Latest news with #KluKluxKlan
Yahoo
28-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Antisemitic violence can happen in Indiana. Rising hatred is a warning.
When young, beautiful people are shot dead in the street, people still take notice. By now, you have likely heard their story. Sarah Lynn Milgrim, a Kansas City girl, and Yaron Lischinsky, a devout Christian born in Israel, were in love and working together in Washington, D.C. They were murdered May 21 after attending an event for young professionals wanting to learn about peace in the Middle East, the stability of Israel and the plight of Palestinians. This is what can happen when hateful rhetoric connects to real-world violence. What does that have to do with Hooisers here in happy, wholesome Indiana? The sad fact is that antisemitic incidents in Indiana more than doubled in 2024. In fact, incidents of hatred toward Jews here reflect the biggest national increase of any state in the nation in a year when anti-Jewish activity reached its highest level recorded in nearly half a century. Yet, even more damning context is a relative tsunami of antisemitic incidents in the U.S. over the past 10 years, reflected by a national surge of almost 900%, according to an annual Anti-Defamation League survey released in April. Indiana is no stranger to powerful prejudice and resulting violence. The Klu Klux Klan has been active in our state over its history, particularly during the 1920s, with members serving in elected roles including Indiana Governor and mayor of Indianapolis. In fact, back then, half the members of the Indiana General Assembly were revealed to be KKK members. Many Gen Xers, like myself, might remember from our youth how common it was to hear racial, religious and just plain insulting epithets to describe all kinds of people, including those with intellectual or other disabilities, people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community. As I reached adulthood and the usage of such horrible words in polite society dropped off, I assumed it was evidence that Hoosiers were moving beyond the prejudice of the past and toward a commitment to equality, and even kindness. Boy, was I ever wrong. Several years ago, as I was running for Congress in Central Indiana, my opponent and I were both asked in a town hall if we believed that there was systemic racism in our state. Our answers were quite different. Mine was informed by my fourth-grade Indiana history class, where I learned that many of the laws enacted back in the 1920s by members of the KKK are still on the books today. Systemic racism in our state not only exists, but it is well documented. So, what can we do about it in 2025? Today, rather than hope and prayers for the dead and their families, get a sense of our history by visiting the Indiana State Museum on the White River State Park campus in Indianapolis, or by reading excellent works, such as 'A Fever in the Heartland,' by Timothy Egan, and 'The Klu Klux Klan in the Heartland,' by James Madison. Our history is fraught with instances of racism, antisemitism, sexism and all kinds of discrimination. In fact, in the early 2000s, Indiana had to pass a law to keep women from being arrested for breastfeeding their infants in public. Opinion: Jim Irsay built everything we love about downtown Indianapolis Move out of your comfort zone and show up and join your Jewish neighbors facing this kind of hate when they gather to support people who have been harmed, or who have been threatened with violence, just for being. Attend a Pride parade and be there to celebrate Juneteenth in your community. Showing up is actually pretty fun, yet can be a meaningful way to make clear that you have the backs of your friends and neighbors facing discrimination. You can also start small. Instead of looking away when you hear someone testing the waters by making a hateful joke, using hateful terminology or worse, cut them off and let them know what they have to say is not OK with you – and it is just plain not OK at all. Indiana is not often No. 1 among states in measurably positive categories, which makes our state's ranking in hate a particularly shameful distinction. More importantly, it is a distinction that might portend future violence. None of us want that, and shame on us should we ignore these warning signs. Here, we pride ourselves on Hoosier values. For people from other states, they might not understand what exactly a Hoosier is or why we, as a united people, feel so strongly about our statewide identity. Yet, as they say, if you know, you know. And we know that the bedrock of Hoosier values is about common decency, hard work and fair play. Now is the time to put those values to work and do some good at an important time. The most recent annual ADL audit recorded 142 reported incidents in Indiana of hate against Jewish people, a 141% increase from the previous year, with 52 of them occurring in Indianapolis. Together, before we lose good people to similar senseless antisemitic violence, let's accept this as our shared imperative, and also as a solemn challenge to do better by our Jewish friends and neighbors, by each other and by all Hoosiers. Christina Hale is a former Indiana state legislator and Democratic candidate for the U.S. House. She is the author of "Why Not You: A Leadership Guide for the Change-Makers of Tomorrow." This article originally appeared on Indianapolis Star: Hatred against Jewish people is rising. Violence can follow. | Opinion
Indianapolis Star
28-05-2025
- Politics
- Indianapolis Star
Antisemitic violence can happen in Indiana. Rising hatred is a warning.
When young, beautiful people are shot dead in the street, people still take notice. By now, you have likely heard their story. Sarah Lynn Milgrim, a Kansas City girl, and Yaron Lischinsky, a devout Christian born in Israel, were in love and working together in Washington, D.C. They were murdered May 21 after attending an event for young professionals wanting to learn about peace in the Middle East, the stability of Israel and the plight of Palestinians. This is what can happen when hateful rhetoric connects to real-world violence. What does that have to do with Hooisers here in happy, wholesome Indiana? The sad fact is that antisemitic incidents in Indiana more than doubled in 2024. In fact, incidents of hatred toward Jews here reflect the biggest national increase of any state in the nation in a year when anti-Jewish activity reached its highest level recorded in nearly half a century. Yet, even more damning context is a relative tsunami of antisemitic incidents in the U.S. over the past 10 years, reflected by a national surge of almost 900%, according to an annual Anti-Defamation League survey released in April. Indiana is no stranger to powerful prejudice and resulting violence. The Klu Klux Klan has been active in our state over its history, particularly during the 1920s, with members serving in elected roles including Indiana Governor and mayor of Indianapolis. In fact, back then, half the members of the Indiana General Assembly were revealed to be KKK members. Many Gen Xers, like myself, might remember from our youth how common it was to hear racial, religious and just plain insulting epithets to describe all kinds of people, including those with intellectual or other disabilities, people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community. As I reached adulthood and the usage of such horrible words in polite society dropped off, I assumed it was evidence that Hoosiers were moving beyond the prejudice of the past and toward a commitment to equality, and even kindness. Boy, was I ever wrong. Several years ago, as I was running for Congress in Central Indiana, my opponent and I were both asked in a town hall if we believed that there was systemic racism in our state. Our answers were quite different. Mine was informed by my fourth-grade Indiana history class, where I learned that many of the laws enacted back in the 1920s by members of the KKK are still on the books today. Systemic racism in our state not only exists, but it is well documented. So, what can we do about it in 2025? Today, rather than hope and prayers for the dead and their families, get a sense of our history by visiting the Indiana State Museum on the White River State Park campus in Indianapolis, or by reading excellent works, such as 'A Fever in the Heartland,' by Timothy Egan, and 'The Klu Klux Klan in the Heartland,' by James Madison. Our history is fraught with instances of racism, antisemitism, sexism and all kinds of discrimination. In fact, in the early 2000s, Indiana had to pass a law to keep women from being arrested for breastfeeding their infants in public. Opinion: Jim Irsay built everything we love about downtown Indianapolis Move out of your comfort zone and show up and join your Jewish neighbors facing this kind of hate when they gather to support people who have been harmed, or who have been threatened with violence, just for being. Attend a Pride parade and be there to celebrate Juneteenth in your community. Showing up is actually pretty fun, yet can be a meaningful way to make clear that you have the backs of your friends and neighbors facing discrimination. You can also start small. Instead of looking away when you hear someone testing the waters by making a hateful joke, using hateful terminology or worse, cut them off and let them know what they have to say is not OK with you – and it is just plain not OK at all. Indiana is not often No. 1 among states in measurably positive categories, which makes our state's ranking in hate a particularly shameful distinction. More importantly, it is a distinction that might portend future violence. None of us want that, and shame on us should we ignore these warning signs. Here, we pride ourselves on Hoosier values. For people from other states, they might not understand what exactly a Hoosier is or why we, as a united people, feel so strongly about our statewide identity. Yet, as they say, if you know, you know. And we know that the bedrock of Hoosier values is about common decency, hard work and fair play. Now is the time to put those values to work and do some good at an important time. The most recent annual ADL audit recorded 142 reported incidents in Indiana of hate against Jewish people, a 141% increase from the previous year, with 52 of them occurring in Indianapolis. Together, before we lose good people to similar senseless antisemitic violence, let's accept this as our shared imperative, and also as a solemn challenge to do better by our Jewish friends and neighbors, by each other and by all Hoosiers.
Forbes
24-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Forbes
The Twisted Ending Of ‘Sinners,' Explained
Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) in 'Sinners' Ryan Coogler's Sinners is an incredible vampire film with a lot going on under the surface, and an ending that implies a larger story beyond the film. Sinners sees twin brothers Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan) attempting to escape their violent criminal history and return to their hometown in the Mississippi Delta to open a juke joint. The twins can't help drawing attention to themselves, firing bullets and handing out thick wads of cash, but it's their younger cousin Sammie (Miles Caton) who attracts an unearthly danger. Sammie is the son of a preacher and a gifted blues singer—his father wants him to give up the guitar and live a life of virtue, but Sammie's ambitions are greater than the church. Sammie's father is right to be concerned, but wrong about the sinful nature of the blues—Sinners depicts musical talent as a divine blessing, a power that can pierce the veil between worlds, for good or for ill. The vampires of Sinners initially seem like mindless, bloodthirsty maniacs, but it turns out, the creatures have an ear for good music. These bloodsuckers operate using many of the old-fashioned, often forgotten vampire rules, like being repelled by garlic and needing permission to enter a building. Sinners uses the 'permission to enter' rule very effectively, not just for building tension, but as a reminder that evil must be welcomed in with open arms, before it can begin wreaking havoc on the innocent. Midway through the film, an incredible scene of Sammie playing to the crowd, his music moving through time and space, concludes with a horrific vision of the juke joint burning. Sammie's music has caught the attention of Remmick (Jack O'Connell) and his newly converted lackeys. Remmick, the Irish vampire who started the local outbreak, is introduced to us on the verge of death, pursued by a group of Indigenous vampire hunters. The couple who encounter Remmick are members of the Klu Klux Klan, and find Remmick's lies more convincing than the earnest warnings of the Indigenous hunters. From the beginning, the vampires are associated with whiteness and colonialism, but they also represent the allure of money. When the vampire trio show up at the juke joint, offering to play music and spend their coins, Smoke and Stack are rightly suspicious. The twins refuse them entry, fearing that any trouble might spark up racial tension and attract the attention of the Klan. However, the twins are beginning to worry about the viability of their new business, having realized that many of their patrons don't have access to real American dollars, and that their debts might soon catch up to them. Having survived the battlefield and the criminal underworld, the twins are searching for freedom, and understand that money is the only real path to get there. Hence, Mary (Hailee Steinfeld) and Stack reckon that it might be worth talking to the vampire trio, if the three really have the money they claim. Remmick immediately shows Mary that he has solid gold coins, but Mary doesn't survive the walk back to the juke joint. After turning undead and hiding her bite wound, Mary easily gets permission to re-enter the building, and quickly seduces Stack, before murdering him and infecting him with the vampire curse. Stack's death ends the party and results in the crowd dispelling out into the car park, where they are quickly bitten and turned. From there, it's a small group of humans versus the ever-growing hoard of vampires, as the arcane knowledge of Annie (Wunmi Mosaku) proves vital to survival. While the vampires share a telekinetic link and an uncontrollable bloodlust, Annie clarifies that their souls are trapped inside their dead bodies, implying that they still retain much of their human character. Remmick makes it clear that he doesn't care about the majority of the survivors, only Sammie, as his musical talent is more valuable than any of the others' souls. Michael B. Jordan and Miles Caton in 'Sinners' As the night wears on and the body count rises, Remmick and Sammie face off against one another, and Sammie says a prayer. To his surprise, the vampires start singing Christian prayers in perfect synchronization, highlighting that the creatures exist in a space beyond human conceptions of divinity. Remmick explains to Sammie that he remembers when Christianity was forced upon his people, but admits that the prayers still give him comfort. This highlights how ancient Remmick really is, if he has memories of living in Ireland's pagan era, but also the parallel between Irish colonization and the horrors of the slave trade. Remmick's people were once marginalized, even if he finds kinship with the Klan now, and he attempts to reason with Sammie, offering a kind of freedom in being undead, a freedom beyond race and class. Notably, Remmick wants to pull Sammie's music into his homogeneous blob of bloodsuckers, and likely use it to attract more innocents into the vampire circle. The parasitic nature of vampires, it seems, goes far beyond blood. Sammie resists, using his guitar as a weapon, and at the very last minute, Smoke manages to come to the rescue, driving a wooden stake through Remmick's heart. The rest of the vampires succumb to the fatal light of the sunrise, but notably, two are missing—Mary and Stack. Smoke sends Sammie home, choosing to stay on his property and fight a violent invasion from the Klan, ultimately finding peace in death. Sammie reunites with his father, but despite his traumatic experience, chooses to pursue the blues instead of the Bible. A vital mid-credits scene reveals what happens next. 60 years later, Sammie is an established musician (now played by blues legend Buddy Guy), and has followed his passion as far as it can take him. It is revealed that Stack and Mary have been living as vampires all this time, and haven't aged a day. Stack reveals that Smoke spared his life, choosing not to stake him in exchange for Stack promising to leave Sammie alone. Perhaps, in this world, vampires cannot break promises any more than they can enter spaces uninvited, but Stack also seems to be a big fan of Sammie's music. After hearing him play the blues, Stack offers to turn Sammie into an immortal vampire, but Sammie declines, reckoning that he's 'had enough of this place.' Stack and Mary seem to have fully embraced their life as vampires, and have finally entered an era where mixed-race relationships have been fully accepted. However, Stack and Sammie reminisce on that fateful, bloody night at the juke joint, and both conclude that it was the greatest night of their lives. Stack and Mary are bound to the night and their appetite, but have found a twisted kind of freedom in vampirism. Sammie rejected entering Remmick's circle, and rejected the simplistic limitations of his father's faith, finding freedom in pursuing his art. Sinners suggests that the path to freedom is paved with compromises, and lets the audience decide which are worth making.
The Independent
10-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Independent
Kanye West's KKK Instagram post removed weeks after antisemitic rant
Kanye West has faced yet another social media reprimand after Instagram removed his latest post for violating community guidelines. On Sunday, the 'Heartless' rapper, 47, shared a photo of a person dressed in a Klu Klux Klan outfit, wearing white robes and a pointed hood. 'Outfit of the day,' he wrote in the caption. Within hours, West revealed that the post had been taken down from the platform. 'WOW INSTAGRAM TOOK MY POST DOWN,' he wrote in a since-deleted tweet, alongside a screenshot of his empty Instagram profile, as well as a screenshot of a message from Instagram informing him that the photo had been removed. According to Instagram, posts that are deemed 'credible threats of violence, hate speech and the targeting of private individuals' will be removed as 'we do not allow attacks or abuse based on race, ethnicity, national origin, sex, gender, gender identity, sexual orientation, religion, disability or disease.' This latest controversy comes weeks after a string of antisemitic posts were shared from West's X account. 'I love Hitler. Now what b****es,' read one post, while another said: 'Im a Nazi [sic].' West later thanked Elon Musk for allowing him to 'vent' before deactivating his X account. 'I'm logging out of Twitter. I appreciate Elon for allowing me to vent,' he wrote. 'It has been very cathartic to use the world as a sounding board. It was like an Ayahuasca trip. Love all of you who gave me your energy and attention. To we connect again. Good afternoon and good night.' He then returned to X the following week to further thank Adam Sandler 'for the love' after the comedian made an apparent nod to West during his SNL50: The Homecoming Concert performance. It appears the Grammy-winning artist has once again deleted his X account, as it is no longer searchable on the platform at the time of writing. He eventually issued an apology to the 'Jewish community' for his remarks, vowing that he was committed to 'learning from this experience to ensure greater sensitivity and understanding in the future.' However, he has only continued to spread more antisemitic rhetoric. Last month, he tried selling T-shirts featuring swastikas on his online website. His e-commerce website was swiftly deactivated by Shopify — the back-end platform that hosts his website — because 'the merchant did not engage in authentic commerce practices and violated our terms,' according to a Shopify spokesperson.
Yahoo
12-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Black History Month: The first black firefighter in Florence
FLORENCE, Ala. (WHNT) — It isn't always easy being the first. Joe Louis Duster could tell you that. Facing incredible odds because the color of his skin didn't stop him and his determination to become a firefighter during the racial segregation era in Florence. Mike Lutzenkirchen speaks at teen driving safety summit held for North Alabama students 'There were separate water fountains for blacks and whites,' said Duster. 'I watched as the Klu Klux Klan burn a cross that was as tall as a utility pole just outside of the door where I was standing.' Duster documented much of his 16 years on the Florence Fire Department in photo books. 'I also have a picture of the first black policemen and he and I used to talk all of the time,' Duster said. Born on February 1, 1957, Duster grew up very poor in West Florence. While in grade school he dreamed of becoming a firefighter after not seeing a black fireman in his hometown department. Community Action Partnership says supplemental grant impacted by Executive Order On September 21, 1981, at 24 years of age, Duster made history by becoming the first black fireman in the city of Florence, but it wasn't easy. The schools were newly integrated when he graduated from Bradshaw High School in 1976. When he left the military after high school in 1979, he was told to do something else because there was no place for a black man in the fire department. To dissuade him from his dream he endured regular threats to his life. 'Those were some trying times because a lot of the white kids didn't understand us and a lot of the white teachers didn't know how to teach us and as a result, lot of black kids did not graduate,' Duster explained. Despite a military resume, his application was passed over several times. The fire chief denied that he ever applied. 'They said they didn't have an application on me,' Duster said. 'I was young and energetic back then and I didn't have anything to lose so I told them when I come back, me and my attorney will help you find my application.' Eventually, Duster was sworn in. He would make history again in 1994 by becoming the first black lieutenant fire inspector investigator in Northwest Alabama. 'I was willing to die for what I believed in, it didn't matter because I stood by what I believed in, and I believed that I could do the job just as well as anybody else,' Duster said. Duster tells of his experience as the first African American firefighter in the city of Florence in a book titled, 'Let Not Your Life Be Hardened.' Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
