Читать книгу That Wasn’t the Plan - Reg Sherren - Страница 16

Later in the summer of 1986, I turned my attention to the Canadian head of the Aryan Nations. The story of Terry Long was driven by controversy and, unfortunately, by the emotions of fear and hate. This white supremacist and his organization had long-term plans to turn parts of Alberta, British Columbia and several US states into their own all-white society.

Long, who had grown up north of Calgary in Caroline, Alberta, lived on land just outside the town, and he was attempting to build a compound. The rumour was that it was going to be a training facility for some of his Aryan brethren. He was attracting a lot of attention, and he certainly had mine.

The local minister, a young, earnest fellow in a corduroy blazer with suede elbow patches, was understandably concerned, but Terry Long had been in the community his whole life. People knew him. He looked like an average guy living in rural Alberta—average dress, no big swastika tattoos—and he was a well-spoken, university-educated man. The minister, though worried, said Mr. Long didn’t project an image that gave the local community much to get worked up about. Not yet, anyway. Others I interviewed said, “What he does on his own property is his own business.”

Then my research led me to a gentleman named Larry Ryckman. Ryckman was a young businessman who also dabbled in film. He was trying to develop a new way to record albums using something called QSound, and he had also shot some startling footage about the Aryan Nations down in Idaho.

Hayden Lake, Idaho, at the time was a hotbed for the white supremacist movement. Richard Girnt Butler from California had bought land near the tiny village of Hayden Lake and set up his own training compound. He registered it as a non-profit church, calling it the Church of Jesus Christ Christian, and began inviting like-minded people to the area. They came first by the dozens and soon the hundreds to listen to the vitriol delivered from his pulpit, with its swastika pierced by a sword on the front—the Aryan Nations symbol.

I was never sure why, but Ryckman passed himself off as one of them—a damn gutsy move—and managed to infiltrate this camp, camera in hand. He got shots of angry-looking young skinheads covered in racist tattoos, snarling at the camera. They were armed with rifles, standing outside barbed-wire compounds with signs reading Whites Only. In an interview one of these people actually said, “To me, killing a black man is no different than killing a dog or a chicken.” These were seriously dangerous people, but they looked nothing like Terry Long, the man people were talking about near Caroline, Alberta.

Ryckman allowed me to screen his tape, and you will never guess what he had captured during a ritual cross-burning inside that compound. People were standing around in the firelight dressed in what you might call traditional Ku Klux Klan attire: white sheets with pointy hoods. But not all of them were dressed that way.

There, in the inner circle, bathed in the golden light of the burning crosses, dressed in a suit and tie, no less, was Terry Long. He was standing next to his Aryan kin as they all gave a Nazi salute. Now I could make a direct visual connection between Long and what was already happening south of the border in Idaho. I had my story.

After the feature aired, two things happened.

Number one: I received my first threatening phone call, suggesting strongly that it might not be good for my health to continue pursuing this coverage.

Number two: the people in the Caroline area called an emergency public meeting to discuss what to do about this presence in their community. It was held in a school gymnasium in nearby Sundre, Alberta, where over five hundred upset people showed up. They now had a clear idea of what they were dealing with. But in the middle of the meeting something very strange happened.

A man jumped to his feet to say he was the imperial wizard of the Ku Klux Klan in Canada, and he too was upset with Terry Long and the Aryan Nations. The problem, it seemed, was that without permission, the Aryan Nations group was using symbols the KKK claimed it had copyright over. It was a dramatic and disturbing turn of events. Afterward, some local fellows tried to punch the Klansman’s lights out while he fought to get away.

Terry Long did not get to establish his compound, but he didn’t go away either. Long eventually went underground, moving to British Columbia, but as recently as a few years ago he crawled back into the light to support those who agreed with his views.