Diary of A Ku Klux Klan Member

****Author's note: this story may not be suitable for all readers. It was written to explore the ability to step into a person opposite myself, without taking the creative liberty of changing who the characters are. I was often tempted to give these two men redeeming qualities, or make them good guys in the end, but it would have been untrue to the nature of the character. If you are sensitive to what you read, please skip this story and continue to the next one. Thank you, and leave me a comment if you'd like...
Tiffany





You know, when I was a kid, I didn't understand. I didn't get why Daddy used to cover up in that big white sheet and ride of into the night with a bunch of drunken fat men. All I understood was that one day, I too would don the mask and sheet and that I should be more than honored to do so. I only asked once about the purpose of his rituals. I'll never forget the day.

"Daddy, how come you gotta ride off with those men all the time? They look so mean and angry. Will you just stay home and play checkers with me, Daddy? Can't you just stay home and play?"

Daddy looked down at me, and I was afraid of the contradiction I saw in his face. I saw the love he had in his eyes for me, but there was something else underneath: something darker. I remember thinking that must be what hate looks like. I silently prayed that I would never have to see it again.

"Some people just aren't like us, Son. Some creatures need to be taken down a peg so they don't go forgettin their place in the world. We go out and serve a purpose. We remind those forgetful Niggers of their duty; their obligation to stay down. Do you understand, Son?"

I nodded my head, but lacked genuine understanding. I had heard some kids call Jimmy Boyd a nigger once, and Jimmy cried all the way home. I couldn't comprehend the word at the time; only the pain on Jimmy's face. I remember thinking that Jimmy didn't even try to hide his pain. He wore it right out on his sleeve, and I felt sorry for him. I sort of wanted to hug Jimmy. You know, make him feel like he weren't so alone. I couldn't do that though. You couldn't just go around hugging colored folks. Daddy said if you touched them enough, some of their brand of stupid might rub off, and you could never get clean from that kind of mess.

Every time I looked at Jimmy, I inspected his hands from a distance. They never looked dirty; not even a little bit. His skin was dark and creamy, like a Hershey's bar, but I figured it was from long hours in the sun, not from some special dirt. Still, I stayed away. I didn't want to test my theory and end up infected. Daddy said we were better, and he must be right. Daddies can't be wrong, can they?

On the night of my sixteenth birthday, I was told I was a man. I was handed a white sheet with some really big holes in it so I could see out. I was also given a small .38 pistol and something that looked like a whip with nine tassels with bits of glass on the end of each one. I was told that finally, I was old enough to partake in my family's legacy. Tonight, I would become a member of the KKK. I was nervous, and excited at the same time. I was a bit of a nerd and had never been allowed a part of anything elite. I was about to become someone's better. I felt powerful and alive. The butterflies stood no chance against my sudden inner confidence.

Dad took me and five other young men to a house where a known colored preacher lived. Dad said his son was also planning to become a preacher, and that's who we were coming for: the son. See, these colored folk had no real idea who God was and therefore should have no say in church. God didn't love them as much as he did us, and for them to become preachers was a sin against Christ. We waited a long time, praying for our own safety, and then we lit a cross on fire right in the front yard. The young son came outside and was weeping and screaming, and all my dad's friends began swinging their whips and pummeling the boy with their fists.

"You think you know who God is?" my dad was saying over and over. "You think you have a holy home? God don't live here, Boy. He forgot about your Nigger ass and already gave the Devil your address. We work for both sides: God and the Devil, boy! Whoever you serve, you stand no chance, dirty fuckin Nigger!"

Even through the sheet, I could see the hate in his eyes. I knew what I had to do. I jumped right in and swung my whip as well; spit foaming from my mouth as I became consumed by the power. It was like a drug, and the colored boy didn't fight back even once. Daddy was right. They were a weaker species. How could you not fight back unless you knew you deserved it?

I was beginning to enjoy myself when the boy rolled over and looked into me. It was Jimmy: the colored boy from years ago. Somehow, I had forgotten my previous desire to hug him. I no longer wanted to offer comfort. It was my duty to remind this Nigger of his place. I am a man now. I kept thinking it over and over as I swung my whip again and again. I am a man now. I am a man now.

There was only once where I began to feel guilty. Blood was pouring from Jimmy's face and he wasn't moving anymore. But when I looked to my dad, I saw that he was proud, and I continued swinging my whip. Dad had to pull me off eventually. Sirens were coming. We went home, and I washed the blood from my hands and the splatter from around my eyes. I looked in the mirror and saw that I was different. I thought this must be what a man looks like. I finished washing and got in bed. I couldn't wait to jump back on my white horse and do it again. After all, I had only done my duty, right? Ain't shit wrong with keeping a Nigger down.