Hateland (30 page)

    I completed the form and sent it back to the American address. A few weeks later, I got a call on my mobile from a man with a Birmingham accent. He said, 'Mr O'Mahoney?'

    I said, 'Yes, that's me.'

    'This is the Ku Klux Klan.'

    I said, 'Yes, I sent you a form.'

    'Oh yeah, I know.'

    After a pause, he said, 'Eh, I was ringing to see if you, eh, wanted to join.'

    I told him I wanted to join. That was, after all, why I'd sent in an application form. An initiation ceremony was planned for the following week. I asked him where and when. He said, 'You don't need to know that.'

    'Well, how am I going to get there then?'

    'No, I mean you don't need to know that at the moment. Meet me outside Burger King at New Street Station in Birmingham next Saturday morning.'

    'What time?'

    'I'll confirm the time nearer the date. Till then. Bye.'

    He rang off. My deceased former colleague Tucker hadn't put this much planning and secrecy into importing pallet-loads of cannabis from Holland. And the Klan weren't even doing anything illegal. To top it all, I noticed that my anonymous, security-conscious Klan caller had left behind his number on my mobile.

     I rang Gary Jones at the News of the World. Not knowing the location of the ceremony prevented us setting up audio or video recorders in advance, and having to meet at a redirection point would prevent us doing it on the day. Gary said he'd find a way of hiding the equipment on me.

    More problematic was Gary's wish to accompany me to the initiation ceremony. He had no time to undergo the long-winded, transatlantic vetting procedure. And, given the Klan's paranoia, I couldn't see how they'd allow a complete stranger to tag along. But Gary insisted.

    On the Thursday before the planned Saturday meeting, I rang the Klansman who'd called me. 'Hello, mate,' I said. 'About this meeting Saturday.'

    'What meeting?' he said. 'Who are you and where did you get my number?'

    'You rang me,' I said. 'Your number came up on my phone

    and I'm calling you back about Saturday. My name's O'Mahoney.'

    He seemed to relax, 'Oh, right. Hello, mate. What's the matter?'

    I reassured him I remained keen to join, but said I had trouble arranging transport. However, I had a friend who had a car and, even better, he too wanted to join, although he hadn't yet sent in his form. I said he'd be willing to pay on the spot any membership fee, as well as making a donation.

    The Klansman said, 'It's £10 to join, then we expect £2.50 each month for Klan funds.'

    I said my mate would be willing to pay six months' subs in advance as proof of his commitment.

    The Klansman almost stuttered with excitement: 'That's brilliant, mate. Bring him along. The more of us the better.'

    It all seemed so easy that I decided to push things a bit. I said my friend had business in Birmingham the next day, Friday, and perhaps we could all meet up for a drink in the evening before the ceremony on Saturday.

    The Klansman said, 'I could meet you for a couple of pints, but no more. I'm a bit skint.' I told him not to worry about money. I said my mate could put everything down on his company expenses.

    Gary and I travelled to Birmingham the next morning. We booked into a hotel, from where I rang the Klansman, whose name I still didn't know. He told us to meet him outside Burger King near the taxi rank at New Street Station. He had my passport photo, so he knew what I looked like.

     On the way there, Gary emphasised that if anything untoward happened we were, in classic News of the World style, to make our excuses and leave, rather than get into a confrontation. As we approached Burger King, I saw two men standing outside. They could have been anything from early 30s to late 40s. One was an overweight stump with beer gut and moustache; the other had a shaven head and goatee beard.

    Mr Moustache nodded recognition. He stretched out his hand and said, 'Join the Klan and help us rid Britain of niggers.' 1 recognised his voice from the mobile conversations. His words confirmed my earlier intuition that I was dealing with a fool. Serious people don't talk in such a theatrical way.

    Mr Moustache introduced himself: 'My name's Nigel. I'm the Grand Kleagle of the Realm of England Knights of the Ku Klux Klan.'

    I said, 'I'll just call you "Nige", if that's all right, mate. It's much easier.'

    Everyone laughed, but I could tell Nige thought I might be taking the piss. In an effort to regain some ground, he told me he worked as a bouncer at a nightclub in nearby Willenhall. I didn't know it. I imagined the usual sweaty little groping parlour for council-estate toerags. However, I'd been in prison with a member of a well-known Willenhall crime family and I name-dropped, adding that he'd taken me there once to celebrate our release. I said, 'Some of the doormen are black, aren't they?'

    Nige didn't answer the question. He was finding conversation with me difficult. He took refuge in being abusive again about 'niggers' and 'coons'. His goatee-bearded mate, a bodybuilder, sensed my impertinence and introduced himself as 'John, head of Klan security.'

    As if to defend Nige for working with blacks, he pointed out that, whichever walk of life you found yourself in, you came inevitably into contact with them. He said, 'You can't escape them. They're like a cancer in society.'

    We went into Burger King and sat down at a table. Nige said others would meet us there. I introduced myself and then introduced Gary as 'Arthur Owen'. Head of security John asked Gary a few trivial questions and, despite the fact that Gary hadn't sent off all his personal details, said he'd be allowed to take part in the initiation ceremony next day.

    With the 'vetting' over, Nige began preaching, as if he feared we might now be having doubts about joining. He said the Klan was growing fast, attracting members from the BNP 'because they don't think they're hard enough'. He said the BNP was all talk and no action. He explained his political philosophy: 'There are two forms of protest - direct action and violence, and debate. Right now, we want more direct action . . . We're not here to mess around. You've got to be serious and committed.'

    John joined in to give some examples of how we could spread the Klan message: 'They have nigger shoots in America where the KKK hunt blacks in forests. We should do that here . . . We could burn the mosques here. There's one which holds 2,000 people. I'd like to see it burn. I know a lot of them sleep there overnight.'

    Nige still seemed unsure if he'd convinced us to cough up our membership fees. Perhaps to stop us thinking we were dealing with a group of sad, middle-aged losers, he said, 'We're getting a younger membership all the time.' He said they'd put up posters at schools all over the area encouraging kids to join. And, perhaps to emphasise the adventure-holiday aspect of membership, he said he'd been on military exercises at a secret Klan training camp in Portsmouth: 'We learn all sorts of combat techniques.'

    Within a short time, various misfits turned up to join us: a retired tube driver, a clothes-shop worker and even someone who claimed to be studying music at university. The clothes-shop worker handed round photos of American Klan members holding various weapons. He boasted he'd recently been involved in an attack on anti-fascist students. He said, 'I like a scrap. I got seven stitches in one fight.'

    I whispered to Gary, 'He'll be getting more if he carries on.'

    Then a stereotype of a sexual deviant, complete with dirty mac, sat down near me and asked if I worked out in gyms or 'wrestled'. The way he said the word 'wrestle' made me think it might be a code-word for some sort of homosexual activity. I said, 'What do you mean, fucking "wrestle"?'

    Realising he'd offended me in some way, but not quite sure why, he said something about my reminding him of someone he knew. That annoyed me even more. I stared at him. I could imagine him hanging around gyms, sniffing discarded jockstraps and taking an inordinately long time in the communal showers. He mumbled an apology and moved to another seat.

    My new comrades included a leather-clad skinhead with a spider's web and Union Jack tattooed on his face. He said proudly he'd just come out of prison for killing someone with a scaffolding pole. I've known several people who've killed people and, to be honest, none of them ever said they were proud of that fact. It's usually one of the last things you learn about them. But this idiot was telling strangers that he'd served four years for manslaughter. He claimed he'd clubbed his victim to death to protect a friend who was being beaten. To me, he didn't look like he could kill half an hour waiting for a bus, never mind another human being. I began to wish he'd visited me and Gavin at Raquels on one of our occasional but popular skinhead-bashing nights.

    Although several of us hadn't yet been properly initiated, Grand Kleagle Nige talked as if addressing a committee meeting of stalwarts. He asked for the treasurer's report. Gary and I sat listening disbelievingly as 'the treasurer' began reading the accounts. Printing had cost so much, booking venues had cost so much, stationery so much, and so on, leaving a grand total of £16.50.

    I nearly choked on my french fries. This terror group couldn't afford a decent box of fireworks, let alone the weapons they'd need for the race war they dreamed of. I realised now why Nige had waved Gary through without the proper vetting. He'd been dreaming of almost doubling the group's funds with a windfall payment of six months' subs.

    Nige moved to break up the meeting. He said he'd ring us in the morning to tell us when to return to Burger King. From there, we'd be taken to 'the Klavern' for our initiation into the fearsome Ku Klux Klan.

CHAPTER 14

BEDSHEETS IN BIRMINGHAM

The following day, England faced Spain in the Euro '96 football championship. I hoped to be back from the initiation ceremony before the mid-afternoon kick-off.

    My brother Michael and his wife Carol, who lived just down the road, came to visit me at the hotel. I got some beers in, hardly nervous about the task ahead.

    Nige rang me late morning. He told me to meet him at Burger King in two hours. Gary and I hid microphones on ourselves and concealed a camera in a sports bag, hidden under some T-shirts and boxer shorts. The camera would transmit pictures to a broadcast team nearby. So even if the bag were seized, or left behind, we'd still have the pictures. However, we knew if the Klan searched the bag thoroughly, we'd be rumbled. I decided that, if they tried, I'd feign offence and try to bluff my way through.

    To my surprise, around 20 would-be Klan members arrived in dribs and drabs at Burger King. Several of them looked like they'd just secured day-release from the local psychiatric unit. We didn't all sit together. Grand Kleagle Nige would nod at people as they arrived and exchange a few conspiratorial words. After a while, he asked us to follow him.

    We left Burger King and made our way to the Fiveways roundabout, passing the scene of the 1974 IRA pub bombings, then turned left into the main shopping street, which was packed with Saturday shoppers. Under the guidance of the Grand

    Kleagle, our group of white males entered the foyer of the respectably plush Britannia Hotel.

    Head of security John told us to go to the third floor. The Klan had booked a suite for a 'football presentation'. The suite contained a main room for the ceremony and a smaller reception room where we initiates had to wait in single file. The cost of booking the suite had probably caused the shortfall in branch finances.

    We lined up. Gary and I stood in the middle of the queue. Nige and his goatee-bearded sidekick entered the main room, presumably to put on their frocks. I got a quick glimpse of others wearing the distinctive Klan bedsheets before the door slammed shut. Then I heard the sound of chanting. The jockstrap-sniffer who thought I might be a 'wrestler' stood in front of me, sweating and visibly excited.

    Then the door opened again. A Klansman in robes stood there. He said, 'Enter.' Each man was searched as he stepped forward. I didn't want Gary to go first and then be trapped alone inside if something went wrong, so I stood in front of him. The Klansman beckoned me forward and began to frisk me. I held the camera bag in my hand. He asked to look inside. I opened it and said, 'Hold your nose, mate. There's two days' worth of pants and socks in there.'

    He looked briefly into the bag, but didn't search around inside. It was a good job my 'wrestling' acquaintance hadn't been doing the searching. I'd probably have needed help prising his fingers off the bag's soiled contents. I was nodded through into the main room. At the far end was a table, behind which sat three chiefs. A crucifix rested on the table. The two walls on either side were lined with hooded Klansmen and decorated with banners from both the Klan and Combat 18, the new Nazi bad boys on the block.

     I put the bag on the floor, pointing the camera towards the proceedings, which were now being beamed back to the News of the World's outside-broadcast unit. I joined the other initiates standing at the back of the room. Gary also survived the search.

    My name was called and I walked to the table where the three chiefs sat. I was asked who I was. I said, 'You just called my name.'

    Then one of them asked me about my religious background. I'd been brought up Catholic, but I knew the Klan hated Catholics as much as it hated Jews and blacks, so I said, 'Church of England'.

    Grand Kleagle Nige said, 'We don't like them. They give money to coloureds.' He said their 'Kludd' (which I later discovered meant 'chaplain') could teach me their 'faith', which I gathered was an extremist Protestant version of Christianity with all the bits about loving your neighbour taken out.

    I was then asked in which 'area' of Klan activity I saw myself becoming involved. 'Security' seemed the obvious answer, as I could see it was currently rather poor. I replied, 'Security.' I then had to repeat a few sentences of religious drivel before being asked to stand down. Gary went next and underwent the same procedure. He told me later that he'd volunteered to help out with publicity.