Christopher Silvester

Ghosts of the KKK still haunt American politics

The extreme savagery of the ‘white knights’ may be a thing of the past, but echoes of the Klan were all over the shameful Capitol attack of 2021, says Kristofer Allerfeldt

Mounted Ku Klux Klansmen. [Getty Images]

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Inspired by D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation, the Klan was revived in Georgia in 1915 by the self-styled Imperial Wizard William Joseph Simmons, who engaged a local manufacturer to produce robes and hoods based on those used in the movie. Simmons had a knack for silly names using the letter ‘K’, such as ‘Kleagles’ and ‘Klonversations’, and even called the Klan’s new founding document the Kloran. Once America entered the European war in 1917, Klansmen were encouraged to snoop on neighbours with foreign-sounding names as part of a new nativist agenda, but it was only when a pair of unscrupulous grifters, Edward Young Clarke and Elizabeth Tyler, hired a 1,100-strong sales force paid on a commission basis that Klan membership began to surge in 1921.

New York newspapers vied with one another in running exposés of how the Klan was now targeting Jews and Catholics (the Pope was referred to as ‘the Tyrant on the Tiber’) and also of how it was ripping off its members by overcharging for costumes. Yet adverse press coverage and a Congressional investigation proved to be better than advertising. In 1922, the Klan was behind the election of 75 national congressmen and senators, and one historian has reckoned its membership reached 2.5 million in 1923. It was now focused on American ideals, and appealed to an increasingly affluent middle class that adored fraternities and regarded radicalism and foreigners as ever-present threats.

The Klan spread throughout northern states as blacks migrated there from the South (the black population of Detroit, for example, grew by 2,000 per cent), and by 1925, when it marched peacefully in Washington, it had a presence in every US state. Its rise, argues Allerfeldt, ‘often owed remarkably little to its stated ideologies, and far more to marketing’.

Some branches were more violent than others, Oklahoma being the worst. The Klan in Dallas, Texas, had a special ‘whipping meadow’ outside town. A Dallas hotel bellhop suspected of having sex with a white woman was kidnapped, given 30 lashes and had the letters ‘KKK’ etched on his forehead with silver nitrate. Such violence was too much for a would-be mainstream movement. The Klan ‘flared up, prospered and imploded with spectacular speed’, writes Allerfeldt, and an unsavoury parade of rogues and psychopaths marches through his story.

Just as the Internal Revenue Service put paid to Al Capone, so it moved against the Klan in 1944, presenting it with a bill for unpaid tax of $685,305. The Klan ceased to exist as a corporate entity and was replaced by new spin-off groups. In the 1970s, when anti-Klan activists began successfully suing Klan members for damages in the civil courts, membership dwindled to a few thousand.

The Klan’s last strength has been ‘the ability to disguise its diminishing physical numbers with a hyped online presence’, while it has adopted new victimhood narratives, such as abortion clinics being part of ‘the White Holocaust’. As the Klan has declined, so hate has become more diffuse, and although no Klan symbols were on display on 6 January 2021, says Allerfeldt, there were ‘echoes of the Klan all over that shameful event’.

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