Latest news with #Michaelis
Yahoo
3 days ago
- General
- Yahoo
'A nice regular man': Boulder suspect shocks quiet Colorado neighborhood
(EL PASO COUNTY, Colo.) — Neighbors of the Boulder attack suspect say they were 'shocked,' and 'scared,' when they heard about the 45-year-old's alleged transgressions at a protest in Pearl Street Mall. On Sunday, June 1, police were called to Pearl Street Mall in Boulder after reports of an attack on a group of individuals. The suspect, 45-year-old Mohamed Sabry Soliman, of El Paso County, reportedly used a makeshift flamethrower and threw an incendiary device onto the ground. According to the Boulder Police Department, witnesses heard him yell 'Free Palestine' during the attack. During the attack, eight victims were injured, four men and four women between the ages of 52 through 88. The attack occurred during a weekly peaceful protest in support of Israeli hostages in Gaza. According to the federal complaint, Soliman confessed to the attack after being taken into custody on Sunday. DOJ: Boulder attack suspect facing federal hate crime charges That same day, police raided a home in the Cimarron Hills neighborhood in Colorado Springs. According to those who live in the area, the neighborhood off Constitution Avenue is often quiet and safe. JoEllen Cable, who said she's only been there for two months, noted the neighborhood is 'relatively safe.' '90% of the time is quiet,' said Cable. 'We have people working, people are trying to make ends meet, and so they work.' On Sunday afternoon, neighbors could see a heavy police presence on one specific street in the neighborhood. One neighbor, Michael Michaelis, recalled the FBI bursting into the townhome off Washo Circle. 'They went ahead and ran inside,' said Michaelis. 'They also had some kind of remote-controlled cart thing, too.' FBI: Pearl Street suspect was from El Paso County Another neighbor noted that there was a heavy police presence all day. The man, who decided to remain anonymous, told FOX21 he was shocked to hear about Soliman. 'I've had good words with him, he was a nice regular guy,' said the neighbor. 'He went to work with his family, you didn't bother him, he didn't bother you, so I'm completely shocked. He was super nice.' The neighbor said Soliman was an Uber driver and was 'gone a lot.' According to the man, Soliman's children and his played together. The federal complaint revealed that Soliman lived with his wife and five children at the home located in Cimarron Hills. 'It's sad,' said the man. 'You never know what can push someone over the edge… You just never know.' While some neighbors were surprised, Michaelis said events like these happen everywhere. Soliman is being held at the Boulder County Jail on a $10 million bond. Soliman is facing federal hate crime charges in addition to state charges. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Daily Mail
30-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Reformed white nationalist reveals how he was led down toxic path of neo-Nazi ideology and how he broke free
Arno Michaelis spent years ensnared by the toxic allure of neo-Nazi ideology, embracing a life of violence and hatred that nearly destroyed him - until everything unraveled. Now 34, Michaelis reflects on his past, what led him to make mistakes that hurt himself and others, and the pivotal moment that changed everything. His teenage years, which were marked by feelings of anger, loneliness, and a desperate search for purpose, identity, and belonging. At 16, he thought he had found that purpose, albeit in what he now describes as a 'fantasy.' A lifelong fascination with Greek and Norse mythology led the isolated teen to a devastating belief: that he was part of a 'master race' under siege - a core tenet of Nazi ideology that, to his mind, mirrored the myths he'd always revered. 'It told me I was one of the 'noble few' standing against dark, corrupting forces,' Michaelis told Business Insider. Embracing this newfound sense of identity, Michaelis quickly immersed himself in the world of white nationalism, becoming the frontman of a neo-Nazi metal band in Milwaukee. 'During that time, I lived in fear and anger, driven by a violent ideology that twisted history into mythology and cast me as a hero in a delusional war,' he reflected. But that so-called 'heroism' was hollow, he said, calling the life he led toxic to both himself and those around him. 'Our goal was to spread the ideology through music, to indoctrinate others like I had been. Music became the vehicle for us to feel united and righteous in our hate,' Michaelis explained. For years, Michaelis viewed anyone who didn't look like him as a threat, an exhausting and dehumanizing mindset he now recognizes. 'Being a neo-Nazi wasn't empowering; it was exhausting,' he admitted. The band, emboldened by their beliefs, carried out brutal attacks - 'boot parties' -against those they deemed enemies: people of color, LGBTQ individuals, Jews, punks, and anyone who didn't fit their narrow worldview. But even as he, backed by his fellow bandmates, felt he was 'protecting his race' something deep inside him felt off. 'I'd hear a quiet voice inside asking, 'What are you doing? This guy didn't do anything to you. You don't even know him.' But I didn't have the courage to listen,' he recalled. By the mid-1990s, Michaelis had become an alcoholic, disillusioned and increasingly repulsed by the life he was leading. 'I was going through life in fear and hate of everyone who didn't look and think like me - and I hated it,' he said. In 1994, Michaelis reached a turning point. His relationship with the mother of his child ended, leaving him a single parent to an 18-month-old daughter. Shortly after, a close friend was fatally shot in a street fight. 'By then, I'd lost count of how many friends had been incarcerated,' he told Business Insider. 'It finally hit me that if I didn't leave, prison or death would take me from my daughter. That was the push I needed, so I walked away.' What followed was a journey of personal transformation. A year-and-a-half later, Michaelis found himself at 4 am on the South Side of Chicago, dancing with 3,000 people from every race, ethnicity, and background - an experience that marked a dramatic turning point. 'That's when I knew I was free,' he said. 'I realized something profound: what I had been searching for all along - belonging, joy, connection - wasn't found in hate. It was in community.' Today, Michaelis dedicates his life to helping others escape the grip of extremism through his work with Parents for Peace, an organization that supports individuals caught in hate-based ideologies. 'We support individuals on their journey - whether they're questioning, struggling, or still deeply entrenched - and we guide families trying to reach a loved one,' he explained. Looking back, Michaelis speaks with deep regret for the harm he caused but is focused on the work ahead. 'I live with deep regret for the harm I caused, but I know I can never undo it. What I can do is work to prevent more pain. And in doing so, I've found a life I never thought was possible: a life without fear, anger, or hate.'
