Just us showing up changes somebody's opinion, someone's mind
In the wake of natural disasters, a new and troubling pattern has emerged across American communities: white nationalist organizations and armed militias arrive at devastation sites not primarily to help, but to recruit, film, and rehabilitate their extremist image. Groups like Active Club and Patriot Front have learned that human suffering creates an opening — a moment when institutional trust is fragile and desperate people are searching for anyone who shows up. What looks like charity is, in part, a calculated rebranding strategy, and its consequences extend beyond ideology into the practical work of saving lives.
- When Hurricane Helene nearly erased Bat Cave, North Carolina, armed outsiders arrived alongside relief workers — forcing Sheriff Griffin's deputies to abandon rescue operations just to manage the self-appointed enforcers.
- Active Club, a white nationalist network with nearly 90 chapters, openly admits its disaster presence is designed to generate viral footage and soften public perception of fascism among young men.
- Deliberate misinformation — false claims of stranded victims, FEMA seizures, and government-engineered weather — spread so rapidly that federal rescuers temporarily withdrew, leaving vulnerable residents without aid.
- The rebranding is gaining traction: antisemitic influencers with tens of millions of followers are running for Congress, and young Republican leaders have praised Hitler in private chats, signaling that the strategy is moving from the fringe toward the mainstream.
- Sheriff Griffin fears this exploitation of disaster zones is becoming 'the new normal,' arriving just as hurricane season approaches and a single April in 2026 produced over 200 tornadoes across more than 20 states.
When Hurricane Helene tore through North Carolina in September 2024, Sheriff Lowell Griffin was already managing an overwhelming rescue operation. Then a second problem arrived: armed militias and white supremacist groups began streaming into the state, claiming to establish their own law and order. His deputies had to divert resources from saving lives just to manage these uninvited rescuers.
Among them was Active Club, a white nationalist organization founded by Robert Rundo with nearly 90 chapters nationwide. It markets itself as a fitness and social network for young white men — boxing clubs, martial arts tournaments — but its ideology is explicitly fascist, antisemitic, and anti-democratic. Rundo prefers the word 'nationalist' to 'supremacist,' but acknowledges his people are white Europeans, and that his ultimate goal is a white Christian nation under military rule, not democracy.
What makes these groups effective is their strategy of appearing helpful while recruiting and rebranding. Patriot Front cut trees and distributed bread. Active Club handed out water. The aid was real — but so was the filming. Researcher Freddy Cruz calls it 'disaster tourism': groups arrive, generate viral content showing themselves as wholesome helpers, and leave. John Kelly of Graphika explains that white nationalist groups have deliberately shed swastikas and overtly extremist imagery, replacing them with images of fit, positive young men — making fascism feel like a reasonable lifestyle choice.
The misinformation these groups spread proved just as damaging as their presence. After Helene, false claims flooded social media — bodies in rivers, FEMA seizing supplies, the hurricane itself engineered by the government. None of it was true, but it drew more outsiders to North Carolina and created enough threat that FEMA rescuers temporarily withdrew, potentially delaying aid to people who needed it most.
The rebranding is working beyond disaster zones. Online influencers with tens of millions of followers openly promote antisemitic conspiracy theories and are running for Congress. Young Republican leaders have praised Hitler in group chats. Sheriff Griffin, asked whether this pattern of exploitation and misinformation is becoming standard, paused before answering: he's afraid it will be the new normal. With hurricane season approaching and disaster infrastructure already strained, organized extremist groups have discovered that moments of collective suffering are ideal grounds for recruitment — and they are not planning to stop showing up.
In September 2024, Hurricane Helene tore through North Carolina with such force that it nearly erased the town of Bat Cave from the map. Sheriff Lowell Griffin faced an overwhelming rescue operation—days of heavy rain had already saturated the ground when the hurricane hit, compounding the disaster. But as his team worked to save lives, another problem arrived: outsiders began streaming into the state, including anti-government militias and white supremacist groups offering to help. Some came armed, claiming they would establish their own law and order. Griffin's deputies had to divert resources from actual rescue work to manage these self-appointed rescuers, turning what should have been straightforward relief into a complicated security problem.
Among the groups that showed up was Active Club, a white nationalist organization founded in 2020 by Robert Rundo. With nearly 90 chapters across the country, it has been characterized by watchdog organizations as one of the fastest-growing white supremacist networks in America. Active Club markets itself as a fitness and social group for young white men—they hold boxing matches and martial arts tournaments—but the ideology underneath is explicitly fascist, antisemitic, anti-immigrant, and anti-democracy. Rundo himself is candid about this. When asked if he considers himself a white supremacist, he deflects, preferring the term nationalist. He says it means putting his people first. When pressed on who his people are, he acknowledges they are white, specifically European white people. He frames this as no different from organizations serving other ethnic groups, asking rhetorically: if white people don't look out for themselves, who will?
What makes these groups effective is their strategy of appearing helpful while simultaneously recruiting and rehabilitating their image. Rundo admits that when Active Club shows up at disasters, they hand out flyers. If someone wants to contact them later, fine. But the real goal, he explains, is to change people's minds about who they are. The next time mainstream media calls them evil, someone will remember the person who helped when their house was on fire. Patriot Front, another prominent white supremacist group, showed up in North Carolina cutting down trees and distributing bread. These actions are real. The water handed out is real. But according to Freddy Cruz, a researcher at the Western States Center who tracks hate groups, what's also real is the social media content these groups generate. Cruz calls it disaster tourism: groups arrive, film themselves helping, generate viral videos, and then leave. This is fundamentally different from established relief organizations like Team Rubicon or Samaritans' Purse, which coordinate with local authorities and stay for the long term.
Rundo doesn't deny the video strategy. When confronted with the accusation that Active Club films itself handing out water primarily to post the footage online, he essentially agrees. He points out that presidents do the same thing—they have cameras present when they visit communities. The bottle of water is genuinely being handed out, he says. His guys genuinely care about the people they help. But yes, they also film it and post it to show another side of themselves. What he's describing is a calculated rebranding. John Kelly, who heads Graphika, a firm that analyzes how content spreads online, explains that white nationalist groups have deliberately abandoned the imagery that repels mainstream audiences. They've put away the swastikas and the overtly triggering symbols. Instead, they present themselves as wholesome, macho, positive alternatives for young men. Rundo himself notes that media stereotypes extremists as overweight men in camouflage with face tattoos. He wanted to create something different—something that would appeal to young guys like himself and make fascism seem like a reasonable choice.
This rebranding is working. Online influencer Dan Bilzerian, who has nearly 30 million Instagram followers, openly peddles antisemitic conspiracy theories, claiming Jewish supremacy is the greatest threat to America. He's running for Congress in Florida. Young Republican leaders have praised Hitler in group chats. Nick Fuentes, an online hate-monger, explicitly celebrates Hitler's appeal to young men. Meanwhile, the members of Active Club hide their faces in photos from disaster sites, even as their organization's ideology becomes increasingly open. Rundo himself has a criminal history. He was imprisoned as a teenager for a gang fight—he acknowledges stabbing someone, though he notes the other person had a weapon too. He was imprisoned again in 2017 after getting into a series of fights with anti-Trump protesters at rallies. While on the run, he conceived of Active Club as a cleaner version of white pride activism. When asked directly if his ultimate goal is to turn America into a white Christian nation, he says yes, and adds that he wants it to be more militant—military rule, not democracy. Democracy, he argues, is a scam where politicians get lobbied and never ask ordinary people what they want.
The presence of these groups at disaster sites also creates space for spreading misinformation that undermines official rescue efforts. After Hurricane Helene, videos and social media posts claimed the government was doing a terrible job, that rescue efforts were chaotic and corrupt. These narratives drew more outsiders to North Carolina. An Arizona-based conspiracist group called Veterans on Patrol arrived to organize supplies but, according to law enforcement, created chaos and did more harm than good. The misinformation spread by these groups was specific and damaging. They claimed people were still stranded when they weren't. They said bodies were floating in rivers. They alleged FEMA was rationing and seizing supplies—none of it true. One particularly wild rumor claimed the government had created Hurricane Helene using weather monitoring towers as a weapon. Sheriff Griffin says the misinformation took a bad situation and made it worse. FEMA rescuers actually had to withdraw for several days out of fear that militias were coming to hunt them. The agency became a primary target of these outside groups, their credibility attacked in videos designed to go viral.
When asked if this pattern—false rumors, outside groups complicating law enforcement response—is becoming standard, Sheriff Griffin paused. He said he's afraid it will be the new normal. Over 200 tornadoes hit more than 20 states in April 2026 alone. Hurricane season is approaching. The infrastructure for disaster response is already strained. Now it must also contend with organized groups that exploit community vulnerability, spread conspiracy theories, and use human suffering as a platform for recruitment and image rehabilitation. The groups themselves are explicit about their goals. They want to build a pro-white parallel system. They want young men to see fascism as fun, as wholesome, as a reasonable alternative to democracy. And they've discovered that natural disasters—moments when government institutions are visibly stressed and communities are desperate—are ideal recruiting grounds.
Citações Notáveis
The misinformation took a bad situation and actually complicated a bad, bad situation.— Sheriff Lowell Griffin, North Carolina
I'm afraid from what I've seen, this will be the new normal.— Sheriff Lowell Griffin, on the pattern of extremist groups at disaster sites
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why do these groups focus specifically on natural disasters? There are plenty of other ways to recruit.
Natural disasters are rare moments when almost everyone's attention focuses on one thing at the same time. It's a massive audience, and the groups know it. Plus, there's a vulnerability—people are scared, their trust in institutions is shaken, and someone showing up with water and a sympathetic face can seem like salvation.
But they actually do help, right? The water is real. The trees get cleared.
Yes. That's what makes it so effective. The help is genuine. But it's also strategic. They're not there because they care about those specific people. They're there because a video of them helping reaches thousands of people who will remember their face the next time they hear the word extremist.
Rundo seems almost proud of this. He doesn't hide it.
He's confident because the strategy is working. He's been in prison twice. He's fought protesters in the streets. But now he can say he's a community helper, and some people will believe it. That's the whole point of the rebranding—to make fascism look normal, even wholesome.
What happens to the actual rescue effort when these groups show up?
It fractures. Law enforcement has to divert resources to manage armed militias. FEMA rescuers have to withdraw. Misinformation spreads faster than accurate information. A bad situation becomes chaotic. And the groups leave once they've filmed what they need, so the community is left dealing with the damage they created.
Is there a way to stop them from showing up?
Not really, not without restricting who can come help. And that's the trap—these groups hide behind the legitimacy of disaster relief. They do real work. They hand out real supplies. But the work is secondary to the recruitment and the narrative they're building. The sheriff said he's afraid this is becoming the new normal. That's the real danger.
New normal for what, exactly?
For disasters being treated as recruitment opportunities by extremist groups. For misinformation about government failures spreading faster than official information. For communities being destabilized not just by the disaster itself, but by the groups claiming to help them. It's a pattern that's only going to accelerate as more storms come.