Footsteps of Klan march in the nation's capital 100 years ago echo today

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      Shorter is better. As much as I grumble, hitting my 790 word landing to be on page two of the Sun-Times is a good thing. Although I often lose things that are superfluous but fun. Such as the intro to this column. After I wrote it, it was just over a thousand words — 33 percent too long.

     So the first thing I did was lop off the top two paragraphs. I can make my point without the tiger. But I really like the tigers. So I'll retain it here. If time is of the essence, you can go straight to the Sun-Times version, linked at the bottom.

     I savor logical fallacies the way some men collect fine wines. One of my favorite vintages is known as a "category error" —when you allow a set of qualities to convince you that something belongs to one particular group when other, more germane, qualities suggest it really belongs somewhere very different.
     Take Bengal tigers. If I decide, based on their feline nature, soft fur and beautiful appearance to consider them among "animals children should be allowed to play with," I am making a category error. Because other tiger qualities — razor sharp teeth and claws, carnivorous habits, general unpredictability — should really place them in the realm of "animals best confined to story books."
       Consider U.S. history. In his "Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History" executive order, Donald Trump claims that anything reflecting "racist, sexist, oppressive" aspects of the American past is "a distorted narrative" that "fosters a sense of national shame."
     For him maybe. Not to this cowboy.  I consider his executive order a category error. History, even regarding fraught topics, is always fascinating and often useful. The history of our country is a tale of casting off bigotries toward a spectrum of groups, and that hatred returning in new forms. Learning about that doesn't bring shame unless you're rooting for the bad guys. Rather, it fosters a sense of perspective, even relief.
     For instance, Friday is the 100th anniversary of 30,000 or so members of the Ku Klux Klan marching down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, a high-water mark in a decade that saw the post-Civil War hate group reborn and enjoying unprecedented public acceptance. They marched unmasked, as demanded by D.C. ordinance — which also, police decided, forbade anti-Klan groups from gathering, noting "the law strictly forbids any political demonstrations on public property in the nation's capital."
     The Klan, remember, did not fancy itself a political group, but a religious and patriotic organization — hence all the crosses and flags. The Klan made this argument to President Calvin Coolidge, urging him to welcome them, noting that he had spoken before the Holy Name Society, a Catholic group, and therefore "he should be willing to greet an organization of Protestants."
     He wasn't. Coolidge was no racist — he privately despised the Klan, and the year before addressed the commencement at all-Black Howard University. I have a difficult time imagining the current president doing that.
     But Coolidge's response to the 1925 march (there would be others) was not a profile in courage, either. While Klansmen (and women; a third were female) were marching around the Washington Monument, Coolidge was on vacation in Swampscott, Massachusetts. He said nothing, good to his "Silent Cal" nickname. Pressed on the issue, the White House revealed that Coolidge "was not a member of the order and not in sympathy with the aims and purposes."
     The Klan was seen more as a Democratic problem anyway — it was the major issue overshadowing the 1924 Democratic National Convention. Liberals wanted a condemnation of the Klan written in the party platform. But lots of Southerners were Democrats, and they argued that most Blacks voted Republican — in the areas where they were allowed to vote — out of residual loyalty to Abraham Lincoln. The Democrats punted.

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