The KKK Came to town

I woke up on Friday to an email from my friend, Jaye (below).  The Klan was coming to town.  So I went to see what they had to say.  The event was scary and sad.  There were about 50 people in the audience.  It appeared to me that the majority of people found the message and the messagers to be distasteful.  But it was also obvious that others were listening with intent and agreement.   As one woman said, "You know, you have groups like the AARP and all.  Why can't we have a group that celebrates us being white?  There aint nothing wrong with that?"

There was lots of bible quoting on both sides of the issue. Many people became Rhoads scholars on the issue of who Jesus loves and doesn't love.  Verses were quoted and counter-verses were shouted back.  Chaos of opposing opinions broke any semblance of a meeting into a hate fest.

It is so hard to believe that so many people can be so filled with fear and hate. 


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Bridget, a proud moment for Cecil County - you have a lot of work to do!

Wilmington News Journal 12/20/2013, Page A01

TOPSTORY CONFEDERATEWHITEKNIGHTS Klan group to gather Cecil County officials not supporting idea By Esteban Parra The News Journal A rebranded arm of the KKK is hold­ing a meeting tonight at the Cecil County Administration Building in Elkton, Md., attempting to attract new members. The Confederate White Knights of Ro­cusion sedale, Md., says on its website that its message is no longer based on skin color. But its criteria for membership de­mands that joiners not be affiliated with either Jewish or Muslim faiths. They also must be “100% heterosexual,” of Euro­pean heritage and born in America. “Join us for a peacful meeting and dis­on what we can all do to better our country,” states a message board on the Site of the group with ties to the Ku Klux Klan. (Peaceful and discussion were misspelled on the website). The group were granted permission meet inside the Administration Build­ing of the county seat in Elkton. But officials there are not embracing See KLAN, Page A2 Klan: History of hate groups in the region Continued from Page A1 for permission to use the group’s presence, es­pecially since Ku Klux Klan activity in Cecil had diminished in recent years. “A controversial meet­ing such as this will un­doubtedly draw attention to Cecil County,” said Bon­nie Grady, president and CEO of the Cecil County Chamber of Commerce. Community leaders have been focused on pro­jecting a positive message to draw new businesses to the county, Grady said. And while its unknown what this sort of meeting would do to discourage business or visitors, it’s not welcomed attention. “I don’t necessarily subscribe to the notion that any press is good press,” she said. Especial­ly since the group, accord­ing to their website, is not inclusive. “When they exclude en­tire segments of our soci­ety, whether they’re based on race, religion or any other factor, that’s not an inclusive group,” Grady said. “And Cecil County is striving to be inclusive and welcoming.” Members of the Con­federate White Knights could not reached for com­ment Thursday. But in an interview on The Cecil Whig website, CecilDaily.com, Richard Preston, imperial wizard of the 2-year-old group, said the meeting will focus on illegal immigration and President Barack Obama. “Barack Hussein Oba­ma is an illegal president,” Preston was quoted as say­ing. “He needs to be re­moved from office. We also want ‘Obamacare’ shut down. It’s against citi­zen’s rights.” “On top of that, we want the laws toughened on im­migration,” he added. “We’re flooded with illegal immigrants and our peo­ple can’t find jobs.” Family tradition The Klan was born af­ter the Civil War, when “night riders” terrorized blacks in the former Con­federate states. It was founded in 1866 in Pulaski, Tenn., but spread to differ­ent parts of the country, in­cluding Delaware and Maryland. But the roots that the KKK could not establish in Delaware grew deeply in Cecil County, including in Rising Sun, Md. That town in the western part of the county became the home base of the United Klans of America in 1960, drawing its membership from the families of Klansmen who had belonged to the old Elk Klan Klavern. Tradition is how most people end up in the Klan. That is how Cecil Coun­ty native Chester J. Doles was drawn into the Klan, where he rose to become imperial wizard of the Ter­ritorial Klans of America. Doles was a fifth-genera­tion Klansmen who even­tually directed the activ­ities of more than 400 Klansmen. But in 1993, Doles and Raymond Edwin Pierson, a county Klan leader, as­saulted a black man who was driving a pickup truck with a white woman. Doles was sentenced to seven years in prison. Pierson got 15. Doles was released in 1997 and returned to the Klan, but he soon left the group and moved to Geor­gia where he became a unit leader of the white su­premacist National Alli­ance. In March 2004, Doles was sentenced to five years and 10 months in federal prison, with no possibility of parole. Earlier marches Activities by deemed hate groups continue in both Delaware and Mary­land – usually peacefully. About 100 Ku Klux Klan members and other white supremacists marched through Newark in 1993 chanting “white power” while some of the 2,500 ob­servers threw snowballs and cursed them. Klan members peace­fully marched in Wilming­ton in 1997, where about six people dressed in robes rallied before a crowd of 300 onlookers. Residents near New­port reported in 2011 that the Klan was recruiting members by targeting predominantly white neighborhoods in the town. The Klan left cards in sandwich bags filled with rocks and threw them onto lawns and driveways. Also that year, a Sussex County couple who be­lieve racial and ethnic mi­norities should be ex­pelled from the country received state approval for their neo-Nazi group, National Socialist Free­dom Movement Nazi Par­ty, to adopt a rural road­way west of Lewes. Despite seemingly peaceful or positive acts, these people promote hate, Delaware State Uni­versity political science professor Samuel Hoff said. “That’s sort of revision­ist history to the max,” Hoff said. “You can dress it up different, sugarcoat it and put a smile on it, but the legacy of that group is such that it was formed for one reason and it remains and that is to promote the advocacy and superiority of one race over another.” How they’ve done this has been through mur­ders, violence and intimi­dation, he said. “Just because they do it with a smile, doesn’t mean that the message isn’t as dangerous as it always has been,” he said. Constitutional rights Confederate White Knights organizers told the Cecil County newspa­per they chose to hold the meeting in Cecil County because of its “conserva­tive mindset.” Al Wein, Cecil’s direc­tor of administration, cited Constitutional rea­sons the meeting room. “The First Amendment recognizes the right of or­ganizations such as the ap­plicant to peacefully as­semble and to engage in free speech, even when the message is offensive,” he said in a statement. “The First Amendment also prohibits local gov­ernment from discrimi­nating against an organi­zation’s right of free speech and assembly on public property, no matter how offensive the mes­sage may be. “As custodian of facili­ties owned by the citizens, the County has a legal duty to make those facilities available for the exercise of First Amendment rights, free from threats or violence. Peaceful and ordered use of the Coun­ty’s meeting room by the applicant is consistent with the exercise of legal­ly protected speech and assembly, and is not an en­dorsement of the appli­cant, or its message, by Cecil County, Md.” The Klan has success­fully sued when their civil rights were violated. A U.S. District Court Judge ruled in 1992 that Elkton town officials vio­lated the Klan’s First Amendment rights when they denied the group a pa­rade permit that year. Cecil County President Robert Hodge said he plans not to attend the meeting at the county­owned building because he did not want to give the group more publicity. “Don’t give them the time of day,” Hodge said. “Let them talk to them­selves.” He encouraged others to do the same. “If they don’t get pub­licity, if they don’t get con­troversy, then they are not going to survive,” he said. “I believe they live off of that – controversy and publicity. That’s what they are doing this for. That’s their goal.” Hodge doubted many people would show up at the event. The group held a “ral­ly” in September at Antie­tam National Battlefield near Sharpsburg, accord­ing to a Baltimore Sun re­port. Only eight Klansmen attended. Contact Esteban Parra at 324-2299 or eparra@delawareonline.com. Members of the Confederate White Knights hold a rally at the Antietam National Battlefield in September near Sharpsburg, Md. The group, which is meeting in Elkton, Md., today, held the rally to protest against the administration of President Barack Obama and the U.S. immigration policies. GETTY IMAGES The website of the Confederate White Knights, a Rosedale, Md., group with ties to the Ku Klux Klan. Counter-marchers express their opinions as the Klan walks down Main Street in Elkton in 1992. NEWS JOURNAL

Brian Crawford Beats His Mother

Brian Crawford

1981

When I was 25 I looked 12 and I know that because lots of people brought that to my attention.  I had just secured a position as a high school counselor in rural Pennsylvania.  And I could hardly wait to get started in my new professional career.  I was on my way to save the children of the world.  So when I arrived the first day, ready to be a professional, there were comments on how young I looked.  But I dismissed these comments. While I did look young, I had confidence and a little cockiness.  I had just earned my Master’s degree in counseling.  I was from the city which I thought gave me a credential of toughness.  And I had been to Europe twice so I was worldly.

I was working at a school where most of the faculty was older and tired but not old enough to retire.  So they were disinterested in the students and the students were disinterested in them.  My youthfulness was well received by the students.

It was a heady time for me.  Kids flocked to me and feed my ego. I loved my job.  I loved my work.  Kids confide in me.  They told me their secrets, their stories, their fears.  I was entrenched in their lives.

I started my job in August and already it was November.  Thanksgiving was right around the corner.  And I was looking forward to visiting with my family to tell them about my good fortune.

So when Mrs. Crawford came in to see me, I was quick to talk to her about the upcoming holiday and family. She was hesitant in responding to me.  And she was teary.  She had not come in to talk to me about the joy of family.  She was nervous, jumpy.  And I realized she hadn’t said a word yet.

She sat down beside me and breathlessly said, “I need your help.  I didn’t know who to come to.  He doesn’t like anyone but he told me that he talked to you last week.”  She is now speaking rapidly, but in a whisper. She is talking about Brian, her son.  He is a senior and I did meet with him last week.  He seemed angry, like a simmer volcano.  He didn’t speak much.  But his anger filled the room, I remember.

Most of the students who came to see me welcomed the opportunity to talk about themselves.  I would allot a whole class period (42 minutes) to each student to talk, uninterrupted, without judgment.  And most students came in through the door, yakking, taking a seat and still taking as I ushered them out after 42 minutes.  But Brian had to be prodded to come see me.  He had missed three previous appointments.  But last week, I was able to track him down and get him in to talk about his graduation plans which were null.  He had absolute no idea what he wanted to do. He talked a little bit about guns and joining the military and killing people.  And then he laughed and watched my reaction.  And then I asked him what he liked to do outside of school.  He liked to hunt, to shoot at squirrels off his back porch.  While I was new to this world of hunting, I hadn’t heard of any student who shot animals just for the sport of it.

When Brian left my office after 15 minutes, I was relieved.  I didn’t like his presence.  I remember opening the window and airing out the room.  His smell of stale cigarettes and stale clothing lingered in the air. His anger hung in the air as well.

So it took me by surprise when his mother mentioned that he had told her about our conversation.
 “I really need your help” she said as she took off her jacket.  She was wearing short sleeves.  She turned and revealed her left arm.  It was swollen and bruised.  It almost looked broken.

She started to cry in shame. “Brian did this to me. He hit me with a spade.  He told me he would do it again. And I am afraid of him.  I’m afraid to be home with him for so long over the Thanksgiving holiday.  He’s going to hurt me again, I know it.  I need your help.  You have to get him to stop hitting me.”

I was weak at the knees.  I had to sit down; never, never could I have imagined that anyone would hit his mother.  I would never, absolutely never hit my mother.  I never knew anyone who touched his mother.  I didn’t know anyone who threatened to touch her mother.  Now, here was a woman, standing before me, humiliated and begging for my help.  And I was really afraid.  And I had no clue as to what to do.

She was now sobbing.  Her dirty little secret was out and she had surrendered herself to me to fix the problem.  So what the hell was I going to do?  I had no life experience to call on right now.  I had no words, no plan to give her. Then it came to me.  Get help.  Call on someone else.  So I got up, told her I would be right back and I went next door to my colleague.

Ken was the other counselor and he was also the football coach.  And Brian was on the team.  So he knew Brian.  And he wasn’t surprised to hear what Brian had done.  “He is one angry dude”, Ken said, shaking his head.  “Can you imagine hitting your own mother"?

Good, I wasn’t alone in my absolute disbelief.  I wasn’t alone in how horrified I was.

“What I should do” I begged. And at this point, I was really begging to turn this whole messy situation over to Ken.  I was lost in my own naiveté, my own lack of experience, my own unworldliness.  I realized I was just a kid trying to be an adult.

“Get him down here.  We’ll shame him.  You don’t hit your mother. We’ll call him on it.”

So we called to his classroom and asked the teacher to send him to my office.  In the meantime, I brought Ken over to my office and introduced him to the mother.  They both knew each other because of football and she seemed relieved to have Ken’s support as well.

There was a knock on the door and my heart raced.  The secretary announced that Brian had arrived.  I stood in front of the mother to block her from Brian’s view.  I didn’t think he would come in if he saw her.  And as soon as he was inside my office, I closed the door and stood in front of the door, leaving no room for Brian to bolt out of there.

I stepped aside and revealed his mother, a large woman who now seemed so small and defenseless, so damaged, almost childlike. Brian immediately welded up in anger, his ears and neck becoming inflamed.  He clenched his teeth and made a fist.  Tension filled the air.

“Sit down” Ken said. Brian didn’t comply.

So Ken raised his voice ever so slightly and gave the command again, “Sit down I said.”

And this time, Brian complied. Ken turned to Mrs. Crawford, his mother and demanded, “Look at her.” He pointed to her bruised arm.

Brian didn’t lift his head but I could see him lift his eyes and throw an angry glance at her.  She was trembling.  And so was I.  At any moment, he could explode and we would all be hurt, one way or another.

Ken continued,  ”this is your mother.  And you hit her.  And this will be the last time you hit her.  Men do not hit their mothers.  It’s wrong. And I don’t let anyone who hurts their mothers play on my football team.  If you hit her again, I am throwing you off the team.  Do you understand me?”

Brian nodded, meekly, broken, humiliated, angrily.

“We are going to check on you”, Ken continued.  “We are going to call your mother every week; if she tells us that you have touched her, you are off the team immediately.  And if you yell at her for coming here today, you are off the team.  Do you understand me? Men do not hit their mothers.  This stops today.”

Brian nodded again.  The coach asked him if he had anything to say to his mother.  Brian shook his head “No”. The coach asked if he wanted to apologize and to my horror, Brian shook his head “no”.  The only glimmer of hope came when Ken asked, “do I have your word that you won’t hit your mother again.”  And he shook his head “yes”.  The mother let out a sigh of relief and Ken dismissed Brian to go back to class.  I wanted to go home, I was worn out.

The mother got up and thanked both of us.  She was filled with relief and I was afraid that this was just temporary relief.  Brian was too much of a time bomb. How could she be so confident that it won’t happen again?

But she left, grateful and lighter than when he had come in half an hour ago. I did check on her after Thanksgiving. He didn’t hit her. And she spoke as if that dark side of him was over.

The next day, I drove home to my family for our Thanksgiving dinner.  As I looked around the room, candles were flickering on the table.  Food was being passed around.  There was a loud clatter of lively conversation.  My father said grace and enumerated our blessings. There was too much food.  I found myself staring at my parents and siblings and my grandmother, all of us enjoying each other’s company.  For a moment, I thought of my grandfather and wished that he was here with us.  Then I stopped myself.  “No”, I told myself, not this year, this day is not a day of regret; it’s a day to be thankful for that I have”. 

I gaze  back at my mother. And I looked at her so intensely that day, so full of joy.  I choked up, fought back tears. I was so grateful that I wasn’t plagued with so much rage. Grateful that we could sit at the table, eat a meal and be filled with the joy of each other’s company. Up to this point, I had taken so much of my good fortune for granted.  But not today.  The peace that permeated my family overwhelmed me with gratitude.

I imaged Brian’s  Thanksgiving dinner. I imagined no one talking to one another.  No one happy to be with the other. The mother with her bruised arm.  Did Brian feel remorse or shame on this day of thanks?

Then I looked around my dining room again.  I had a lot to be thankful for today.

The Old Lady- Jacmel, Haiti

The Old Lady
Jacmel, Haiti

Haiti Family Initiative

Wellness Program

Summer, 2013

Wednesday, July 10, 2013- Her house is across the street from the Salvation Army compound, where we hold our camp. I noticed her the first day. She sits at the doorway by herself. I assume her family is working because I don’t see anyone attend to her. She is elderly, bone thin and feeble. I take her picture to add to my collection of sights that hold my interest.

 
On the third day, mid-morning, I walk pass her house. She is lying on her back on the cement floor, her head protruding out of the doorway. The hot sun is beating down on her face.  She waves to me, gesturing me to come over to her. So Lynn and I go over and it is the first time I can see how terribly destitute she is. There is a bed against the far wall. A small table and chair sit right by the door. There is a small metal pot, on the floor, next to her which must be her toilet. However, it appears as if she is not using it. Blood and fecal matter stain the floor. There is nothing else in this small, one room house.

She points to a chair which is low to the ground. Lynn and I attempt to lift her. Although she is probably no more than 75lbs, she is dead weight and it is a struggle to drag her two feet to the chair. The situation is more difficult because we don’t have a firm grip on her. She is so dirty that I can’t bring myself to grasp her tight enough.

Our gatekeeper, Lucien, sees us so he comes over to translate. She is 86 years old (my mother's age). She complains of pain. She is alone. She tells us that she is hungry and thirsty.

"Everyone in her family is dead, Madame", Lucien tells us without emotion. “She is a poor old woman.”

The neighbors apparently feed her from time to time. But I can’t understand how they can do this because they do not appear to have enough food for themselves.  This is a sobering moment for me.  How can this injustice be stated so causally?

I look at her long, broken toenails. Someone should attend to them. She should be bathed. Her skin abrasions should be looked at by a doctor. Her clothing should be burned. Someone should hug her. But I don’t to any of this because I do not have the strength of character to do this. I am ashamed of myself but not enough to do something.

We go back to the compound and ask Nadiv, the doctor, to look at her after he finishes the clinic.

"What does she need?" he asks me.

"Morphine", I tell him. “She needs to be put out of her misery. This woman needs to go home to her maker”.  He laughs and dismisses my response. But Nadiv does go over to see her and he is much more optimistic about her situation.

"She is alright, a little skinny but old people get skinny. She doesn’t have any tremors and she doesn’t smell too bad." He thinks she is just very old, weak and lonely. "But she's not too bad." We bring her a bowl of rice which she devours. We also give her some bananas we took from the hotel. We leave her with another bowl of rice.

I go over the next day to bring her more rice. I see that yesterday's bowl is filled with bread.  I immediately become suspicious that someone took her rice and left her with this stall bread. I hope this didn’t happen.  But I know there is no way to safeguard her from this despicable possibility.   Her situation is hopeless.

I look around her room and I am filled with despair.  I feel helpless.   This woman needs some sort of intervention.  But what can I do for her?  I can only commit to feed her every day for the reminder of my time in Haiti. But I hope and pray that she dies under my watch so that she might have a moment before her death of feeling loved and cared for. And so that I can walk away from Haiti and her without feeling as if I abandoned her.

Crossing the Panama Canal

Crossing the Panama Canal 
May 2011

I have always wanted to cross the Panama Canal.  I remember watching a documentary film:  A Man, A Plan, A Dream.  The film impressed me so much that I took a trip to Panama five years ago in hopes of jumping on a ship and making my way down the canal.  But that didn’t happen and now, five years later, I am now on a ship and ready to go. This passage is one of the highlights of the trip.

Rumors are rampant as to how much it costs to sail through the canal. Speculations are anywhere from $80,000 to $300,000.  Someone told me that he thought he heard the captain say it was $200,000 but he thought the captain wasn’t really sure.  Personally, this is not a reliable source because the captain should be sure before he embarks on this expensive passage.  But anyway, there you have it, our inexact speculations.

The trip through the canal takes 12 hours.  I went to bed early so that I could be up and rested for this long, slow, exciting day.

10:00 AM: I am awaked this morning at 6 AM to the sounds of busy, screeching noises from the crew.  They must have been clearing the gangway for our guest commentator and canal pilot.  I am not sure if they are one in the same.  But we are receiving commentary from someone with a very smooth, intellectual voice who is keeping us apprised of our every movement.  We are getting the history, the vegetation, the bridge names, wildlife and anything else that crosses his mind and our view.  I am riveted to his voice.

Most of our regular ship activities have been suspended today so that we can devote all of our energies to the passage.  And those activities that are scheduled, take a back seat to our canal passage. If necessary, they will be cancelled.

Noon: There are lots of PA announcements and classes have been rescheduled and I can’t quite get with the program today.  So I was too late for breakfast.  But there was a Mother’s day brunch, so I sneak in to this event and eat.  But I no soon finish and lunch is set up so I went back for lunch as well.  I am full.

1:30PM-I can’t seem to figure out what happened to my writing class.  Today I had intentions of learning how to “find voice in my writing.  It was supposed to start at 1245 but then there was an announcement about 1315 rescheduled time.  But I couldn’t find that class at that time either.  So it looks as if I am not going to find my writing voice today.

2:00 PM-We are all taking lots and lots and lots of pictures today.  Most of the photos are the same because we are moving so slowly and the scenery really isn’t changing much. Even the crew is snapping away every chance they get. And the members of Nikonian photo club are in full force today, running around as if they are on their most important photographic mission to date.  They are all sporting their photographer’s vests.  Tripods are lining the railing of Deck 5.  Cameras are covered in rain shields. And there is lots of talk about apertures and sunlight.  I continue to keep my camera on automatic focus. So I am just pointing and shooting and hoping for the best.  And what I miss, I’ll just hope that the auto edit option in Photoshop does the rest.

2:15PM- I have my video camera on in my room.  I am running two hours of footage in hopes that I might capture something, anything interesting.  Maybe I will go down and check just to make sure the camera didn’t fall over and is now catching 2 hours of ceiling shots.

2:30PM- I made my way to Glacier Lounge, on Deck 7 (stern). The place is packed with people who appear to be hunkered down for the full 12 hours of the passage. They have their Kindles, cameras, journals, sun screen, water bottles, hats, sun glasses, camcorders and anything else they will need to get them through the rest of the passage.

It is standing room only at the railing on the deck and on the observation deck as well.  And no one is relinquishing their coveted spots.  If anything is needed, a spouse is summoned and the object in need is fetched.  Or it is done without.  And the slow process of moving through the canal is being viewed with the intensity of an action packed movie.  But there is also a reverence and humility to the magnitude of this man –made wonder of the world.

3:00PM- we spend a lot of time waving to each other on the other ships.  Empty gestures of good will.  And these gestures seem so important to us.  One person, on another ship,  is waving frantically to us.  It was too hot to resipicate but we do the best we can so that we will be viewed as good ambassadors of the canal.  And when our greeter was out of range of our naked eye, we debated, “was that a man or a woman”.  Most of us thought it was a woman.  And so one of our male, gay passengers lifted up his binoculars and said, “This is a first.  I’m looking for a woman’s breast.”  He concluded it was a man. He also concluded that the man was not Jewish.  Apparently our gay passenger has an expertise in this area.

3:10PM- oh no, my memory card for my camera is FULL.  Now I have to decide: (1) go down four flights of stairs to get back in my room or (2) stay put and stay in the moment.  What a tough decision.  And to add insult to injury, the bar isn’t even open right now.  A beer would be lovely in this ungodly heat.

My thoughts are interrupted by a woman who had discovered the website that is streaming a live recording our passage through the canal.  We are all thrilled for the moment. We all marvel at modern technology as we watch the video of our passage for a few moments until we realize that we should be watching our actual passage.

The commentator tells us that the ship beside us has only two feet leeway on both sides of the canal wall.  I suck in my gut in a spontaneous gesture. We are now told that the tolls to transit the canal must be paid at least 48 hours in advance.  Net tonnage determines the tolls.  It costs $4.43 per net ton. And the cruise ships pay $128 per berth.  The highest container toll was $409,106.00 and the lowest toll was 36 cents to a man who swan the canal in 1928.

I started out the day in the back of the ship.  And then I thought to myself, should I be at the front of the ship.  Is that where all the action is?  Now I am at the front of the ship and I am wondering if I should be at the back of the ship.  This seems to be the push and pull of my life.

I head to the back of the ship.  I take the elevator with a fellow passenger who speaks to me, “Quite an exciting day” she says to me in a monotone voice.

“Yes”, I concur, “It’s once in a life time.”  She nods in agreement and walks away.

4:00PM- I am aft and the heat is intense and thick.  Both my eye glasses sand camera lenses are fogging up with the humidity. We are on our last lock and people are frantically getting their final shots of this long day in the canal.  We can see the end.  And then we hear a long, loud blast from our ship.  And we all clap and the shore men on the canal wave frantically to us and shout out, “Welcome to our country.  Enjoy Panama.”  And some of us shout out our thanks.  And our passage is over. And we pick up speed and move on. And quickly, the canal is now out of our sight.

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