You Love Him. He Fell Into an Online Hate Movement — How to Help Someone Come Back

You Love Him. He Fell Into an Online Hate Movement — Now What?

The day Charlie Kirk was killed, Taylor was at work when her brother Jake called, laughing. He’d heard the news and was elated — not because he liked violence, but because he interpreted the killing through an antisemitic lens, convinced, based on Kirk’s warnings about “Jewish dollars,” that Jewish people were responsible. (Taylor and Jake are not their real names.)

How a Brother Became a Groyper

Jake, 25, began as a conventional pro-Trump supporter. During the pandemic his politics shifted: Instagram messages replaced conversations, medieval Crusader imagery and slogans like “Reject modernity, embrace tradition” arrived in his DMs, and his memes grew steadily more racist. Over time, Jake adopted the language and worldview associated with the online subculture dubbed groypers — a largely young, male movement that mixes misogyny, white-nationalist ideas and virulent antisemitism around figures such as Nick Fuentes.

For years many in political Washington treated groypers as bark-and-no-bite internet trolls. But their profile has risen: Fuentes has amassed large followings on mainstream platforms, received high-visibility interviews, and — after events such as Charlie Kirk’s murder — the community has grown into a fuller, more potent cultural force. Parents, teachers and youth workers, however, say the trajectory is obvious: jokes and edgy trolling often harden into belief.

From Jokes To Conviction

Amanda, an English teacher in central Florida, noticed the change among students after the pandemic. Middle-school boys returned repeating lines from influencers like Andrew Tate, testing shock-value comments about women. The behavior escalated: Nazi salutes, swastikas, and calls for racist or cruel policies. By 10th grade those jokes had spread. Amanda estimated that 40–50 percent of boys in some classes used that language — and many now meant it.

“The path from joking to dead serious gets carved out little by little.” — Pasha Dashtgard, American University

Experts say this progression is common. Parasocial relationships with far-right creators, algorithmic amplification on platforms such as X, TikTok and YouTube, and permissive platform policies all increase young people’s exposure. The result: content that once lived in niche forums now reaches mainstream feeds, normalizing extremist ideas for teens.

Why It Appeals

The appeal is straightforward: the messages offer a coherent — if toxic — explanation for adolescent anxieties. Rather than confronting structural problems like stagnant wages or limited opportunity, the narrative places blame on women, immigrants and Jewish people for perceived losses in status and cultural influence. For isolated teens, that misplaced blame can feel like purpose or belonging.

Amanda observed common risk factors among vulnerable students: majority-white, high-poverty schools, few positive adult role models, social isolation, no female friends, nonparticipation in team sports, and in some cases homelessness. For some students, adopting bigotry provided direction and a scapegoat.

What Parents, Teachers and Loved Ones Can Do

Prevention and patient engagement are the most consistent recommendations from experts working on deradicalization and intervention:

• Listen Without Judgment: Ask “What is this doing for you?” to understand the needs the ideology fills — isolation, purpose, trauma, or a desire for status.
• Watch For Warning Signs: Sudden changes in dress, social circles, increased time online, new keywords or memes, and bitterness about dating or gender relations.
• Pre-Emptive Education: Teach how influencers manipulate audiences, how to spot hateful language, and the historical context of antisemitism and racism before teens encounter those narratives online.
• Offer Alternatives: Encourage sports, volunteering, clubs or community work to provide belonging and purpose outside hateful online spaces.
• Maintain Relationships: Nonjudgmental, consistent contact — even small rituals like daily check-ins or shared meals — can create openings for change over time.

Experts emphasize restraint in debates. Direct confrontation or ridicule often backfires and drives someone deeper into the movement. Instead, use curiosity to expose contradictions and guide reflection about real-world consequences.

Schools, Policy and Structural Limits

Educators say policy choices can either help or hinder prevention. Amanda notes that recent curriculum changes in Florida — reduced Holocaust instruction, removal of certain texts, and shifts in how topics like McCarthyism are taught — make it harder for teachers to counter denialism and conspiracy narratives. When classrooms lose tools for historical context and critical thinking, students are more vulnerable to distorted online claims.

What Recovery Looks Like

Deradicalization is slow and uncertain. Some students revert away from their most troubling ideas after sustained attention and connection; others remain entrenched. Amanda has had small successes by combining literature (The Crucible, Lord of the Flies), survivor testimony (Elie Wiesel), and patient one-on-one outreach. Taylor, meanwhile, continues to engage her brother despite painful setbacks, balancing self-care with the hope that steady contact can eventually help him change.

Bottom Line

Groypers illustrate how online ecosystems can convert edgy jokes into hardened bigotry. The most effective responses are proactive and relational: educate early, watch for warning signs, keep lines of communication open, and offer real-world alternatives to isolation. When prevention fails, patient, empathetic engagement and community support offer the best chance of bringing someone back from the edge.