Daryl Davis and the Power of Conversation: How One Musician Helped 200 Klansmen Walk Away from Hate

Most people know Daryl Davis as a talented blues pianist who has played with legends like Chuck Berry and B B King. But off stage, Davis has spent the past thirty years doing something far more unexpected. He meets with members of the Ku Klux Klan. Not to argue with them, but to talk. As a Black man, his choice to befriend individuals from one of America’s most notorious hate groups might seem baffling at first. But for Davis, it all comes down to one question he asked himself long ago: How can you hate me when you do not even know me? That question launched a life’s work that has led to hundreds of Klan members hanging up their robes for good.

Daryl with Chuck Berry & Jerry Lee Lewis

An Unexpected Conversation That Sparked a Movement

Daryl Davis’s journey began in the early 1980s, not in a classroom or a political meeting, but on a stage. He was performing at a country-western bar in Frederick, Maryland — a venue where, by his own recollection, the audience was almost entirely white. It was not unusual for Davis to play in such places. His musical versatility meant he could move easily between rock and roll, blues, boogie-woogie and swing, and he had the talent to back it up.

After his set, a white man in the audience approached Davis to compliment him. The man was impressed by how closely Davis’s playing resembled that of Jerry Lee Lewis. Davis smiled and told him that Lewis had, in fact, learned his style from Black musicians, many of whom never received the same level of recognition. The man seemed genuinely surprised and slightly unsettled by this revelation. After a pause, he said something even more unexpected: “You know, this is the first time I’ve ever sat down and had a drink with a Black man.” He then revealed that he was a member of the Ku Klux Klan.

Most people would have walked away, perhaps with anger or disbelief. But Davis did not. Instead, he asked the man why he held such views. That one question marked the beginning of a conversation that would lead to several meetings and, eventually, a genuine friendship. It also led to the question that would shape Davis’s life’s work: How can you hate me when you do not even know me?

That encounter would not be the last. In fact, it served as a catalyst. Davis became increasingly interested in the roots of racial hatred and the structure of white supremacist organisations. He began to seek out other Klansmen, not as a provocateur but as someone curious — and deeply committed to the idea that ignorance could be undone through honest, human dialogue.

Turning Hatred Into Dialogue

Rather than distance himself from those who hated him on sight, Davis did something most would never consider. He engaged. He arranged meetings, conducted interviews, and initiated friendships with members of the Ku Klux Klan and other white nationalist groups. These were not casual chats. Davis did meticulous research, often reading Klan literature, learning about the hierarchy of its various factions, and approaching its members with directness but not hostility.

Some meetings were tense, carried out with Klansmen who arrived visibly armed or accompanied by bodyguards. Others were unexpectedly cordial. Davis met Grand Dragons, Imperial Wizards and rank-and-file members, always maintaining a calm and respectful presence. His aim was not to debate or convert, but to create a space where people could reflect on their own beliefs in the presence of someone they had been taught to hate.

Over time, many of those conversations began to yield results. Davis discovered that many Klansmen had never interacted personally with Black people before. Once they did, their beliefs began to unravel. What Davis offered was not a lecture but a relationship. He shared meals, visited homes, and welcomed them into his own life.

A Collection of Robes and Redemption

As these men left the Klan, many chose to give Davis their robes, hoods, and membership paraphernalia. It became a symbolic gesture of leaving behind a life shaped by hatred. Davis did not display the robes as trophies but kept them as poignant reminders of what can be achieved through dialogue. Today, he stores over 200 of these garments in his home, each one tied to a story of personal transformation.

One man, formerly a Grand Dragon, asked Davis to be the godfather of his daughter. Another, after years of friendship, invited him to his wedding. These were not symbolic gestures but signs of meaningful change, formed through trust, listening, and the willingness to reconsider long-held beliefs.

The collection of robes is now part of what Davis envisions as a future museum — not just to document racism, but to show that it can be dismantled. Through his work, he wants to illustrate that hatred is not always permanent and that people can evolve.

Accidental Courtesy and Public Impact

Davis’s work drew wider attention with the release of Accidental Courtesy: Daryl Davis, Race & America in 2016. The documentary follows Davis across the country as he meets with current and former white supremacists, civil rights activists, and those who view his work with suspicion or discomfort.

The film reveals the complexity of Davis’s mission. Some Black activists question whether sitting down with white supremacists dilutes the urgency of confronting structural racism. Others view his work as overly forgiving or dangerously naive. But Davis maintains that he is not excusing anyone’s past — he is challenging them to rewrite their future.

He often points out that he never asks people to leave the Klan. They make that decision on their own, after coming to see him as a person rather than a caricature. In his view, it is far more powerful for someone to abandon hate on their own than to be pressured into it.

Why Talking Still Matters

In an era dominated by social media echo chambers and performative outrage, Daryl Davis offers something rare — a model of activism grounded in personal contact and patient listening. He does not claim to have the solution to systemic racism. Instead, he offers one strategy for dealing with the hearts and minds of individuals trapped in it.

His method is slow, uncomfortable and, at times, risky. But it works. The robes in his home are proof. More importantly, the friendships he has built show that human connection can cross even the most entrenched ideological lines.

As Davis often says, When two enemies are talking, they are not fighting. That simple truth underpins everything he does. In a world that too often chooses confrontation over conversation, Daryl Davis reminds us that there is still power in sitting down and simply listening — even if it is across the most unlikely of tables.

The below text is highlights from an interview with Davis that appeared on All Things Considered -

On the first time he befriended a member of the Ku Klux Klan

I was playing music — it was my first time playing in this particular bar called the Silver Dollar Lounge and this white gentleman approached me and he says, "I really enjoy you all's music." I thanked him, shook his hand and he says, "You know this is the first time I ever heard a black man play piano like Jerry Lee Lewis." I was kind of surprised that he did not know the origin of that kind of music and I said, "Well, where do you think Jerry Lee Lewis learned how to play that kind of style?" He's like, "Well, I don't know." I said, "He learned it from the same place I did. Black, blues, and boogie-woogie piano players." That's what that rockabilly, rock 'n roll style came from." He said, "Oh, no! Jerry Lee invented that. I ain't ever heard no black man except for you play like that." So I'm thinking this guy has never heard Fats Domino or Little Richard and then he says, "You know, this is the first time I ever sat down and had a drink with a black man?"

Well, now I'm getting curious. I'm trying to figure out, now how is it that in my 25 years on the face of this earth that I have sat down, literally, with thousands of white people, had a beverage, a meal, a conversation or anybody else, and this guy is 15 to 20 years older than me and he's never sat down with a black guy before and had a drink. I said, "How is that? Why?" At first, he didn't answer me and he had a friend sitting next to him and he elbowed him and said, "Tell him, tell him, tell him," and he finally said, "I'm a member of the Ku Klux Klan."

On his reaction on hearing he was talking a member of the Klan

I just burst out laughing because I really did not believe him. I thought he was pulling my leg. As I was laughing, he pulled out his wallet, flipped through his credit cards and pictures and produced his Klan card and handed it to me. Immediately, I stopped laughing. I recognized the logo on there, the Klan symbol and I realized this was for real, this guy wasn't joking. And now I'm wondering, why am I sitting by a Klansman?

But he was very friendly, it was the music that brought us together. He wanted me to call him and let him know anytime I was to return to this bar with this band. The fact that a Klansman and black person could sit down at the same table and enjoy the same music, that was a seed planted. So what do you do when you plant a seed? You nourish it. That was the impetus for me to write a book. I decided to go around the country and sit down with Klan leaders and Klan members to find out: How can you hate me when you don't even know me?

On what he says to a Klansman

The best thing you do is you study up on the subject as much as you can. I went in armed, not with a weapon, but with knowledge. I knew as much about the Klan, if not more than many of the Klan people that I interviewed. When they see that you know about their organization, their belief system, they respect you. Whether they like you or not, they respect the fact that you've done your homework. Just like any good salesman, you want a return visit and they recognized that I'd done my homework, which allowed me to come back again.

That began to chip away at their ideology because when two enemies are talking, they're not fighting. It's when the talking ceases that the ground becomes fertile for violence. If you spend five minutes with your worst enemy — it doesn't have to be about race, it could be about anything...you will find that you both have something in common. As you build upon those commonalities, you're forming a relationship and as you build about that relationship, you're forming a friendship. That's what would happen. I didn't convert anybody. They saw the light and converted themselves.

On what the Klansmen thought when he asked them why they hated him

Initially, they feel that if you're not white, you are inferior. [They believe] that black people have smaller brains, we're incapable of higher achievement. I'll give you an example of one. This guy was an exalted cyclops sitting in my car in my passenger seat. He made the statement, which I'd heard before, "Well we all know that all black people have within them a gene that makes them violent." I turned to him and I'm driving and I said, "Wait a minute. I'm as black as anybody you've ever seen. I have never done a carjacking or a driveby, how do you explain that?" He didn't even pause to think about it. He said, "Your gene is latent. It hasn't come out yet."

So how do you argue with somebody who is that far out in left field? I was dumbfounded. I'm just driving along. He's sitting over here all smug and secure, like "See you have no response?" And I thought about it for a minute. Then I used his point of reference. I said, "Well, we all know that all white people have a gene within them that makes them a serial killer." He says, "What do you mean?" And I said,"Well, name me three black serial killers." He thought about it — he could not do it. I said, Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, Charles Manson, John Wayne Gacy. All whites. I said, "Son, you are a serial killer." He says "Daryl, I've never killed anybody." I said, "Your gene is latent. It hasn't come out yet." He goes, "Well, that's stupid!" I said, "Well, duh. Yes, but you know what, you're right. What I said was stupid, but no more stupid than what you said you me." Then he got very, very quiet and changed the subject. Five months later, based on that conversation he left the Klan. His robe was the first robe I ever got.

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