MIAMI – When he arrived back at Miami International Airport, Henry “Enrique” Tarrio was overwhelmed by what he saw. A forest of cameras. Cell phones held aloft by well-wishers. Journalists, fans and onlookers clamored for a glimpse of the de-facto leader of the Proud Boys.
Tarrio, 40, had left Miami almost three years earlier as a prisoner. Disgraced, he faced the most serious charges levied from the Jan. 6 attack. A jury convicted him of seditious conspiracy and other crimes. Prosecutors argued he was a terrorist, the mastermind of a well-planned coup that only failed by the grace of God.
Now he was returning, if not as a hero, then as the protagonist in an American folk tale: revered by some, loathed by others and recognized by many, if not all.
“Are you waiting for Bad Bunny?” a woman in the crowd asked the assembled journalists, referring to the Puerto Rican reguetonero.
After President Donald Trump commuted their sentences last month for various serious crimes connected to the insurrection, Tarrio and the other top leaders of the Proud Boys find themselves contemplating the future.
Prison appears to have left a mark on these men. They no longer speak with the brash insolence that characterized their piloting of the mob they led to the doors of the U.S. Capitol. They have drunk some cold beers (except Tarrio, who no longer drinks alcohol) and taken their families out to sushi. They have slept in their own beds. And now they are making plans.
USA TODAY interviewed the four top leaders of the Proud Boys, who were all given lengthy prison sentences for their roles on Jan. 6: Tarrio (22 years), Ethan Nordean (18 years), Joseph “Joe” Biggs (17 years), and Zachary Rehl (15 years).
Their hopes and dreams are as lofty as they are hazy.
Tarrio speaks vaguely about entering politics. He doesn’t want to abandon the Proud Boys. But he also seems to recognize the limits of the group, which alienated swathes of America by associating with white supremacists and participating in violent street brawls with leftist counter-protesters and pro-LGBTQ+ groups.
Nordean talks cryptically about starting an organization that will “reclaim” American masculinity for young men. Rehl wants to run for Congress, but he doesn’t know what seat yet. And Biggs wants to reform the American justice system – with the help of Kim Kardashian.
These Proud Boys appear to have come a long way from strutting down Washington’s streets in wraparound sunglasses and Fred Perry polo shirts. A group that prided itself in its anti-establishment bona fides has now produced political martyrs, with a remarkable arc — from America’s most wanted extremist group to a badge of honor that could grant entry into the political mainstream.
But these men remain felons convicted of seditious conspiracy for a violent plot to stop the peaceful transfer of power between former President Joe Biden and Trump. Asked if they were proud of their actions, all four unequivocally told USA TODAY they would do the same thing all over again.
A USA TODAY/Suffolk University poll last month asked respondents to choose from a list of actions they didn’t want Trump to take. Pardoning Jan. 6 rioters came in a close second to investigating Biden officials and congressional Democrats.
And while it remains to be seen whether the Proud Boys leaders’ plans fizzle out or condense into something more solid, the group’s transformation follows a pattern that is not unheard of in the country’s history, said Brett Gadsden, an associate professor of political history at Northwestern University.
More:Proud Boys and Oath Keepers leaders are free. Who are they and what are their groups?
But Gadsden said he sees through the image these four men are seeking to portray. He noted other extremist groups have achieved the transition to the political mainstream by sanding down their roughest edges.
“For the Proud Boys, it would be difficult for them to legitimize themselves if they continue to rally around the kind of mantra of white supremacy, black inferiority, homophobia, hatred for gays and lesbians and trans folks,” Gadsden said. “That’s not the way to win favor.”
‘I’m not a bad guy’
Biggs was one of the very first people to storm into the Capitol after a fellow Proud Boy smashed a window. Days after his release, he was trying to donate a bunch of his old clothes.
It didn’t go so well. He couldn’t find anywhere to donate them.
“I guess they’re not really around anymore,” Biggs said, of the stores and charities he says he once worked with.
Biggs, 41, who now lives in Ormond-by-the-Sea on Florida’s Atlantic coast, said he’s spent much of his life trying to help humanity. An Army veteran, he was a “correspondent” for Infowars, a website founded and operated by conspiracy theorist Alex Jones, who was later sued into bankruptcy for defaming families of victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary shooting. Before getting involved with the Proud Boys, he said, he donated time and money to local schools, worked in relief efforts, and even flew to Haiti to offer help, labor and expertise after Hurricane Matthew in 2016.
Convicted of seditious conspiracy and other felonies, he spent four years behind bars — two of them in solitary confinement. There, he discovered a new mission: freeing people unjustly imprisoned by the federal justice system.
Inside, Biggs said he was admired by everybody from California Crips to Gangster Disciples from Chicago.
“I had guys from all over the country – Black, white, all these different groups coming up to me and going, ‘You’re not a criminal, man. You’re not like us. You don’t belong here, you don’t think like a criminal,’” he said. “I was treated like an outsider because of that. But they all had respect for me, and they would come to me and ask my opinion about stuff.”
Biggs said several felons showed him their court files. He said he’d even met with some of their lawyers.
“The system is a monster, and you can’t just beat a monster overnight,” he said.
Exactly how it comes to slaying that monster, Biggs said he isn’t yet sure. He acknowledges it will take a bipartisan effort. But so far, he hasn’t thought about much more than leveraging his current notoriety to meet with celebrities who are involved with justice reform.
“I mean, even like Kim Kardashian — she does stuff with prison reform,” he said. “Let’s get people who have pull, together, and let’s have some hearings. Let’s actually bring some of these cases of these people to light and sit down in front of cameras and read off what these men did and their charges.”
He said he would love to sit down with the president, or at least, members of his administration.
But for another Proud Boy, passing on information to the powers-that-be, isn’t enough. He wants the reins of power for himself.
‘I’m no joke’
Zachary Rehl, was caught on camera spraying Capitol Police officers with what prosecutors said in court was pepper spray. He said he couldn’t “recall” doing so.
Rehl, who bragged about the Capitol attack on social media, said he never doubted he would get out of prison early.
The moment Trump joined the 2024 election race, the former leader of the Proud Boys Philadelphia chapter figured he’d be out in a couple of years.
“I would tell my family: ‘Look, this is political. Unfortunately, it looks like they’re going to play this out until, until the 2024 election,” he said. “I was like, ‘Look, the truth is going to come out.’”
The way 39-year-old Rehl tells it, the period from when he was first incarcerated to his commutation was a sort of learning curve for the American public. Through Trump and other conservatives, the nation gradually learned that what he and his compatriots did on Jan. 6 was a noble act, he said. Not everything that happened that day was great, he acknowledged, and the violence against police officers was unacceptable. At least 140 police officers were injured, many at the hands of the crowd — but Rehl believes that wasn’t unhinged extremism.
The drinking, the street fights, the vandalism, the obsession with confronting anti-fascists and the storming of the U.S. Capitol were all, as Rehl tells it, acts of defiance against a corrupt and opaque government.
“The Proud Boys have definitely evolved into the general sphere of mainstream politics over the years,” he said. “I think people started to generally kind of understand that there’s certain levels of seriousness and non-seriousness with the organization.”
The vile memes, violence, anti-Semitism, homophobia and anti-trans hate that were so commonplace in the Proud Boys were all really just a big joke — trolling, Rehl said.
Recent polling from CBS News appears to show how Americans’ views on the Capitol attack have changed over time. The percentage of Republicans polled who strongly disapproved of the Jan. 6 attack dropped more than 20 points between January 2021 and January 2025 — from 51% to 30%. The poll also found that 80% of total respondents still disapprove of the actions of those who forced their way into the Capitol.
But while observers of the Proud Boys acknowledge support for the group seems to have grown in the weeks since Trump was elected, they have a different explanation.
Cassie Miller, senior manager of research and analysis at the Southern Poverty Law Center’s Intelligence Project, said the rejuvenated support is less about people suddenly agreeing with the group and more about the president’s support.
“This is a group that’s foundation is violence and that believes that violence is a way of pursuing their political goals, and now Trump has signaled to them that he approves of those actions,” Miller said.
Heidi Beirich, co-founder of the Global Project Against Hate and Extremism in Alabama, expressed skepticism about how the leaders of the Proud Boys are now trying to portray themselves.
“The GOP has had incredible success rewriting the history of January 6, regardless of the facts,” she said. “It’s not surprising to hear these guys glomming on to the same narrative, that this wasn’t an insurrection.”
Nevertheless, Rehl believes mainstream America is now on his side, and that it’s time for him to capitalize on this goodwill. How better than by running for the U.S. Congress?
Rehl didn’t have much internet access in prison. He said he hasn’t had a chance to look into which seat might be up for grabs in a potential bid.
“I’m gonna investigate and look into and see what districts would be fitting for me and for the community as well,” he said. “So it’s in the early stages.”
It might seem incongruous for the leader of such an anti-establishment street gang – one categorized by the FBI in 2018 as an extremist group with ties to white nationalism – is considering a congressional run. But Rehl wouldn’t be the first Jan. 6 rioter to run for Congress.
“I’m no joke, you know what I mean,” Rehl said, pointing out that he holds both bachelor’s and master’s degrees. “I am an intelligent individual, and I’ve done a lot in the community as far as activism is concerned. So, I’m experienced in that respect, and I believe I can really represent the people in a good way.”
And while Tarrio, Rehl and Biggs have their sights on specific segments of the political world, Ethan Nordean, who prosecutors described as “the undisputed leader on the ground on Jan 6,” has a much bigger target: Every male in America.
Fixing the crisis in American masculinity
If male energy isn’t focused in the right direction, it can become destructive.
That’s one of the lessons Nordean said he’d learned in the last few years — years which, in his own words, have contained several epiphanies: about himself; about politics; about the nature of the Proud Boys and about what he described as the evils of the federal government.
Nordean was 30 years old at the Capitol riot. He was part of the first group to storm the building, overwhelming officers “who had been battling the crowd for nearly an hour,” according to prosecutors.
The now-34-year old appears to have given more thought to the details of his future path than Tarrio, Biggs or Rehl. But he’s not saying much about it just yet.
Nordean talked about what he sees as the ills in American society: “Wokeism,” a tolerance for weakness and cowardice in men and what he sees as an alienation of spirited thinkers.
“Basically anything that isn’t in agreement with far-leftist ideology is considered fascist,” he said. “It demonizes the nuclear family; it demonizes Christian men; it demonizes anyone that doesn’t fit the parameters of that ideology.”
This pervading dogma has made young men scared to speak up, Nordean said. It has made men fearful of exhibiting the courage and strength that lies inside them.
Nordean’s focus on young men and the apparent crisis in American masculinity is a favorite current talking point among both conservative and far-right influencers like Andrew Tate (who has been charged with rape and human trafficking in Romania and the United Kingdom) and Jordan Peterson, said Jared Holt, a senior research analyst at the Institute for Strategic Dialogue.
“Often the same people who are preaching this need for a return to masculinity,” Holt said, “are also advancing aggressively misogynistic ideas about women at the same time.”
The Proud Boys, an all-male group, has long faced accusations of misogyny and hatred towards women from within its ranks. But Nordean says the new organization he wants to create will move beyond the restrictions of what the Proud Boys long described as a “Western chauvinist” drinking club.
Nordean said he wants to work with young male entrepreneurs to harness their energy and channel it towards positive action, rather than destructive behavior.
Through the vagueness, Nordean’s image comes across a little bit like the Rotary Club. He scoffed at the comparison, however, and said he’s working on something completely new.
“There’s just a giant hunger for men to have a sense of purpose,“ he said
‘Stranger things have happened’
It’s too soon to tell whether any of the plans these four Proud Boys have will come to fruition.
These men acknowledge they exist in a strange sort of nether-zone, where they possess powerful political capital, but don’t really have an outlet for it. And by their telling, that’s sort of what the Proud Boys always was: a catch-all for activists fired up with a general anger towards “wokeism,” the far-left, Antifa and the right-wing conspiracy theorists’ favorite: cultural Marxism.
Interviewed at the home he currently shares with his parents, Tarrio seemed part-overwhelmed, part-defiant and part-amused by his situation.
He mentioned an upcoming election for a local sheriff in Miami: “I’m riffing here, but imagine if I run and I win and it’s Sheriff Enrique Tarrio,” he said. “Stranger things have happened.”
Donning the black-and-gold of the Proud Boys gave these men, and thousands like them, an outlet for their disparate political frustration.
Now, after a few years of reflection, Tarrio, Nordean, Rehl and Biggs have emerged to an America that they always imagined was there: one in which each of them might just become a congressman, a sheriff, a businessman or lead a revolution in prison reform.
Will Carless covers extremism and emerging issues nationwide for USA Today.
