Former skinhead explains how he was radicalized

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/charleston-shooting-ex-follower-of-racist-ideology-explains-radicalization/

By Dean Reynolds CBS News June 23, 2015,

Dylann Roof described in a manifesto how he came to embrace racism through online forums. One man told how he made that same descent into darkness -- but came out of it.

"I was a neo-Nazi skinhead from 1987 to 1995, roughly from the time I was 14 years old until I was 21.

He says he and alleged Charleston shooter Dylann Roof might once have been kindred spirits.

He says during those days he would have applauded Roof.

•••••

"White power for America! White power for America!" Piccolini shouted, leading his old band Final Solution.

"The music spoke of unemployment and spoke of black on white crimes," Picciolini said. "When I was told that the white race was being attacked from all sides and that minorities were to blame for all the problems that I was having, I bought in."

•••••

Now, watching events unfold in Charleston, Picciolini hears echoes in the sentiments of Dylann Roof.

en0623reynoldsracerehab3.jpg
Christian Picciolini shows the relics of his past life as a racist ideagogue, but he has since left it behind.
CBS News

"He could literally have torn pages out of my book and posted it online," he said. "The rhetoric is the same.

"Not everyone becomes a Dylann Roof. But I think that there are thousands of people like him across our country that eventually could be radicalized enough to cause as much damage as he did."

These days Christian Picciolini tries to help others leave the skinhead movement just like he did. He co-founded a non-profit organization called Life After Hate.

You can learn more about Life After Hate at their website: http://www.lifeafterhate.org/


http://www.vice.com/read/these-former-skinheads-are-fighting-racism-106

These Former Skinheads Are Fighting Racism

By Luke Winkie
Jan. 6, 2015

There may be no greater American taboo than neo-Nazism. It falls into the same tier of universally accepted evils as infanticide or child molestation. Institutional, garden-variety racism is an ordinary evil, but thoroughbred white power is far more profound. It's enough to turn the term "skinhead," originally a scene for roughhouse kids nursed on rocksteady and ska, into a term worthy of universal, Kanye West–ordained derision.

You probably know the gist already. Some skinheads aren't racist, but hate remains the lifeblood of plenty. For those skins who repent, who repudiate their white-power ideals, achieving any sort of atonement is a lengthy journey. That's as it should be: A community dedicated to the eradication of alleged inferiors ought to be treated with a healthy disrespect. But many former Nazi wannabes are dads and husbands now, their corrosive racism left in the mists of some ugly teenage years. As backward as it might seem, it's hard not to feel some small measure of sympathy for those whose lives are stuck in an endless cycle of remorse.

•••••

Can they be saved? Should we even try? And no matter how grave their injustice, is it fair to let a stage of someone's life haunt them forever? For Christian Picciolini and his Life After Hate organization, the answer is no.

•••••

Picciolini's resolve wavered as he matured, as he couldn't rationalize why he didn't want his wife and kids to be associated with the group. Eventually, he owned a record store, one of the only ones in the nation selling white-power music, and he credits his diverse patrons for salvation—reminding him that he had a lot more in common with people of color than he thought. He formally buried his beliefs in his early 20s, leaving the movement behind him. Picciolini was only a skinhead for seven years.

•••••

In 2009, Picciolini founded Life After Hate, an outreach/activist group made up of former white-power skinheads. The organization stays in touch with at-risk youth in the Chicago area, keeping them from joining gangs or extremist groups, as well as providing a landing pad for those receding from their angry pasts. It's founded on the principle that we can have empathy, that all is not lost, that everyone can change.

Picciolini tells me that he's seen 40-something KKK members renounce their beliefs, so why not stay optimistic? Don't they need our help? He knows that it's frustrating, but he pleads for us not to give up.

•••••

"Getting out was one of the hardest things I've ever gone through and has shaped everything since," says John Harrelson, a former white-power skin from Albuquerque. "My whole identity was skinhead. I had plans to move after high school to prospect for a big national gang, with nothing beyond that."

Harrelson is only 23, and he's certainly still dealing with the shame, but figures like Picciolini helped him envision a future. He needed that compassion to make it through.

"I went to this really good high school and a lot of teachers saw what I was and wanted to kick me out. Luckily, a few of them saw past it and realized I wasn't an evil kid—I was just very angry and insecure," Harrelson tells me. "If they hadn't stuck up for me, I would be screwed right now. I knew a lot of really smart and ambitious skinheads—easily as many as I knew who were scumbags. It's not fair to say that because they've been misled or taken a bad path that we just write them off. That's essentially a death sentence for being a dumb kid, and that's not OK."

•••••

"Chris said, 'Man, that was a lifetime ago,' and I was like, 'Yeah, it kinda was, wasn't it?' And he told me that he wasn't like that anymore," Tallon says of Picciolini. "So we kinda hit it off because, you know, I had to readjust to normalcy, too. Us anti-racist guys were just as violent, but on a different playing field. You let it go. It happens across the board. There was something super sincere about him. He was calling shots when we were younger, but he was just as earnest about telling me he wasn't into that stuff anymore. Twenty years is a long time."

Tallon's thesis, as it were, is that young, angry men want to belong—they want power—and sometimes they can end up on the wrong side. He was lucky enough to find himself in a defendable anti-racist position, but Picciolini, that semicircle around Donaldson's grave—they weren't so lucky. Skinhead culture should be a stupid youth movement for antagonistic kids who let their politics get out of hand, but it's not easy explaining that to the people they terrorized.

"I did a lot of apologizing for a lot of years, I did a lot of nasty stuff, but it's a short sliver of your life..." Tallon's voice trails off. "Although he was super good at it, it's still a short sliver."