Faith Works 11-10-23

Faith Works 11-10-23
Jeff Gill

Asking myself some questions without answers
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In 1923, Ohio had six ballot measures for voters on that century ago Nov. 6th; as has been our long standing habit electorally, four of the six were voted down.

But approved was an initiative to remove the words "white male" from the State Constitution's description of eligible voters. However, it has to be noted that 44% of Ohioans voted against it. It appears that a majority did not approve it in Licking County.

This is the context in which the Ku Klux Klan found a new footing in its second resurgence in the United States, with particular success in the Midwest. Changes were happening, and voters were uneasy. Some changes were approved, others were not. Some changes, say Prohibition, had passed, but there were rumblings to overturn it. And when the electorate is broadly speaking ill at ease, this opens up pathways for new responses, reactions, resistance.

The earlier Know Nothing movement, which was formally the "Native American" party of the 1850s, was a nativist reaction to a spike in immigration from Europe after the revolutions of 1848 and the better known "Potato Famine" in Ireland. Irish, Polish, German immigrants came in unprecedented numbers, and as the percentage of immigrants in the population increased, there was a reaction, the Know Nothings, who were largely anti-Catholic in Northern and Midwestern states. Issues around slavery and the Civil War collapsed the movement as a political force.

By World War I, a new surge of immigrants, now from southern and central Europe, appears to have helped raise concerns about crime, disease, and education especially in the rapidly growing industrial cities, and sure enough: the 1920s Klan.

In both periods of nativist reaction and socially acceptable hostility to Catholicism and parochial schools, religious bodies including my own particular Protestant tradition were front and center in supporting actions to limit or suppress both immigration, and immigrants already here.

This is where I find myself asking hard questions. My strong suit in many ways is that I've always been someone who tries to do what's expected of me. If there's a duty or responsibility that's on me, my goal has always been to fulfill that, and then some. I don't like letting people down. Yes, this can become "people pleasing," which is an essay on its own. But in general, I do think this can be a strength. However.

In the 1920s Klan organization, each county had a Kludd. This was the title of their chaplain, an Imperial Kludd the state chaplain. They wore a bright scarlet robe and hood with purple trim; they carried a ritual book called a Kloran. I know, it sounds so childish, doesn't it?

I found an online copy of the 1925 Klan robe catalog, which included a picture and description of the robes of a National Lecturer: "Made of satin, trimmed with military braid and embroidered with silk. Silk cord and tassels. Price, each $25."

That's about $440 in today's dollars.

Here's my uneasy question. Almost every one of the National Lecturers I find identified by name were national leaders in my particular church body. And while I don't know for sure, it appears the local Kludd in 1923 Newark was of my tradition as well. The fact that the relevant records are missing, with his predecessor and successor well documented, adds to that inference.

So if the members of my church, uneasy about increasing numbers of people not like them, were Klan supporters, and encouraged me to be their religious leader, their Kludd, would I have said no?

It is easy to say today we'd have nothing to do with such a clownish, ugly, mean-spirited and hateful movement. But in that moment, with those around us robed and ready, what would we do?


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he tries not to talk to himself too often. Tell him what questions you ask yourself at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads.