The white supremacist group tried to adopt a highway stretch in Georgia last week. But no amount of public service can offset its hateful history.
Last week, a local chapter of the International Keystone Knights of Ku Klux Klan proposed adopting one-mile stretch of highway in north Georgia. The possibility of Klan members picking up roadside litter and getting credit on a highway sign provoked as much confusion as outrage. One reporter asked, "Is the latest effort to adopt a highway an introduction of a new era of a kinder, gentler Klan or merely an effort to gain attention?"
In public statements, the group's leaders signaled that volunteer work was part of their message of love. "We love the white race," April Chambers, secretary of the Georgia Klan, told a local television correspondent. "Why is that so hard for people to understand? But we don't hate anybody!" In a quote at CNN's In America blog, Frank Ancona, the imperial wizard of the Traditionalist American Knights of the Ku Klux Klan echoed that sentiment, portraying the Klan as "a fraternal organization" that commits "good works."
Benevolence, love, and volunteering seem out of place with hoods, robes, and burning crosses. But what may surprise many is that these statements are consistent with the larger history of the Klan, wherein declarations of love are intimately bound to the Klan's better-known gospel of hate. That paradox holds the key to understanding both the order's past popularity and its continuing inability to halt its decline.
The Ku Klux Klan is the oldest hate group in the United States. It emerged between 1865 and 1870 in response to the trauma of the South's war loss and the supposed threat posed by newly freed slaves. Founded by Civil War veterans in Pulaski, Tennessee, the Reconstruction Klan began as a social organization, but soon raided homes, committed acts of violence, and interfered with elections.