them wrong. Instead, I connect with them. I listen very carefully to identify the potholes in their lives. And then, I start filling them.
I try to make people more resilient, more confident, and more capable of developing skills that help them compete in the job market. Once they gain those skills, they no longer feel the need to blame someone else — someone they’ve never even met.
And here’s the final thought I want to leave you with. Every single person I have worked with will tell you the same thing: they didn’t become extremists because they believed in an ideology or a doctrine. They became extremists because they wanted to belong to something.
So, here’s my challenge to you: today, tomorrow, or any day, find someone you think is undeserving of compassion. And show them compassion. I guarantee you, those are the people who need it the most.
