White Supremacy

Charles Brown CharlesB at CNCL.ci.detroit.mi.us
Tue Dec 14 10:36:50 PST 1999


Last night in 20/20, Connie Chung had a second story on the KKK/Nazis. This one was of a small group that wanted to carryout bombings of state capitals , post offices and assassinations of Jews and Black people. The plot was foiled by an undercover agent.

The following is another undercover story.

http://www.alternet.org/PublicArchive/Booker1203.html

Meet the Klan Tricia Booker, Folio Weekly

Several years ago, Keith Akins was pounding beers with some skinheads in West Palm Beach when they decided to beat up a fag.

A new gay bar had opened up in the area, and they wanted to teach the patrons a lesson.

Akins was in a fix. He didn't want to beat up a fag, but he didn't want his buddies to sense his hesitation. He thought quickly -- and convinced them it was too risky to actually assault someone. So instead they went to the bar and "keyed" all the cars in the parking lot.

Later on, Akins got on his motorcycle and rode home. Along the way, he recounted the story into a microphone hooked to his helmet.

The evening was part of an extraordinary three-year study that earned him a doctorate from the University of Florida, a divorce and a misanthropic bent that will likely infect him until he dies. "This f**ked my whole life up," he says. But it was worth it. "I think I have insights that can help."

Akins, now a visiting professor of anthropology at the University of North Florida, spent three years as a member of Jacksonville's Spartan Legion militia group. He also belonged to the Ku Klux Klan and the National Association for the Advancement of White People. He shaved his head, got a Confederate flag tattooed on his arm, burned crosses, told "n-word" jokes and practiced shooting machine guns. He studied the members of hate groups so assiduously that he began to think like them. Maybe the Jews are trying to take over the world, he remembers thinking. "I was putting every ounce of my heart and soul into being one of them," he says. "I was trying to get my head to the same place their's was."

It wasn't a pretty place. He linked arms with men who believe blacks are mongrels and Jews are tools of Satan. He met doctors and government officials who spoke extravagantly about killing "n-words and Jews."

"It put me on real shaky philosophical ground," he says. "I have no faith in political or religious leaders."

Once Akins decided to immerse himself in hate culture, he had no trouble finding groups to join. Militia organizations began appearing in Florida in 1994 and by 1996, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center, at least 72 militias were operating in the state. For his study, Akins joined the Spartan Legion group, but also attended gatherings of North Central Florida Regional Militia -- which included some University of Florida faculty and staff -- and the White Berets Militia of the World Church of the Creator, among others. He also belonged to the KKK. He gained access to all of the organizations through the National Association for the Advancement of White People. After three years of study, Akins concluded that central and Northeast Florida are host to one of the largest concentrations of militia groups in the country.

Akins cringes at the use of the word "infiltrate" to describe what he did. He was not out to expose the groups, he says, but to study them, and his findings contradict many popular notions. "We've decided they're ignorant, they're stupid, they're poor white trash. But the truth is, they came from the same society that created you and me," he says. "They're not a different species. They're us."

Last week, Dr. Keith Akins shaved his head in preparation for Biketober Fest in Daytona Beach. He wears a neat, close-cropped goatee and a stare as intimidating as the loaded gun he carries in his pocket. He punctuates his sentences with invective, yet throws around phrases like "cultural relativity" and "ethnographic participant observation" with ease.

This quality sets him apart from his colleagues -- that, and the fact that many of them think what he did was atrocious.

While his department head, sociologist Dr. Eddie Collins, has supported him, Akins has not been embraced by the UNF faculty. After a recent talk -- which was attended by hundreds of students -- Akins received several e-mails from professors critical of his work. One woman lambasted him for using the word "fat" -- he had referred to militia members as "fat, cowardly and stupid." Akins says the term wasn't inadvertent. "It goes right to the heart of what they are," he says. "They want to be super-Rambo warriors, and they can barely shoot straight."

Most of the criticism, however, focuses on his research methods, and his decision to transform himself into the very type of man he was studying. "There's a long history in anthropology of students 'going native,'" he says. "That almost happened to me."

Akins takes the carping in stride because, in some ways, he agrees with it. It's unusual, he says, and perhaps even unprecedented for an anthropologist to study people whose very existence repelled him. Surely, Akins realizes, his objectivity was compromised.

"They [critics] have some valid points," he says. "But the bottom line is, people are blowing up daycare centers. I think my research can do something about it. If that makes me unethical, so be it."

Even more controversial than his method are his conclusions, which, while rational, stain the social fabric that passes for modern American civilization. Hate groups are not an anomaly, he says, but rather a predictable product of today's society. Akins believes partisan politics, declining educational standards and religious fervor have combined to create a movement blossoming with hatred, violence and racism. "These people were created by our society and they can be eliminated by our society," he says. That's the good news. The bad news is that right now, they're everywhere.

Akins reports having a "normal" childhood, free of any racial experiences that would have pointed him toward his unusual career. But his recollections tell a slightly different story.

"My dad would say, 'I'm a racist, I admit it, I'm not proud of it. I don't like black people,'" Akins says. "But he said he hates people who hide behind a hood even worse."

Akins dropped out of college to join the military and achieved the rank of corporal. Then, in an accident that would alter the course of his life, he was trampled by a horse. His back was broken in 11 places, his face was crushed and his elbow smashed. Nearly every part of his body was injured.

After recovering, he went back to school and earned a bachelor's degree in history from Florida State University. He then began working toward a Ph.D. in anthropology at the University of Florida.

For his dissertation, he decided to study white supremacists. "I like to think it's because I'm such a morally upright person," he says. "But part of it was ego. I wanted to be the best anthropologist anyone had ever seen."

He sent a letter to Dan Daniels, former sheriff of Polk County and then vice president of the NAAWP, requesting information. Daniels invited Akins to lunch and then welcomed him into the organization.

At first, Akins attended only public meetings of the NAAWP, but soon he was invited to the private ones. Later, he was asked to join a militia and eventually was initiated into the Ku Klux Klan.

It happened on a sunny weekend day. Akins and several of his new "friends" drove out to a KKK-member's farm for an afternoon of beer drinking and barbecue. Around sunset, the men headed to their trucks and donned their robes. A couple hauled three homemade wooden crosses into a clearing, and planted them using a post-hole digger.

All of the men held torches, and a small child used one to light the crosses.

One of the leaders, using a sword, dubbed Akins a knight of the KKK. And then, Akins says, "everybody got drunk."

Not all of the gatherings were as private -- or as inconsequential. During the three years Akins ran with militia members and Klansmen, he committed several acts of vandalism, including public cross burnings and property damage. In Winter Haven, he helped steal issues of a black newspaper and throw them in dumpsters. One night, after meeting with buddies at a Southside Jacksonville bar, the group cruised the neighborhood with a gun looking for black "spies" to shoot.

He frequently went on weekend camping trips where he participated in target practice with rifles, shotguns and machine guns in preparation for what supremacists refer to as the upcoming "racial holy war." At the beginning of KKK meetings, he wiped his feet on the United Nations and Israeli flags, and spit on them both.

These experiences led Akins to categorize the stereotypical hate group member as a cowardly wannabe soldier searching for a place to belong. "The overwhelming majority of the militia activists are in such poor physical condition, are such poor marksmen and are so ill--equipped that to enter combat against trained soldiers would be utterly disastrous," Akins wrote in his dissertation.

Such members are drawn in by conspiracy theories Akins refers to as an "ideological octopus." The body of the octopus is the "New World Order," and each of the tentacles represents a specific concern, such as abortion, gun rights or prayer in school. The member learns through group propaganda that all such issues are related. He eventually comes to believe that the "someone" who is keeping prayer out of schools, poisoning the minds of children, trying to "mongrelize" the white race, is none other than the government. The conspiracy begins to crystallize.

A number of other social factors converge to help hate groups thrive:

Education -- "We're raising a generation of kids who can't read and write," Akins says. "And then we can't figure out why the poor keep getting poorer, nobody's voting and people are building bombs in their garages." Even college graduates, according to Akins, don't have the critical thinking skills needed for sound judgment. Over the course of his study, Akins only encountered one high school dropout. "It is clear that [the number of] years of formal education cannot be used as a determinant to predict participation in the Militia Movement," Akins wrote. "It is entirely possible, though, that the demonstrably decreased standards of public education may play a part in militia participation." The movement includes business owners, executives, intellectuals, laborers and retail and service workers -- which seems to support Akins' theory. "There are lots and lots of people with college educations who read and write on a fourth-grade level," Akins says.

Politics -- The growth of divisive, partisan politics has spawned politicians who "pander to the lowest common denominator of education," Akins says. He points to two memorable campaign ads -- the famous George Bush "Willie Horton" ad, which showed a black man exiting a revolving door as a metaphor for the failing judicial system, and a 1992 Jesse Helms anti-affirmative action TV spot showing a pair of white hands receiving a pink slip. "Divisive social policies are creating divisive movements in their wake, such as the 'family values,' anti-abortion, anti-tax, anti-homosexual, gun rights and survivalist organizations," Akins wrote. "Each of these movements has an ideology which can, with the proper manipulation, place the 'blame' for whatever problem with which it is concerned on the federal government."

Economics -- The national economy is evolving, Akins says, and there are people unable to adapt to the changes. The passing of the North American Free Trade Agreement and ongoing affirmative action policies are seen by many militia groups as programs that take jobs away from "natural-born" Americans. Another shift is the fading sense of community felt by citizens, who are more likely to go where the jobs are. Employees find themselves committing to increased salaries rather than to neighborhoods, and the result is a growing feeling of isolation.

Religious Fundamentalism -- Akins found virtually all militia and KKK members to be deeply religious: Most believed they were acting for God. His research shows that Christian fundamentalism is the most prevalent religious orientation among militia members. One of the anthropological standards used to determine whether a religion is fundamentalist is called "dualism," which refers to the belief that there's an absolute black and white to everything. A person is either good or evil, nothing in between. By simplifying beliefs in this way, militia members develop very rigid concepts of right and wrong. The introduction of religion as a major conduit for hate groups has not been without controversy.

"People don't like that Christianity has caused more violence than good," Akins says. In his mind, the fact that religion has become big business compromises its virtue. "Any time money becomes part of religion, the people making the money change the message," he says. "Faith and spirituality have become just another commodity." Akins points to wildly divergent interpretations of the Bible as an example. Militia members use scripture to justify nearly all of their activities, including violence against blacks.

"What is religion except a way to escape from reality?" asks Akins. "It's just another drug. I can't really tell the difference between a clan or a militia or a church or a cult. They're all the same thing."

Still, Akins, who does not belong to a church, says he is not opposed to religion itself. "I'm not anti-religion," he says. "I'm anti-stupid. Unfortunately stupidity and religion frequently go hand in hand."

The National Association for the Advancement of White People was formed in 1980 by former Ku Klux Klan leader and Louisiana legislator David Duke, who also launched unsuccessful congressional and presidential campaigns. Duke helped hate groups soften their message through euphemistic language, and members now seek to align themselves with groups like the NAACP and other human rights organizations. In Jacksonville, the NAAWP has been somewhat successful -- one member, Sue Lamb, managed to get appointed to a special Duval County School Board committee studying desegregation. She also worked on Pat Buchanan's 1996 presidential bid, until her role drew national attention, and she was forced to resign.

The NAAWP represents "equal rights for all," according to the group's national president, Reno Wolfe, who runs the organization from his rural home in North Jacksonville. The group's national headquarters recently moved from New Orleans to Callahan. "The only thing we hate is the idea that you get special privileges on the basis of the color of your skin," he says. "My kids should have an equal opportunity for a college education."

Wolfe says it's "not [my] impression" that there are militia groups in the area -- and if there are, he doesn't support them. "If you're a non-violent civil rights group, how can you belong to a militia?" he says. "The energy spent on [building a] militia could be better spent trying to change laws. Instead of buying bullets, go to the legislature and talk to your representative."

The NAAWP claims 80 local members, and 300 statewide. Wolfe describes members as doctors, high-ranking military officials, police officers and business professionals. And more women are joining, he says. "I attribute it to crime rate. White women are more victims of black men."

Akins agrees that the militia movement may have cooled a bit -- ever since the television magazine show PrimeTime Live conducted an undercover investigation linking the NAAWP to the KKK. Scores of Northeast Florida white supremacists, including Akins, were shown at Klan meetings and initiations, sporting T-shirts with racist slogans and checking out weaponry. Akins is shown holding a rifle at least twice, and once can be seen marching in a protest against Martin Luther King.

Wolfe claims he knows nothing of local militia groups, that he is not a racist, and that he rejects the notion of white supremacy.

"Bullshit," Akins says.

One of the men Akins befriended during his years in the militia was Wolfe. The two even worked on motorcycles together. "You can't find a better friend than Reno Wolfe," Akins says. "I really liked him a lot. But I wish we could line up him, and others like him, and shoot them all. They're a menace to society."

Wolfe claims Akins developed his theories from hanging out with the wrong people. "I can see where he would have that opinion," Wolfe says. But he claims that in the past couple of years he has purged the NAAWP of extremists and now focuses exclusively on civil rights issues. Recent protests have included the plan to shift some First Coast High School students to Ribault in order to balance enrollment. The group also successfully lobbied to have hate crime charges filed against several black teenagers whom police say fatally beat a homeless man in Jacksonville Beach because he was white.

Wolfe is a tall, imposing man with large brown eyes and a steady gaze. He likes to wear his NAAWP hat. He is polite and wary, and clearly intelligent. His regurgitation of NAAWP rhetoric is practiced and articulate, not compromised by stereotypical fanaticism or hysteria. "The 1964 Civil Rights Act was a good thing," he reasons. "That was two generations back. If there were any societal ills, they should be improved."

Wolfe's claims are undercut by NAAWP literature. The current newsletter contains an ad for decals that read: Only inferior White women date outside of their race. Be proud of your heritage, don't be a race-mixing Slut! The NAAWP Web site has posted a letter from 17-year-old high school student "Jessica," who writes complaining about blacks at her school. She calls blacks "primates" and "animals" and refers to "their dark skin, squalid unwashed hair, and awfully incorrect English" and "parents that would rather sit back and watch their daughters get raped by a black then [sic] be called racist."

While Wolfe doesn't think white society should be blamed for minority ills, he favors limited affirmative action, particularly when it comes to education.

"I'd rather see them on a high school debate team than sitting on a corner waiting to carjack someone," he says.

If there's one person who can appreciate what Keith Akins has done, it's local writer and civil rights activist Stetson Kennedy. Kennedy first joined the KKK in 1946, and subsequently spent 10 years in hate groups. As a Klan member, he went by the name John Perkins and became a key informant for the FBI. His experiences were chronicled in his book "The Klan Unmasked," published in 1954.

Kennedy grew up in Jacksonville and attended Lee High School. "I wanted to be a zoologist," he says. "But I quickly decided our species was in worse shape."

Kennedy was haunted by a childhood incident in which his black nanny was raped and brutally beaten by a gang of Klansmen. "Everything about white supremacy offended me," he says. "I think children are born with a sense of what's right and what's wrong." He decided to join the Klan because "nobody was collecting actionable evidence. It seemed the least I could do."

Kennedy has won countless human rights awards, and has a letter from Martin Luther King thanking him for his service. But hate groups exposed by Kennedy more than 50 years ago continue to flourish here and throughout the country, a fact that keeps Kennedy crusading even as he ages. In September, he attended a Jacksonville gun show and listened in as a dealer explained how to skirt a law designed to keep people from owning high-powered weaponry. Kennedy also picked up a few bumper stickers, one of which read "Gays, Liberals, Antigunners -- USE THEM FOR CRASH DUMMIES!" As recently as the 1980s, Kennedy belonged to a "Civilian Military Assistance Group" that was providing support to the Contras in Nicaragua, and other threats of "Communist Tyranny."

The groups Kennedy has studied all have what he calls a "common denominator -- if you don't walk and talk, sing and dance, worship, cook and copulate like I do, you deserve to die."

Like Akins, Kennedy believes education and religion have played a role in creating an environment that allows continued existence of groups like the KKK. In particular, the "abject failure of the American education system" has produced a generation "which is almost precluded from thinking for itself," he says.

Kennedy also remains proud of what he has done, although he is somewhat scarred by it. "It was a very painful experience and made one feel unclean," he says. "I was very happy to get out from under the hood. In the beginning, I had a hard time mouthing the racist slurs, and would have to practice in front of a mirror to see if I could get away with it."

It's not hard to transform two pieces of wood into one of the world's most enduring symbols of hate. Store-bought, pre-cut plywood works fine.

Nail the shorter piece to the longer one in the shape of a cross, then wrap the structure in rags soaked in kerosene.

Use a post-hole digger to plug the cross into the ground. Set it ablaze, and watch as the fire illuminates the darkness with a terrible light. The image will burn brighter than the spectacle itself, and will leave behind a scorched and branded piece of earth.

Keith Akins has likewise been scarred, both inside and out. His psyche is marked by the knowledge of man's propensity for evil, his arm stamped with a Confederate flag and the Latin words for love and hate. He was required to get the tattoo by the Klan. He keeps it as a reminder.

"It stopped being a symbol of the Klan and started being a symbol of what I did, and I'm proud of what I did," he says. "In a lifetime of mistakes, this is something I'm proud of. But then I go through the drive-through, and a black guy hands me my change, and I'm mortified and want to get it removed." ###

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