This is a story about how I joined the KKK a year ago as part of a sociology project.
It took me a long time to figure out how my experiment was going to break social folkways. I just knew that I really, really wanted to do it, even if it wasnt for an experiment. The basic premise was simple: I wanted to go to an extremely racist organization and sign up for membership. Being all sorts of brown, my actions would obviously provoke some kind of reaction from them. I liked the overall premise, but it occurred to me that the concept needed some tweaking if I wanted to get it to really work. First of all, I needed to specify the actual racist organization. There would be a huge difference between going to the Black Panthers and going to the Aryan Brotherhood, so I needed to work with whatever organization would provide me the best reaction with the minimum risk of, you know, physical harm. I eventually decided that I should try the Ku Klux Klan for this particular endeavor. There are a couple of reasons I chose them. The most prominent being that they have a large base of operations in a public center just south of here in Jonesboro, GA. This made them extremely easy to access. The other major reason is that the KKK is a fiercely pro-white organization. Some groups are not necessarily pro-white as much as they are anti-something else. I needed someone that would dislike all ethnicities, lest I ruin the whole thing. It would be embarrassing to sign up for a racist organization on the assumption that they would be offended, only to find out that theyre all for every ethnicity as long as they hate a specific kind.
The reaction I expected would not have been a very kind one. When you approach any group that has irrational hatred for others, you dont really expect a rational response. Add to the fact that I am sitting there, passively challenging their entire structure of beliefs, and you have a mixture for some good old fashioned awkwardness. The initial reaction I expected was confusion. I fully expected them to try and figure this out, like I had simply made some kind of mistake. I then expected to be forcefully ejected, like a Dateline reporter on one of those Caught on tape things they do. This seemed like the most obvious reaction, even if it was a bit limited. I had to see how it would actually end up panning out, though.
I performed the actual experiment on January 28th, 2006. I had gotten up early in the morning in preparation for the long drive south to Jonesboro. Luckily, I wasnt the one driving, but rather my friend Steven. A few nights prior, I told Steven about the experiment, and he demanded he be allowed to come with me. His reasoning was that he desperately wanted to see first hand how it would play out, considering it was an important step in the study of sociology (his words, not mine). His actual reason was far more likely to be that he wanted to drive really fast on the straight, cop-less roads that lead to South Georgia. I picked my clothes carefully and rushed outside to the sound of Steven waking up my entire neighborhood by repeatedly honking his car horn. Along the way, I discussed with him what the plan was, mentioning that it was his job to get the car running the second I run out the building. I dont think it really would have come down to an actual lynch mob scenario, but you never know. After going a hundred miles an hour (literally) and hearing the frame of his gigantic red van scream every time we went downhill, I realized that anything the KKK could do to me would pale in comparison to what I just went through in the car.
At about 9:30 AM, we stopped in front of the public Galleria in Jonesboro, a large glass building that housed the KKKs office and new member registration. We stumbled through the parking lot for a while, trying to find a space, until we came across three parking spaces that said VALET PARKING ONLY, one of which was taken. First of all, why does the KKK have valet parking? Secondly, who bothered to actually do it? We decided to just screw it and ignore the warnings, parking in one of the valet spots, anyway. I mean, if youre going to go in for the expressed purpose of screwing with people, it makes sense that youre not going to really care about being prim and proper with their rules. Steven stayed in the car after both of us decided that him coming with me would basically ruin the experiment. It would look too much like he was escorting me and would make it an obvious joke. I didnt expect the whole thing to last longer than half an hour, anyway.
When I went in, the first thing I saw was a guy with a UGA cap cleaning a window to the right of the entrance. He shot me this confused look and I cheerily waved at him. So far, things were going as expected. That was, of course, until he cheerily and un-sarcastically waved back. It was at this point that I began to entertain the notion that perhaps things were not going to go as I envisioned them. I walked up to a large circular desk in the middle of the room where a petite brunette was busily writing something down on a notepad. I placed my fingers on the table and did that indecisive tapping motion, casually asking her where new member registration was. Without even looking up at me (which was mildly disappointing), she told me a room number and pointed to the back. As I walked away from the desk, I turned around and peered at what she was writing, which turned out to be a big heart with two names inside. I assume this was Gods way of reminding me that even racists get to celebrate Valentines Day.
The room number was 2103, which was especially odd since it was on the first floor. I approached the door and knocked very gently with my knuckles, then again a little harder. The second time, a woman answered Oh, sorry, come in! and opened the door slightly, just enough for me to get in. A blonde haired woman in a purple business dress was sitting behind a small brown desk covered with papers. Her hair was curled and her face was slightly wrinkled, so I couldnt imagine she was younger than forty. She was eating a large sandwich and doing her best to wipe the lettuce off her mouth. Without blinking, she very casually asked me what brings me in today, which completely threw me off guard. I stuttered to blurt out the answer that I had practiced a thousand times previously, intending to very smugly say I want to join, but only managing to shyly say I was interested in membership. She handed me a brown clipboard and put a piece of paper in it, then slid in a pen. I was still reeling from the idea that she just didnt care, so I took the clipboard without thinking and began to fill in my information. Well, not my real information, mind you. That would be silly. I instead wrote down my name as Jesus Octopii Hernandez, as that was literally the only thing I could think of at the time. Then, I struck gold. At the bottom of the form was the question What is your reason for joining? Obviously, I can put something along the lines of disliking all races that arent white, and then theres bound to be some sort of discomfort! I think I also snuck in the words Master Race, it all happened really fast, so I dont remember. I gave the form back to the woman, who clumsily identified herself as Peggy and apologized for not saying so earlier, and placed the pen on the edge of the desk. She hastily read over the application, paused to look up at me, and then wrote my name down. What she did next was the most surprising thing to happen since I arrived she rubberstamped my application and held her hand out to shake mine. I stood there completely silent, my mouth agape, visibly struck by what I had just witnessed. Did they think I was white? Was she blind? Was there some kind of mistake?
I furrowed my brow and asked her if this means Im a member. After clearing her throat, she politely told me that I would have to schedule an interview for later. I didnt have time for that, so I put my hands on the front of her desk and asked if I could have the interview right then. I begged, I pleaded, I was in too deep to even consider the irony of losing my dignity in order to freak out the KKK. At this point, it was a matter of pride in just knowing that I could at least count on the KKK to be the KKK, otherwise my whole world view would essentially be broken. I needed to know right then and there why they were accepting me as a member. So I waited in the office for the interviewer to come down, another woman apparently named Leslie. Leslie, it seems, has been with the Georgia KKK for three years and her main duty is organizing the family picnics. There was no way this wouldnt be interesting. Leslie came in to the room with another man, wearing a faux-gold nametag that identified himself as Franklin. Franklin alone made the whole trip worth it, as he is literally the most Jewish man I have ever met in my life. He was like an Israeli Woody Allen. I had to wonder why the hell he was a member, much less why he was working there. They both sat down to talk to me, with these looks of concern painted on their faces. They asked me if I knew what I was getting in to, if I was really aware of it. After half an hour more of trying to talk me out of joining, I eventually left the building, confused and bewildered. They seemingly had no actual objection to keeping me out of the KKK, they just preferred not to. This seems rather odd for an openly racist and hateful organization, even if my name was Jesus.
As I stepped outside, the first thing I noticed was that Stevens car was not in the valet spot. He pulled up to the front as soon as he saw me and I stepped in to the passenger side of the van. Just as I was about to explain what happened inside, he looked at me with an awkward smile and told me Id never believe what just happened. Apparently, a few minutes prior, he had been asked to move the car by the valet. At first, I didnt see what was so strange about this, but then I turned to the window and saw a black man in a red vest, and somehow managed to be shocked all over again.