
Thereâs a reason that I love Inglourious Basterds and Wolfenstein, and that weâve joked about a neo-Nazi getting rocked. Nazis are the universal assholes. Few spectacles are more cathartic than seeing them get knocked the hell out. Nevertheless, when Martin Luther King Jr. said, âDarkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that,â he trusted us with Herculean tasks: Steady your hand by seeing the humanity in those who attack you. Meet them with love. Force them to acknowledge you as an intellectual.
Since 2011, Life After Hate, started by reformed white supremacists, has worked to do exactly that. And in 2016, under the Obama-era Homeland Security Department, LAH, co-founded by Angela King, was awarded $400,000 as a preventer of domestic terrorism.
In June, however, Donald Trumpâs DHS announced that the grant had been yanked because âwe donât work with law enforcement,â said King, whose group is now crowdfunding to raise the missing cash.
In an interview with The Root, King talked about her story and how experience informs LAHâs approach to wresting people, through empathy, from the mire of hate.
Young Angela Kingâs South Floridian neighborhood was thick with preaching an âus or themâ subtext, and, she explained, though âmy parents werenât very religious, they were racist. They were homophobic. I learned racial slurs, stereotypes and homophobia from as early as I can remember.â
King said that her parentsâ racism was one of paranoia: âI constantly heard things like, âIâm protecting you from people who want to murder you, kidnap you, and rape you.ââ
Later, when she started attending public schools, her world expanded. Being sexually harassed by a bully taught her that reactive violence won respect.
âKnowing that I was attracted to other girls,â said Kingâwho explained that it was something she had no name for, but something that she instinctively knew to hideâseeded guilt and resentment. Realizing that she wasnât hip by anyoneâs definition made her want to belong.
Then, King said, when her parents divorced, âI started experimenting with smoking, drinking, drugs and sex. I was shifting from group to group trying to find a place to belong. I tried to fit in with the kids who skipped school and smoked pot, but I was very violent. That didnât work out.â
She found a home with a local gang, âuntil,â she said, âI was raped. Then the rage that I felt grew into a completely different monster.â
Eventually she began hanging with people who started out as punk rockers, but then âreplaced the anarchy symbols with swastikas and Confederate flags. I wasnât attracted to them for their beliefs; they accepted me. I never had to explain my anger.â
Her story was typical until she was convicted of assisting in a racially motivated robbery. In prison, she was confronted with women of all colors who countered her prejudices with humanity and patience. Behind bars, kindness illuminated freedom from hate.
Since Trumpâs campaign, King and LAH have tried to stem a tide of hatred rising on the backs of seemingly normal, albeit disenfranchised, undercover racists, a phenomenon she describes as âscary because, when I was on my way out of the violent far right, thatâs what we were being told to do: âQuit getting in trouble. Quit getting racist tattoos. Assimilate into any aspect of the government you can. Weâre gonna bide our time.ââ
Broadly speaking, she said that she encounters two types of racists. One type involves those whose ignorance of institutional racism, implicit biases and defensiveness perpetuates white supremacyâand are those who are being fed a narrative by those further right.
With them, King said, âWe donât automatically attack the belief system.â Once their guard is lowered, the beliefs âorganically start to fall awayâ and they become open to information, she said, explaining, âWe try to de-escalate that automatic defensiveness by sharing our own stories transparently and vulnerably.â
Then there are those who preach and define themselves by racism. With these types, King said, âIâm gonna be straight with you, itâs not easy, to chase that approach of nonaggressive communication, and not just say, âWhat the hell is wrong with you!ââ
Nevertheless, King said, âwe know that itâs possible to change because we have changed. We know itâs possible to grow because we have grown. We also know that none of us did that because someone hit us or told us we were stupid.â
Instead, LAH reaches out to, and is contacted by, people whoâve become disenchanted with a hate group, something that many apparently doâespecially those who gravitated to such groups, as King did, in search of acceptance.
King has also gone to counterprotests against white supremacists, not wielding âchants or insults,â but a sign displaying the words, âThere is life after hate,â along with LAHâs web address.
As a person, King said she understands the necessity of violence in the name of self-defense, such as when protests become riots. As a spokesperson, King believes that meeting hate with humanity reaps greater change. If you agree, check out LAHâs crowdfunding campaign.
I know I agree. I recently wrote that itâs increasingly crucial âto remember why civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. and Mahatma Gandhi, who stand tallest as historyâs beacons of hope, are those who chose the high roadâwho chose to be empathetic ... â
Iâve written enough about scientific illiteracy, race and psychology to see that facts and insults arenât convincing enough. Characters that evoke empathy are. Thatâs why Hitlerâs death toll and Keith Olbermann-esque comments-section rants can be forgotten or dismissed, but Elie Wieselâs story and MLKâs words are immortal.
So, next person to call me nigger, Iâm buying you a coffee and asking you your story: âHowâd you come to hate me? If hating gets tiring, will you let me help?â