Finding Hope: Lessons From a Difficult Week
This past week was one of those times when my decision to confront hate seemed overwhelming. Then, a follower from Belfast lifted me up.
Sometimes, I get tired.
Tired of confronting a hate that seems more emboldened than ever to roar back with all the venom it can muster.
Sometimes, I become demoralized.
Demoralized about the increasing number of Americans—people who probably consider themselves good Bible-believing Christians—who eagerly join the online lynch mobs targeting people who do not look and think like themselves.
And, sometimes, I question whether I’m really making a difference.
After all, my Hate Comes to Main Street publication is no match for the ferocious army that America’s richest man, Elon Musk, can deploy with a tap of a finger—uniting the worst humans among us with an array of AI-generated hate bots.
In such times, it can become easy to quietly slip into the dark pool of despair.
As I have written before, there have been some difficult weeks in this battle against hate and political extremism—for example, weeks when neo-Nazis have threatened my family and myself.
But, in some ways, this past week seemed worse because the amount of hate seemed almost overwhelming.
Watching the right-wing mobs terrorize parts of Belfast, I was horrified—as a human being and, yes, as a Christian—by the violent attacks on innocent immigrants who had committed no crime. Yes, the knife attack by the 30-year-old Sudanese immigrant was horrific, but that was a singular act of violence perpetrated by one (probably mentally ill) man with no help from anyone.
What I saw in videos posted online—White mobs chasing down immigrants in the streets, vandalizing immigrant-owned businesses, setting fire to homes believed to be inhabited by immigrants—reminded me of what I knew of Kristallnacht when Nazi thugs turned on Germany’s Jewish communities.
Surely, Americans could almost all agree that such acts of mob violence have no place in Europe, America, or any other civilized country. Surely, Christians would not argue with such a premise—after all, what would Jesus do? Surely, Jesus would stand between the violent mobs and their innocent victims, right?
As it would turn out, I was sadly wrong about how others would react to that hate.
‘We’re winning!’
On Thursday, I published a post headlined: “A Warning for America: White Nationalists ‘Taking Notes’ on Belfast Race Riots.” I was proud of the reporting because, as far as I know, I was the first journalist to reveal that white nationalist groups here in America were celebrating the violent attacks on immigrants and “taking notes” about what they could learn from the tactics.
It was—I believed then, and I still believe now—an important story about the threat that America faces from far-right extremist violence.
Unfortunately, the reaction from Nashville talk radio show host Chris Hand—he’s so Christian, he even has a cross in his bio—was typical. He responded to the link that I posted on X with an image of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson displaying the universal “f**k you” gesture.
Is this really what Chris Hand’s Jesus would do?
Another account that I track on X belonging to Tennessee Christian nationalist C.Jay Engel—an “Anglo-Protestant Christian,” according to his bio—seemingly embraced the mob violence and echoed a celebration of the group’s Operational Security (OpSec) plan in being able to avoid identification and arrest.
“Reminder to keep planning, organizing, tactical planning, communication planning, networking, stockpiling, training and developing contingencies,” Engel wrote in a social media post. “Decades of struggle ahead.”
Preparing for acts of violence against the innocent strangers among us? Somehow, I missed that part of Jesus’s teachings.
And on Facebook, my post triggered some sort of algorithmic frenzy or bot attack, best exemplified by the more than 6,000 laughing emojis that it received.
And some of the responses were truly disheartening.
“Everyone is rooting for the Irish Phil. You are literally surrounded,” said one person in a reply that received 732 likes.
“Are White Nationalists in the room with you now?” asked another who racked up 2,200 votes of approval.
One account posted, “The reaction emojis are like a score board. We’re winning.”
“This needs to be done all across Europe, the United States, Australia and Canada,” another account posted.
Yet another person added, “Its [sic] not a race riot. Its [sic] a national movement to remove the invading terrorists from their own country.”
What we now know is the attacks were orchestrated by a neo-Nazi hate group—part of the so-called Active Club network that I have been investigating for several years now—and were not part of some spontaneous uprising by the Irish.
Still, the onslaught of vicious replies to my post—now slowing down to just under 9,000 total comments—made the wave of hate seem almost overwhelming.
None of them quoted Jesus.
‘They are so happy with you’
Yet, as often happens in such situations, sunrise brought a new perspective and hope that together we can stand against hate.
That hope came in the form of a direct message from an Irish follower on X.
“I told all my Irish people that you are correcting the record, and they are so happy with you,” Mary informed me.
And she sent along photos from a rally against fascism and hate that drew thousands of Belfast residents to the city’s center.
“I really hope you know how people in my circle talk about your reporting!!” Mary added as she continued to send along photos from the Belfast event.
“It is really impactful,” she continued. “Too many journalists do not do it straight and you do. You are courageous—especially in this hyper partisan environment.”
Mary added, “Belfast doesn’t want to go backwards Thank you for taking an interest.”
And she expressed her gratitude in a truly uniquely Irish manner.
To Mary and all the others like her who lift my spirits during this difficult struggle against hate that we now face, to all those who have chosen to support this independent project of mine, THANK YOU!!!
Together, we are never alone.