A band of "anticolonial" and racist activists have "liberated" land high in the Colorado mountains to build a utopian city for minorities. Commenters are expecting a rerun of the Jonestown cult, but with more anti-Semitism. Openly communist,.
Former white nationalist explains how he escaped from world of hate
Former white nationalist discusses escape from world of hate
and last updated 2021-02-27 00:14:34-05
KANSAS CITY, Mo. â Scott Ernest is not proud of his past, but he also doesnât shy away from it.
âI donât want people following in my footsteps,â he said. âItâs much easier get people out if they are never there in the first place.â
Ten years ago, Ernest was living in Kalispell, Montana. He openly wore a swastika around his neck and surrounded himself with people who wanted to create a heavily armed Aryan homeland.
So Ernest called April Gaede, who would eventually form Pioneer Little Europe, a settlement of like-minded racists in Montana. They talked and Ernest thought she wasn’t bad like other people said she was.
“She knows how to play normal,” said Ernest, who attended Jefferson High School in Hillsborough Country before obtaining his GED. “She runs a fine line of outright extremism, that’s obviously extremist, but also knows how to be somewhat normal when necessary.”
The Ledger verified Ernest s story through screenshots of comments Ernest made on hate group websites and recruitment videos posted to YouTube at least seven years ago.
He knew of the violence. He stayed. Can he help undo what he fueled?
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Scott Ernest, 42, poses with a Celtic cross, which he describes as one of the most important and commonly used white supremacist symbols. It was made by hand by a Stormfront member. I was telling everybody I was getting out of the movement, and I wanted nothing to do with it. He drove it all the way from eastern Oregon to Montana overnight to give me as a gift. He wanted me to stay. Ernest left the movement in 2016 and now lives in Lakeland. [ JOHN PENDYGRAFT | Times ]
by C.S. Hagen | .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) | News | March 22nd, 2017
Russell Myhre lit a second cigarette, pulled his wool coat closer against the February chill after proudly revealing a red heart tattoo on his chest. He waved to Fred Thompson, former Valley City Police Chief, from across the parking lot behind his law office.
“Hey, Mr. Thompson, come on over here, my friend,” Myhre said. “You just wandering around?”
“Nope,” Thompson said. No mistaking the man was law enforcement. Large-framed, shoulders slightly stooped, he eyed the area before shaking Myhre’s hand. “Taking care of shit.”