Unmasking Hate: Whose Country, Our Country
What better way to mark the 250th anniversary of a nation founded on lofty ideals now plunged into ugly discrepancies than to double down on hate-and-fear-mongering? Cue a Racist-In-Chief who stays silent when 400 masked Nazis march in D.C. but goes online to assail graduating kindergarteners in Minnesota for wearing hijabs - goading his followers in vicious lockstep to dutifully screech, "Deport them, big and small!" Stay classy, MAGA.
Somehow, we still manage to be shocked at how ludicrously low the bar's sunk. Never mind the unhinged May hearing where House Repubs attacked the Southern Poverty Law Center (SPLC), following up on equally unhinged fraud charges, by directly quoting a letter from the same hate groups unhappy they'd been named hate groups. In a blistering response, a Dem rep called out their "embrace of white nationalist rhetoric" with the melted clock from the KKK’s 1983 firebombing of the SPLC, charging, "They’re trying to turn back the clock (on) some of the darkest days of our past.”
Then there's the Kentucky pastor of a Baptist church "befuddled" by this year's backlash against a 30-year-old ritual of their vacation Bible school wherein men in military garb march down their church aisle, pull "sinners" outside to a mock firing squad and pretend to open fire. Pastor Dewayne Walker blamed "misinformation" - "part of what this generation has become" - for outrage at “nothing more than a small part" of their school helpfully aimed at identifying good and evil. Others called the ritual "depraved" and "appalling abuse," noting, "There’s not enough context in the world to make this okay."
Same, alas, for much of what passes these dark days for political discourse. On America's 250th birthday, it was reported, about 400 neo-Nazis from the white nationalist Patriot Front joined the day's tawdry mayhem in D.C. by marching in masks and uniforms - seeking "the menace of a mob with none of the accountability" - chanting "Reclaim America." They looked unsettling enough that many on the right uneasily dismissed them as bad actors or imaginary Antifa; Laura Ingraham sneered, "I call fake," then righteously, nonsensically added, "No one should be allowed to cover their faces."
One image of the day went viral: A lone, young, tense Black woman, sitting on the Metro, surrounded by Nazis. "I have taught this photograph before," wrote a longtime teacher on I Fucking Love Australia, describing the September day in 1957 in Little Rock, AR. when 15-year-old Elizabeth Eckford, trying to integrate Central High School, was stopped by the National Guard. In the image, she walks alone in the white dress her mother had sewn for her first day through a screaming, snarling white mob. Asked for their response, one of today's students inevitably offers, "Look at their faces. They wanted to be seen."
"They believed history would agree with them," notes the teacher. "The men on that Metro" - in their masks and khakis - "did not." In the 1940s and '50s, states in the Jim Crow South passed laws banning masks in public, their nod to the brutal presence of the KKK; even they understood that a man who covers his face is not expressing an opinion - he is issuing a threat. "In 1957, the mob showed their faces because they thought history was on their side. In 2026 they hide their faces because they know it is not," the teacher wrote. "That is not nothing. That is 69 years of progress, measured in cowardice."
There was another, less widely viewed photo from that day on the train. Roswell Encina, a gay Filipino American, came to the US as an infant; his father served in the U.S. Navy. Roswell is head of the non-partisan U.S.Capitol Historical Society; as part of his job, he places replicas of the Declaration of Independence in embassies, stadiums, public places so ordinary people can read it and see it as their own story. The train on the 4th had been full of red, white and blue families heading to the fireworks; when they got off and the Nazis got on, he said the mood felt "unnerving" and he had to "summon my better angels" to stay put.
The group was civil and chatting; he tried not to make eye contact, looked up their patches on his phone, texted friends in a familiar safety ritual to say where he was. Later, neither wearing nor needing a mask, he spoke to reporters, in part to protect the young Black woman whose name was unknown. As a historian, he said he felt reassured unnerving" reassured a photographer........
