Far-right “groyper” activists aligned with white nationalist streamer Nick Fuentes are drawing in some young men through online platforms and shifting conservative politics. Loved ones and educators describe struggling to counter this pull through patient dialogue and education, while experts emphasize prevention and addressing underlying grievances before bigotry hardens into ideology.
The groyper movement, whose adherents are associated with aggressive antisemitism, misogyny and other forms of bigotry, has gained visibility and influence among young men in recent years, according to extremism researchers and conservative commentators.
Nick Fuentes, a 27‑year‑old white nationalist activist and livestream host whose supporters call themselves "groypers," has been a central figure in that rise. Fuentes dined with Donald Trump at Mar‑a‑Lago in 2022, when the then‑former president met with him and Ye, the rapper formerly known as Kanye West, a dinner that drew widespread condemnation from across the political spectrum.
Fuentes has openly promoted Holocaust denial and expressed admiration for Adolf Hitler in his broadcasts and speeches. He has described himself as part of a Christian nationalist, white nationalist movement and routinely directs slurs and invective at Jews, women and Black people on his show "America First," which streams on Rumble and other platforms.
Following a late‑October interview with Tucker Carlson on the former Fox News host’s online talk show, Fuentes’ profile on the right grew further. Major outlets, including The Washington Post and The Guardian, reported that the conversation was one of Carlson’s most‑watched recent episodes and sparked a backlash from conservative figures who warned that Fuentes and the groypers were dragging parts of the movement toward overt antisemitism.
Fuentes’ audience is difficult to measure precisely, but recent reporting indicates that his content now reaches hundreds of thousands, and sometimes millions, of viewers across platforms. A Washington Post report quoted Fuentes summarizing what he called his core views on one Rumble broadcast: that “Jews are running society, women need to shut the [expletive] up, [and] Blacks need to be imprisoned for the most part.” Other coverage has noted that he has referred to Hitler as “really … cool” and compared the Holocaust to baking cookies.
Personal accounts from families suggest how young men can drift into this world. In one such story, shared with Slate under pseudonyms, a woman referred to as Taylor described how her younger brother Jake shifted from routine Trump support to self‑described groyper beliefs during the COVID‑19 pandemic. As Jake spent more time online, he began sharing racist and antisemitic memes, including images drawing on Crusader iconography and content hostile to Israel, and echoing conspiracy theories about Jewish control behind political events. Taylor told the outlet she continues trying to engage him in political and personal conversations, despite the emotional toll, because she fears his beliefs could harden further without someone close to challenge them.
Educators also report seeing elements of groyper‑style rhetoric filter into school life. In central Florida, a middle‑ and high‑school teacher identified by Slate as Amanda said she has watched boys who initially repeat online figures like Andrew Tate for shock value escalate over time to Nazi salutes and swastika doodles. She estimated that a substantial minority of her male students have at least dabbled in such rhetoric, often starting as jokes and then, in some cases, progressing toward more serious identification with far‑right content, including clips of Fuentes.
Experts who study radicalization say that recommendation algorithms on major platforms can accelerate this trajectory. Pasha Dashtgard, a psychologist at American University who researches extremism and online radicalization, told Slate that systems on sites such as TikTok and YouTube tend to push users toward more provocative content. In the case of teenage boys, he said, that can mean a steady stream of videos that frame grievances about dating, work prospects or identity through misogynistic or racist narratives. Dashtgard recommends that family members and mentors ask questions like, “What is this doing for you?” to uncover whether underlying isolation, trauma or insecurity are driving a young person’s engagement with such material.
De‑radicalization practitioners and teachers interviewed by Slate emphasized that empathy and connection are more effective than direct confrontation. Amanda, the Florida teacher, said she uses literature such as Arthur Miller’s The Crucible and the writings and speeches of Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel to encourage students to reflect on scapegoating, moral responsibility and the consequences of dehumanization, rather than singling out individual students in front of peers.
Those efforts unfold amid political battles over curriculum. Under policies championed by Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, districts have faced new constraints and scrutiny around how they teach about topics such as McCarthyism and the Holocaust. Some educators and civil‑rights groups warn that these changes make it harder to provide students with the historical context needed to recognize and resist extremist propaganda.
Advocates who work with families facing radicalization say progress is often slow and non‑linear. Lindsay Schubiner of the Western States Center, a civil‑rights organization that tracks white nationalist movements, told Slate that maintaining relationships on the affected person’s timeline—even when there is little visible change—is crucial to any hope of long‑term disengagement. Another practitioner, Kallie Mitchell, said that for many young men she encounters, the initial pull is framed around gender and status anxiety, particularly resentment about women and dating, which can then widen into broader racist and antisemitic worldviews once they are immersed in groyper communities.
Researchers and front‑line workers alike stress that parents, teachers and peers are not powerless. While no single conversation or curriculum unit can undo a radicalization process, they say, consistent attention to underlying pain points—loneliness, fear about the future, or a need for belonging—combined with clear boundaries around hateful behavior can reduce the chances that a passing fascination with groyper content calcifies into full‑blown ideological commitment.
