Refusing to let hate have the final word: the hidden history of human rights in Idaho

Bill Wassmuth, a Catholic priest from the small farming community of Greencreek, Idaho, emerged as a leader to combat hate in the Gem State. Wassmuth first encountered the Aryan Nations in the late 1970s when his parishioners began receiving antisemitic propaganda distributed by Richard Butler’s followers. (Courtesy of the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights)

Idaho’s landscape is complex and contradictory. Our state is a place where the breathtaking beauty of the land often stands in stark contrast to the ugliness of injustice. Yet it’s also a state where both quiet courage and bold resistance have taken root. 

Beneath the surface of our history are extraordinary stories of communities that refused to let hate have the final word. These are the stories of neighbors standing up for neighbors, of communities coming together to clearly declare, “This is not who we are.” 

It is important to uncover these hidden histories, learning from the past to illuminate a path forward. Because these stories aren’t just echoes of what was — they are guides for what can be. They challenge us to ask: How can we build a state where all people belong and thrive? 

A culture of human rights is the foundation for belonging and thriving. But what do we mean by “human rights?” At its core, the concept is simple and profound: They are the inherent freedoms and dignity that belong to all people, regardless of identity, background or beliefs. Human rights affirm our shared humanity and underscore our equal worth. Yet history repeatedly shows us that these rights are neither automatic nor permanent. They must be continuously upheld, defended and sometimes reclaimed from forces that seek to divide and diminish us. 

Idaho’s human rights story embodies this struggle to protect and promote the inherent worth of all people. One of our state’s most infamous chapters features the rise of the Aryan Nations. In the 1970s, Richard Butler moved to Idaho and established a compound near Hayden Lake. Butler saw our state as fertile ground to develop a hub for white supremacy. Capitalizing on the region’s lack of racial diversity, history of Confederate sympathies and a continuing wave of white flight from the South and urban areas, Butler weaved hateful ideology into a distorted version of Christianity to unite far-right extremists. 

This movement was not an anomaly; it was part of a broader legacy of systemic exclusion and racial hostility in the Pacific Northwest. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Chinese immigrants faced discriminatory taxes, anti-miscegenation laws and violence. On Feb. 25, 1886, an anti-Chinese convention took place right here in Boise. All these acts ensured that by the 1920s, Idaho’s population was overwhelmingly white. 

During this decade, the state experienced another surge of white supremacy. This was part of a national wave of racial intolerance. Fueled by fears of societal change, the Ku Klux Klan organized public events to display its influence and assert its racist and antisemitic ideas. One of the most notable demonstrations occurred in 1923 when Klan members held a parade in downtown Boise. Adorned in white hoods, over 350 Klansmen marched with floats, pyrotechnics and a band. They made their way from the city center to the fairgrounds, where a crowd of 3,000 community members watched as they lit crosses in a dramatic show of power. 

This event illustrated the Klan’s attempt to normalize white supremacist ideals and intimidate minority groups and those who opposed their agenda. While the Klan’s presence in Idaho was less entrenched than in Southern states, it left a troubling legacy. Black residents faced segregation and violence, as well as informal yet pervasive discrimination that denied them basic rights and opportunities. These moments of exclusion were justified by dehumanizing narratives that characterized African Americans as unworthy or dangerous. 

Economic instability and demographic shifts during the 1920s further amplified the spread of white supremacist ideologies in Idaho. As the agricultural economy faltered and new immigrant groups arrived, white residents often scapegoated minorities, particularly Indigenous peoples and Mexican workers. The visibility of the 1923 Klan parade and similar activities reinforced exclusionary practices such as restrictive housing covenants, segregation in public spaces, and discriminatory laws. These acts of overt white supremacy not only highlighted the deep racial divides of the time but also laid a foundation for future extremist movements in Idaho.

The establishment of the Aryan Nations is one example. In the 1970s, Richard Butler moved to Idaho, intending to create a home base for white supremacist groups. Butler’s movement perpetuated an “us versus them” ideology that sought to dehumanize and divide. 

Butler’s journey to establishing the Aryan Nations began with his exposure to far-right thinking. During World War II, he developed an admiration for Adolf Hitler and Nazi philosophy, despite fighting on the Allied side. After the war, Butler became deeply influenced by U.S. Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s anti-communist rhetoric, which connected him with Wesley Swift, a preacher who espoused a theology known as Christian Identity. These teachings combined Biblical scripture with white supremacist beliefs, claiming that white Europeans were God’s chosen people and that Jews and people of color were subhuman. 

Christian Identity became the backbone of the Aryan Nations. Butler transformed Swift’s teachings into a unifying doctrine that could attract a wide array of extremist groups. By framing white supremacy as divinely ordained, he provided a theological justification for hate, which helped galvanize disparate factions of the far-right under a common religious and political banner. 

The 20-acre Aryan Nations compound became the physical and symbolic center of Butler’s movement. With its guard tower, swastika-emblazoned chapel and regular gatherings, the compound served as a hub for white supremacists, paramilitary groups and neo-Nazis. By providing a physical space for networking, Butler solidified the Aryan Nations as a central node in the web of extremist organizations. 

To achieve this, Butler hosted annual Aryan World Congress meetings at the compound. The gatherings provided a platform for collaboration, allowing extremist groups to share tactics, exchange propaganda and recruit members. These events helped transform the Aryan Nations from a regional entity into a national and even international network. 

The compound also became a destination for individuals disillusioned with mainstream society or radicalized by the economic and social changes of the 1970s and 1980s. Butler framed his movement as a refuge for those seeking to preserve “traditional” white Christian values in the face of what he portrayed as cultural and demographic threats. 

Butler’s ability to unite extremist groups was rooted in his exploitation of shared fears and grievances. He tapped into anxieties about racial integration, civil rights advancements and the perceived erosion of white dominance in American society. By presenting a vision of an all-white homeland in the Pacific Northwest, Butler gave his followers a sense of purpose. His work was both a response to and a catalyst for the social and political climate in which he operated. 

The Aryan Nations did not just spew hateful rhetoric; they caused significant harm to many individuals. At the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights, we use the Spiral of Injustice framework to understand how unchecked prejudice can escalate into discrimination, violence, and even elimination. In the case of the Aryan Nations, the Spiral began, as it often does, with language; hateful words and conspiracy theories from extremist leaders dehumanized minorities and fueled a narrative of “white victimhood.”

This language normalized avoidance as communities distanced themselves from certain groups, fostering silence and complicity. Avoidance then gave way to discrimination, targeting communities of color and Jewish families. The Aryan Nations actively promoted policies that reinforced segregation and exclusion, claiming Idaho as part of a “white homeland.” These discriminatory practices created an environment where violence could flourish, evident in assaults, threats and even bombings that threatened the safety of countless Idahoans and others across the country. Finally, the most extreme stage — elimination — was promoted through the Aryan Nations’ explicit calls for establishing an exclusively white society. Their vision was nothing less than the total destruction of the groups they deemed unworthy. 

Fortunately, this Spiral of injustice is not inevitable — it can be interrupted. Idaho’s history illustrates the power of individuals and communities to stand against hatred. 

And this is exactly what happened in northern Idaho. The story of the dismantling of the Aryan Nations is the story of people from all walks of life — faith leaders, educators, business owners, law enforcement, government officials and regular community members — working side by side to reclaim their communities.

Bill Wassmuth, a Catholic priest from the small farming community of Greencreek, Idaho, emerged as a leader in these efforts. Wassmuth first encountered the Aryan Nations in the late 1970s when his parishioners began receiving antisemitic propaganda distributed by Butler’s followers. The material openly promoted hate and violence against Jews and Black Americans. Recognizing the danger posed by such rhetoric, Wassmuth initially responded with sermons condemning the Aryan Nations. He urged his congregation to reject hate.

However, Wassmuth soon realized that sermons alone were insufficient. The Aryan Nations had started attracting national attention, and the hateful ideology was seeping into the local community. Wassmuth decided that a broader, coordinated response was needed. 

In 1980, Wassmuth joined 27 other religious leaders in the area to issue an interfaith petition condemning the Aryan Nations’ hateful ideologies. This public rebuke was pivotal, signaling that local clergy were united against white supremacy. Up until this point, there had been a lot of silence. Some community members worried that directly addressing the Aryan Nations would give the extremist group credibility, others just didn’t recognize the level of threat, and some people were simply scared. Bill Wassmuth had become convinced that the most dangerous course of action was to remain silent. 

Known for his commitment to speaking out against injustice, Wassmuth was recruited to chair the Kootenai County Task Force on Human Relations in 1984. His first order of business was to bring together a diverse group of community members to develop a wide range of strategies to promote a different vision for what their community could be. The task force participated in parades and county fairs, organized public events and educational symposiums, and produced a short television program series. 

Despite these efforts, the Aryan Nations escalated its activities, becoming increasingly violent in the mid-1980s. An offshoot group called the Order carried out a series of crimes, including armed robberies, the bombing of a Boise synagogue, and the murder of Jewish radio host Alan Berg. These violent actions underscored the urgent need to confront the threat posed by Butler’s network. 

A visible figure in the fight against the Aryan Nations, Wassmuth faced personal attacks. In 1986, his home was bombed. However, Wassmuth refused to be intimidated. Instead of retreating, he used the attack as a rallying point for the community. In public statements, Wassmuth emphasized nonviolence and the importance of standing together against hate. His resilience inspired others to join the movement, reinforcing the idea that collective action was essential in order to defeat extremism. 

One of Wassmuth’s key contributions was his ability to mobilize the community in creative and strategic ways. For example, when Butler announced plans to hold the Aryan World Congress in the summer of 1986, the task force organized a regional campaign to promote human rights. Nearly 200 cities across the Northwest issued proclamations rejecting hate and supporting human dignity. In Coeur d’Alene, the task force launched Good Neighbor Day. This celebration of diversity was slated to take place on the same day as the Aryan World Congress and would highlight the community’s commitment to inclusion. These efforts not only countered the Aryan Nations’ message by proactively saying yes to human rights but also attracted national media attention, shifting the focus away from the extremist group. 

Another notable moment came in 1998 when Butler’s followers held a parade in Coeur d’Alene. Rather than confronting the marchers directly, the community creatively responded. Businesses closed their doors with signs reading “Closed to Hate.” The task force also organized an alternative event — a “Lemons to Lemonade” campaign. They worked tirelessly to rally the community, distributing yellow ribbons as symbols of peace and solidarity. Residents pledged donations for every minute the parade lasted, raising $35,000 for human rights education programs. The innovative approach demonstrated how communities could reclaim power from hate groups by focusing on shared values. 

The fight against extremist groups reached a critical turning point in 2000. Following a violent attack by Aryan Nations security guards on an Indigenous mother and son near the Hayden Lake compound, the Southern Poverty Law Center filed a civil lawsuit against Butler and his organization. The case, supported by local activists and law enforcement, resulted in $6 million judgment against the Aryan Nations. This lawsuit bankrupted the organization, leading to the loss of their compound and signaling a decisive victory against their movement. While the lawsuit marked the end of the Aryan Nations as a physical presence in Idaho, Wassmuth cautioned against complacency. He recognized that hate could persist in more insidious forms, especially online. He emphasized the need for ongoing vigilance and civic engagement to prevent the resurgence of extremism. 

Wassmuth’s efforts extended beyond Idaho. After leaving the priesthood, he moved to Seattle. There, he became the executive director of the Northwest Coalition Against Malicious Harassment, where he helped establish over 150 task forces across the region, spreading Kootenai County’s model for community-based resistance. Wassmuth also shared his approach, which he called “sandcastle theology.” He emphasized that the process of building inclusive communities was more important than any one victory. By fostering relationships and addressing systemic issues together, Wassmuth believed communities could create a lasting foundation for human rights – one that would not be washed away by the political tides of the day. 

The way in which Wassmuth led the fight against the Aryan Nations serves as a powerful example of how coalition-building, creative action and nonviolent resistance can counter even the most entrenched forms of hate. His legacy reminds us that protecting human rights requires an unwavering belief in the value of every individual. Wassmuth understood that at the heart of every human rights violation lies the process of othering — viewing certain groups as fundamentally different and unworthy of belonging. This “us versus them” mindset has fueled atrocities worldwide, from the Holocaust to what is happening in Myanmar today. Closer to home, it underpinned the actions of the Aryan Nations. 

Today, the threats to human rights in Idaho and beyond look different, but the Spiral of Injustice remains evident as our neighbors are harmed in subtle and overt ways. Consider the language often used to describe refugees and others new to our community: the labels reduce their humanity to stereotypes and stoke fear. This dehumanizing rhetoric fosters avoidance, evident in the refusal to engage meaningfully with their lived experiences and contributions. Similarly, transgender individuals face exclusion, with policies and debates framing them as outsiders or threats rather than as individuals deserving of equal opportunities.

On a policy level, we have still not added the words to Idaho’s Human Rights Act. This policy lacks explicit protections against discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity, reinforcing a culture of inequality. Meanwhile, hate crimes in the state are on the rise, a grim reminder that violence often follows when dehumanization and avoidance go unchecked. These examples illustrate how the Spiral of Injustice persists, beginning with words and attitudes that escalate into systemic discrimination and, ultimately, acts of harm. 

So, what can we do? What inspiration can we draw from the coalitions Bill Wassmuth led to foster a culture of human rights and belonging? I’d like to share three key lessons we try to enact at the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights. 

Form Strong Networks: Building a culture of belonging requires collective action. Partnering with a wide range of groups — faith communities, businesses, schools, government officials and civic organizations— strengthens our efforts. The dismantling of the Aryan Nations wasn’t the work of one person or a single group but of a united community. The strength of the Kootenai County Task Force was its diversity: many different people working together toward a shared goal. 

Invest in Education: Education is the most powerful tool for change. Programs that foster empathy, critical thinking, historical understanding and a realization of the dangers of dehumanization help create communities resilient to hate. When we equip people, especially young people, with the tools to recognize and interrupt the Spiral of Injustice, we ensure that tomorrow is more inclusive and just than today. 

Offer a More Compelling Vision for the Future: It is not enough to rally against something – we must paint a picture of what is possible when we honor the inherent worth of all people. What does Idaho look like when we respect our differences and create joyful communities where we can all belong and thrive? 

Today, we have the opportunity — and the responsibility — to carry these lessons forward. At the Wassmuth Center for Human Rights, we facilitate programs for learners of all ages to connect, learn about key human rights issues, and collectively imagine and create initiatives to make human rights a lived reality for all. 

I invite you to join us. Learn more about Idaho’s history and how injustice operates. Commit to building inclusive communities where belonging isn’t a privilege but a fundamental right. The Spiral of Injustice thrives on inaction, but it is broken by people — people like all of us — who choose courage, compassion and community. 

Idaho’s hidden history of human rights reminds us that progress is possible — but only if we commit to the ongoing work of building a community where everyone belongs. We can disagree about how to do this – and we should. Exchanging different ideas and diverse perspectives will result in more effective solutions. But having a shared foundation of valuing the worth of every single person is essential for moving forward in community. Continuing the work of Bill Wassmuth, we can “say yes to human rights” – expanding the circle of human concern and creating a future defined not by fear and division but by dignity, equality, diversity and joy.