STATE OF THE STATE We shouldn't forget those who put Illinois in a negative light by Burney Simpson

Illinois has made some well-publicized contributions to the nation in the last 25 years.

Such artists as playwright David Mamet, poet Gwendolyn Brooks and painter Ed Paschke are presented, read and exhibited. Award-winning scholars at the University of Chicago have revolutionized finance. And, whether one likes their politics or not, there's no denying that such leaders as Jesse Jackson, Paul Simon, Henry Hyde and Carol Moseley-Braun have left their mark. There's Michael Jordan of course and Mike Ditka's Super Bowl Bears. And Muhammad Ah made Chicago's Hyde Park his home for years.

But as Illinois Issues celebrates a milestone, we should not to forget a few other newsmakers. We should remember Frank Collin, Steve Cokely, Frank Caruso Jr., Benjamin Nathaniel Smith and Matt Hale. They might not be as well known as a champion Bull, but they, too, put Illinois on the international news map. They are our contribution to hate. Smith and Hale were in the headlines recently, one a murderer, the other a glib racist. But they are just the two most recent examples.

So, as we pat ourselves on the back for some fascinating events and personalities in the state's history, there's another important group of Illinoisans who shouldn't be forgotten: the bigots. And the hate groups. Because remembering them helps us to recognize their successors, and exposing them — painful as it is — leads to their downfall.

Benjamin Smith and Matt Hale are in the headlines, one a murderer and one a glib racist. They're just two of the most recent examples of hate.

Hate-mongers are found just about everywhere. Unfortunately, Illinois can lay claim to a prominent string of them.

This year we had a shooting rampage targeting minorities that left two dead. In 1997, it was white thugs beating up a black teenager in a South Side Chicago neighborhood. We can claim the anti-Semitic Nation of Islam, headquartered near Ali's home. And it was back in 1977 that a self-proclaimed Nazi organization wanted to demonstrate in Skokie, home to a large number of Holocaust survivors.

The value in examining these groups isn't due to their growth. The experts seem to agree that hate groups remain a tiny minority. But the means for spreading their views has changed from isolated marches to mass communication through the World Wide Web. And what used to be a few guys grumbling amongst themselves has evolved into the occasional lone wolf with a gun, Smith being a prominent example.

Still, today as yesterday, shutting them up isn't the answer. The 22-year- old event in Skokie is important because an influential free speech group won the right for Nazis to speak their minds. It proved the First Amendment applied to everyone, even when the speech is horrific.

Illinois isn't considered a breeding ground for bigots. But a look beneath the surface can be alarming.

Devin Burghart of the Oak Park- based Center for New Community says hate groups are simply not as visible here. The center tracks hate groups in nine Midwestern states. It also holds educational seminars for civic organizations, religious groups and young people on how best to respond to such groups. Burghart moved here two years ago to lead these efforts after a decade of doing similar work in the Pacific Northwest. Hate groups there, he says, are more visible, so communities are forced to deal with them. Hate is not as obvious here. But, while praising the Midwestern live-and-let-live attitude, he warns against complacency.

"There's a higher tolerance to intolerance [in the Midwest]. People say, 'Oh, that's just crazy Joe,'" says Burghart. "You have to lift the veil of denial. People in the Midwest think this only happens in the Northwest or South."

And the veil was lifted here over the Fourth of July weekend.

Benjamin Smith, a member of the white supremacist group World Church of the Creator, went on a shooting spree, killing a black man and a Korean student and wounding nine others, all from minority groups. He then killed himself as the police closed in.

Smith's bloody trek began in Chicago's northern suburbs, moved south to Springfield and east to Indiana. He was a disciple of Matt

6 / October 1999 Illinois Issues

Hale, the leader of the East Peoria-based church. Hale has claimed 30, 000 followers but there are only 150 dues paying members, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center, an organization that monitors hate groups nationwide.

How does Illinois stack up? This state had 17 organizations classified as hate groups in 1998, four of them branches of the World Church, according to the center. That compares to 19 in Indiana and 17 in Missouri. (The center notes that some of the groups and their branches can consist of a single activist running a post office box.) The center also classifies and monitors Patriot Groups, the rural militias that organize against what they say is an out-of-control federal government. There were 11 of them in Illinois in 1998. Alarmingly, these groups weren't initially racist in tenor, but that has increasingly become a part of their makeup as hate groups infiltrate their ranks, according to the center.

Burghart says members of such groups come in all shapes and sizes and cross class lines. "They draw from a demographic slice of white America. They can be physics professors; they can range from poor to millionaires."

In fact, Hale prospects among the upscale and better educated. Wearing a suit and tie, he presents himself as a reasonable guy. Prior to his arrival in 1995, the World Church of the Creator was moribund, its previous leader a suicide. Soon Hale was named Pontifex Maximus. (The group has a fondness for ancient Rome.) And the church has expanded to 46 branches nationwide, much of the increase due to a dramatic Web site, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center. The church is a leader in appealing to young people, targeting students in college and high school, says Burghart. But it shies from the heavy metal racist rock bands that have found some popularity with teenagers.

At the same time, Hale is fighting to practice law here after passing the state bar. Prior to this summer, he filed papers with the court that included Smith as a character witness. After Smith went amok. Hale appeared in the national media trying to distance himself from the killer. The Supreme Court's Committee on Character and Fitness wanted to interview more witnesses and review other documents, but the court denied the discovery request. A decision on whether Hale can practice law is expected within months. Meanwhile, the church faces a challenge by Attorney General Jim Ryan to its ability to raise funds as a nonprofit.

Still, Hale is just this year's model of hate. There have been others. We may not remember them now but they made a racket, too. Frank Caruso Jr. and some associates beat black teenager Lenard dark, who made the mistake of trying to ride his bike through the predominantly white community of Bridgeport. In 1998, Caruso was convicted for the beating, dark was permanently brain damaged.

In 1988, Steve Cokely was a low-level worker for Chicago Mayor Eugene Sawyer. He was found spreading cassette tapes that claimed Jewish doctors were injecting the AIDS virus into black babies. After several weeks of pressure, Sawyer fired him.

Going back to 1976, another hate group got attention, but in an unusual twist that may have led to something positive. The courts ruled the First Amendment protects their right to speak, though a community may find their preaching odious.

Frank Collin and his neo-Nazi National Socialist Party of America held some rallies in Chicago where scuffles broke out. When Collin applied to hold another rally, the city demanded a bond of $250, 000, effectively erecting a brick wall for the cash-strapped group.

But Collin was savvy enough to know how to put on the pressure and garner publicity. In 1977, he wrote to Skokie, a village that was home to an estimated 5, 000 Holocaust survivors, for permission to rally in front of the village hall. He wrote that 50 to 100 demonstrators would participate while wearing uniforms resembling full Nazi regalia and displaying the swastika.

Skokie decided to fight the rally and passed three ordinances designed to keep the Nazis out.

Collin then asked the American Civil Liberties Union to argue that Chicago's demand for bond and Skokie's ordinances denied him his First Amendment rights. The ACLU, typically aligned with more left-leaning organizations, took the case. The court fights continued into the summer of 1978. (During that time the ACLU estimated it lost about 15 percent of its membership.) After much legal wrangling, Illinois courts ruled in Collin's favor. But by that time, he and his followers had decided they would rather march in Chicago anyway. About 20 of them paraded around Federal Plaza, while several thousand opponents and curiosity seekers watched.

The controversy over the march generated more interest than the Nazis themselves. Later that year, only three of them turned up for a rally in Lansing. By 1980, Collin was serving time for molesting minors.

Free speech led to the demise of a hate group. A little history lesson from the great state of Illinois.

Illinois Issues October 1999 / 7