I'm a Black musician who has befriended and encouraged over 200 Ku Klux Klan members to give up their robes. Here's how I approach these sensitive conversations.

• Daryl Davis is a musician and activist with an interest in improving race relations in America.
• The son of diplomats, Davis has helped convince over 200 Ku Klux Klan members to give up their robes.

This is an as-told-to essay based on a conversation with Daryl Davis, a 65-year-old musician and activist who has worked to improve race relations by engaging in dialogue with, and sometimes befriending, members of the Ku Klux Klan. It has been edited for length and clarity.

As the child of US Foreign Service workers, I began traveling around the world starting from the age of 3, in 1961. My first introduction to school was overseas, and my classes were filled with kids from all over the world: Nigeria, Japan, Russia, Poland, France, Germany, Yugoslavia, you name it. That became what I expected out of school.

But every time I would return home to the US — my own country — I was either in newly-integrated schools or still-segregated ones. Just because desegregation was passed by the Supreme Court in 1954 did not mean that by 1955 all schools were integrated.

I could not understand the separation thing. It baffled me. I knew something wasn't right, but didn't quite know what.

I learned about racism when I was 10 years old

In 1968, when I was in the fourth grade, I was in a newly-integrated school in Massachusetts where I was one of two Black children. All of my friends were white, and they invited me to join the Cub Scouts.

We had a Scouts parade for Patriots' Day one day, and I was the only Black participant. The sidewalks were lined with white people waving and cheering and having a good time — until we got to a certain point in the route where I was suddenly being pelted with bottles and soda pop cans and rocks.

I didn't understand what was going on. I thought these people just didn't like the Scouts. It wasn't until my Scout leaders came running over and covering me with their own bodies that I realized no other Scouts were getting hit.

That night, my mother and father sat me down, and for the first time in my life, at the age of 10, they explained to me what racism was. You may find this a little hard to believe, especially in this day and age, but I had never heard the word "racism" because it had not existed in my world, growing up surrounded by people from all over the world. We all got along, even if we didn't speak the same language.

That was when I realized that racism is a learned behavior. I began to educate myself, reading books on Black supremacy, white supremacy, antisemitism, neo-Nazis — anyone who felt that the color of their skin gave them superiority over others.

My first encounter with a member of the Ku Klux Klan

In 1983, I was out playing at the Silver Dollar Lounge, which has a reputation for being an all-white lounge, in Frederick, Maryland. I had just finished playing the first song when someone put an arm around my shoulder. It was a white guy with a big smile on his face.

He said, "I sure like your all's music," and said I was the first Black guy he'd seen playing like Jerry Lee Lewis.

I was not offended by the statement, but I was surprised that he didn't know the Black origin of Jerry Lee Lewis' piano style. So I proceeded to tell him that Jerry Lee and myself, we learned from the same place: from Black blues and boogie-woogie piano players.

He tried to debate me, but I said, "Look, man, Jerry Lee Lewis was a very good friend of mine. He told me himself."

The man was fascinated, and offered to buy me a drink. He said it was his first time sitting with a Black guy, and I asked why. His friend next to him elbowed him and told him to tell me why.

The man looked at me and said, "I'm a member of the Ku Klux Klan."

I started laughing — I thought he was joking. But he pulled out his wallet and handed me his KKK membership card. I stopped laughing then. It wasn't funny anymore.

We still talked, and the man gave me his phone number and told me to call him whenever I returned to the Silver Dollar Lounge, because he wanted his friends to see the Black guy who plays like Jerry Lee.

The rest of the year, I would call him, and he would come with Klansmen and Klanswomen. They'd dance to our music. Some of the Klan people were curious about me and would want to talk. Some others would get up and move to the other side of the room.

A journey of education

It only dawned on me a couple years later that I blew my chance to ask them the question that had been plaguing me since I was 10 years old: How can you hate me when you don't know me? Who better to ask that of than someone who went out of their way to join an organization that has, for over 100 years, practiced hating people who don't look like them?

I spent the next several years traveling across the country, interviewing the man from that night, Klan leaders, and Klan members, and eventually writing a book about it.

I did not convert anybody. Over 200 Klan members have converted themselves. Yes, I have been the impetus for that conversion, but I don't go to them with the intent of influencing them. I go to them to find out why they believe what they believe. The more we conversed, the more people would change.

Using respect and diplomacy to change minds

I used diplomacy in these conversations, likely a result of my upbringing living in a diplomat's family. I've learned that every human being wants to be loved, respected, heard, treated fairly and truthfully, and wants the same things for their family. If we can learn to apply those five core values, we can navigate even adversarial situations much more smoothly and positively.

When I say respect, I don't mean I necessarily respected what they said, but rather their right to say it. One time, someone said we should put Black people down. But I sat there calmly, and they'd be curious about why I didn't fight back. Now their ears are open. Now we can nourish those seeds, water them, and, in most cases, they bloom.

Of course, some people go to their graves with hatred in their hearts. But what gives me hope, despite the current state of this country, is the fact that I've seen it work. I've seen people change.