The story of preacher and activist James Stern, as told by Katie Mettler for The Washington Post, initially resembles that of Ron Stallworth (author of Black Klansman) or musician Daryl Davis (featured in the documentary Accidental Courtesy).
That isn’t a bad thing. There is an immediate appeal to stories of people who outwit their would-be oppressors.
Stern’s method differed significantly because, as Mettler writes, his “do-gooder credentials were accompanied by a history of criminal opportunism.”
The story of Stern engaging with Jeff Schoep, former leader of the National Socialist Movement, remains fascinating, but there is a bittersweet quality to its resolution, at least for readers who care more about redemption than vengeance.
Mettler’s feature of nearly 4,800 words is part of a Post series on “those who commit acts of hatred, those who are targets of attacks, and those who investigate and prosecute them.”
The story is, sadly, hampered by its scant attention the role of faith in Stern’s life.
A photograph by Philip Cheung shows him preaching at Quinn African Methodist Episcopal Church in Moreno Valley, Calif., but the story makes no reference to what was said in that sermon. Another photo shows Stern praying with three board members he appointed to oversee the National Socialist Movement after he convinced Schoep to sign over the control of that group. What was said? The story says nothing more about it.
This is the one segment in which Mettler touches on how Stern’s faith prompted him to show compassion toward an elderly Edgar Ray Killen, when they both were serving time at the Mississippi State Penitentiary:
Set free by a hung jury the first time he was tried, Killen was 80 years old when he was finally convicted in 2005 for orchestrating the murders of James Chaney, Michael Schwerner and Andrew Goodman in 1964. A judge sentenced the Klansman to 60 years in prison.
Using a wheelchair and recovering from a head injury, Killen was placed in Parchman’s medical unit. In 2010, while suing the prison for exposing him to cigarette smoke that aggravated his glaucoma, so was Stern.
Stern said Killen called him “the n-word” almost daily. And yet, Stern recounted at his race summit, he still looked after the old man, defending Killen against other inmates, who once tried to put fecal matter in the Klansman’s food and urine in his coffee.
“I did that because I’m a Christian, not because I like Edgar Ray Killen,” Stern said. “Because I saved him that day, he opened up, and he told me stuff that nobody would ever believe.”
Mettler’s story works perfectly well, however, as part of a Post series on racists and the people affected by their beliefs. It also works very well as a case of a man’s beliefs changing powerfully: Mettler reports that Schoep “joined Parallel Networks, a group that fights extremism.” Parallel Networks is the joint work of Jesse Morton, cofounder of Revolution Muslim, and Mitch Sibler, whose work once sent Morton to prison.
This longform feature clearly emerges from extensive work by Mettler and the Post. It includes a handwritten letter that Stern says he received from Killen; the documents transferring control of the National Socialist Movement to Stern; five audio clips of conversations between Stern and Schoep; two videos; and large photos of the story’s major figures.
Mettler tells the story mostly in chronological order, for reasons that become apparent as it unfolds. It is a powerful narrative, to be sure, about how much one man’s life can change, especially in ways that cannot be anticipated or achieved strictly through legal maneuvers.
It is a story that sneaks up on readers, regardless of what they may hope for as it begins. But we can ask, once again: What about the role of faith in this drama?
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