There are dozens of these groups on both sides of the Atlantic with martial names drawn from Nazi propaganda.
By Bryan Bender, Alexander Nabert, and Christina Brause
When Conor Climo was winning plaudits for his sharp intellect in Arbor View High School’s class of 2014, no one imagined he would soon be storing bomb-making material in his bedroom closet in preparation for a race war in the name of Adolf Hitler.
“He knew every element in the periodic table,” recalled classmate Lexi Epley.
Climo was a friendly, smart kid but as he grew into a lanky teen with a military-style haircut he became increasingly isolated, angry and — to some classmates — unstable.
“He was exiled a lot,” said Ebony Humes, who first became friendly with him in 6th grade. “He would try to make friends, but people most of the time would turn their backs, or act as if he wasn’t there. It kind of broke my heart. He did try, consistently, for years. You could see, in his face, the hurt.”
“He was a sweet kid,” echoed Epley. “But people weren’t very nice to him. He was bullied a lot.”
By 11th grade, Climo was nearly boiling over with resentment. “No one likes me. I hate it here,” he sobbed in the cafeteria, at one point banging on the table, Humes recalled. “I want out.”
It was after graduation that Climo, who lived with family at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, found the community he lacked: a violent global movement hidden in the dark recesses of the internet bent on igniting a neo-Nazi race war, according to public documents, court records, law enforcement officials, and fellow classmates.
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