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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes graphic discussions of racism, violence motivated by racism, alcohol addiction, suicide, domestic violence, and multiple acts of sexual assault, including rape.
If Stephenson’s rise to power is indicative of one thing, it’s that memories are short. A mere 50 years after Ulysses Grant all but destroyed the first incarnation of the Klan, Stephenson, Evans, and others realized that the seeds of anger and fear that first gave rise to the Klan in a small Tennessee town had only lain dormant. In response to the loss of the Civil War and in the face of great social change that followed, the South had spent the last half century disenfranchising Black voters and perpetuating stereotypes about them. As the 1920s represented a new era of change and modernism took hold, it only took only a spark to rekindle the flaming crosses and spread a new wave of terror through Black and immigrant communities.
Now, a century later, history repeats once again, as rhetoric similar to that which rekindled the Klan movement begins anew. In 1924, Georgia Governor Clifford Walker opined, “We receive at our ports of immigration an ignorant and disreputable omnium-gatherum of scorbutic and vicious spawn” (xviii). In the 2020s, far-right rhetoric echoes this vilification directed at immigrants from Mexico and Central America. Stephenson, a self-proclaimed “mass psychologist,” understood people’s fears “and their need to blame others for their failures” (41). Capitalizing upon these fears is one of the oldest tricks in the demagogue’s tool kit, and as Egan demonstrates through his narrative, falsely blaming immigrants for crime and for taking American jobs does little but fan the flames of hate and surround demagogues like Stephenson with idol worshippers.
As Egan details, one of the most damaging strategies of far-right rhetoric is to vilify and discredit the press. While legitimate contemporary news organizations—such as The New York Times and NPR—have been branded “fake news,” biased, opinion-oriented cable channels and websites are seen as the only credible sources. This tactic directly parallels Stephenson’s “poison squads,” spreaders of disinformation who planted false but plausible stories in the community and let the mob do the rest. The Klan also relied on voter intimidation as they “posted gun-toting sentries outside polling places on Election Day, checking voters as they stepped into school houses and church basements” (32). This strategy has seen a resurgence a century later, particularly as high-ranking officials claim that elections were stolen despite all evidence to the contrary.
While Egan does not draw explicit parallels between contemporary political happenings and those of the 1920s, his narrative highlights the myriad ways an uninformed citizenry is apt to repeat the mistakes of their forebears, illustrating the importance of research and storytelling like Egan’s. Without a knowledge of history, the cycles of the past continue in a never-ending loop, never bending toward justice.
The Klan under Stephenson—and even before his stewardship—pulled off a feat: converting religious leaders to their ideology of exclusion. While some of that could be attributed to bribery—specifically, Stephenson’s strategy of handing out cash to ministers to paint the Klan in a favorable light—the problem ran deeper. An entire branch of Christianity turned from the Biblical message to “Love thy neighbor” and embraced the opposite sentiment. A Fever in the Heartland raises questions about the link between racism and religion and how people who consider themselves pious could accept and embrace an ideology rooted in hatred and exclusion.
One explanation may be that the human feelings of fear and (misplaced) anger transcend the abstract concepts of religious teachings. Jesus’s words are 2,000 years old and memorialized in an ancient text that often holds only passing relevance to contemporary life. On the other hand, the fear of those who are different is immediate and pressing, especially when that fear is reinforced by a trusted community and clergy member. Stephenson recognized that Protestant clergy were a key part of lending credibility to his movement: He “succeeded with an unusual formula for a mass movement: men were the muscle, women spread the poison, and ministers sanctified it all” (65-66).
Furthermore, the Klan specifically and intentionally rebranded itself as an organization upholding virtue and Americanism, touting itself as “a God-fearing, law-and-order-loving, women’s-purity-enforcing, patriot-heart-beating, white-supremacy-upholding, Christian-based fraternal club” (91). Those who purport to live a virtuous life need to feel that they are indeed virtuous so that their adherence to their faith can be validated. Racism is not virtuous, so it is imperative for those of faith to self-identify as non-racist, despite acts or beliefs to the contrary. That identification leads to an unsubstantiated assumption that the world is also predominantly non-racist. A Washington Post poll found that 72% of white Evangelicals believe that claims of non-existent racism is a bigger problem that not seeing racism where it actually exists (Smietana, Bob. “White Christians Say Too Many See Racism When It’s Not There, New Poll Finds” Washington Post, 2023). Egan illustrates how it becomes easy to deny something—even an ideology based on hate—when it diverges from one’s belief system.
The same Post article cites sociologist Michael O. Emerson, who argues that the “religion of whiteness—a distinctly American faith, he said—has a number of symbols, including a White Jesus, the cross, the American flag and firearms.” This convergence of faith and secular symbolism further helps to explain how those who claimed to follow the teachings of an inclusive pacifist could so easily embrace an ideology based on exclusion, fear, and hatred.
The Constitution is the bedrock of American democracy and has remained so for over 200 years. Politicians cite it reverently, legal scholars study and dissect it, and Americans proudly tout it as the unique, foundational text at the heart of one of the world’s longest surviving democracies. It’s easy to take it for granted. After all, it has survived many challenges—the Civil War, armed militias pushing for a pro-enslavement territory in the 1850s, protests over the Vietnam War—so Americans grow complacent, imagining the fruits of its democratic system will exist in perpetuity.
At the regional level, Stephenson achieved his goal of installing Klansmen throughout state and local governments. With sympathetic prosecutors, judges, mayors, legislators, and other officials either members of the Klan or accepting money from the organization, Stephenson not only ensured that members’ deeds—including his own, for many years—went unpunished, but he enshrined the Klan ideology firmly within institutions that held a great deal of power over people’s everyday lives. Matters of education, law enforcement, and housing were thus infused with Klan ideology, further marginalizing Black, Jewish, and Catholic residents who already faced intimidation at the voting booth.
While Stephenson’s goal of instituting a nationwide government rooted in Klan ideology remained regional, he had achieved significant momentum before Madge Oberholtzer’s death. With plenty of sympathy in Congress and possibly even the White House—President Coolidge was notoriously noncommittal on the Klan—there’s no telling how far Stephenson might have made it, perhaps even achieving his goal of winning the White House. The lesson from this moment in history is that democracy is not a rock that can withstand the harsh tides of history but rather a sapling that requires constant care. When the power of government rests in the hands of the people, that power can easily be co-opted by any person with the skill to sway enough people to their cause.
The events following the 2020 election provide a modern example of the fragility of democracy. One of the most time-honored traditions of American democracy is the peaceful transition of power after a presidential election. Yet baseless claims of a stolen election prompted thousands of armed insurrectionists—many of them waving American flags, ironically—to force their way into the Capitol, injure police officers, vandalize the seat of government, and even threaten to kill the vice president. Democracy prevailed in the end, and the system lived to function another day. In the “fever” of the 1920s, the efforts of a few individuals—a lawyer, a newspaper editor, a rabbi, and ultimately, a progressive young woman—cooled the fever and brought the instigator to justice. Similarly, the work of election officials and often obscure government bureaucrats who were unafraid to stand up to enormous outside pressure helped democracy weather its latest threat. In this way, Egan illustrates that just as “ordinary” Americans can be swayed by antidemocratic ideologies, so too can ordinary Americans uphold democracy when it is tested.
Philosopher Hannah Arendt, covering the trial of Nazi officer Adolph Eichmann for The New Yorker in 1961, coined the phrase, “the banality of evil,” specifically in reference to Eichmann, “an ordinary, rather bland bureaucrat” (White, Thomas. “What did Hannah Arendt Really Mean by the Banality of Evil?” Aeon, 2018). What Arendt saw during Eichmann’s testimony was not a stereotypical monster but rather a man doing his job without the cognitive skills to understand the implications of his work. He was “shallow and clueless, a joiner” (White). It may be counterintuitive to imagine Nazis as lacking any comprehension of their actions, but the same description can be applied to Stephenson’s flock. A young Catholic boy growing up in Indiana who witnessed a Klan rally later theorized that part of the appeal of the Klan to his neighbors was “the deadly tedium of small-town life” (121). When the Klan took over the town of Kokomo, one resident argued that “the dead-level typical-ness of the town” provided fertile ground for the hate group (113), giving the residents’ lives some kind of meaning, a community to which to belong, a distraction from their own existential dread, and a set of convenient targets on which to focus their fears. If indeed many Klan members of the day were simply joiners like Eichmann, it would explain why, after Stephenson’s conviction, many simply drifted away from the organization, searching for something else to fill the void in their lives.
This is evident in the rise of hate groups today. The January 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol was comprised not of a shadowy cabal of villains but of ordinary Americans driven by fear and misinformation: “January 6 is really not a product of just the fringe […] but overwhelmingly, the data shows that this is coming from the mainstream” (Ismail, Aymann. “We Know Exactly Who the Capitol Rioters Were.” Slate, 2022). Slate also reported that the places most representative of the insurrectionist demographic also showed the greatest decreases in white population. As the demographic makeup of the country becomes more diverse, white Americans feel their power eroding, evidenced in the rallying cry, “We will not be replaced.” Persuading these otherwise mainstream Americans to commit acts of violence has become increasingly easy in the age of social media. The power of these platforms cannot be understated: Many of the rioters on January 6 were educated people who were nonetheless convinced an election had been stolen and were determined to set things right alongside other “patriots.” Part of the logic of Arendt’s banality of evil thesis is that ordinary people need communities, even if those communities are violent and racist. While Arendt’s argument has been debated vigorously over the years, the growing Klan membership in the 1920s can certainly be examined through that lens. Egan’s narrative illustrates how easily ordinary people—neighbors, fellow congregants, coworkers, those who lead otherwise unremarkable lives—can be turned toward evil by a smooth orator—or a provocative meme. Fear is a powerful motivator, and the “banal” towns and lives of middle America often prove the most receptive audiences for that fear.
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