Now, in the 21st century, forward thinking Klan members are looking at ways to financially exploit this successful brand, giving the organization a more corporate sheen and putting the defining racist principles that govern the organization on the backburner. In an effort to accomplish this goal, they’ve put out a broad call to agencies and individuals across the globe to help in a rebrand, and I was one of the people lucky enough to be contacted.
1. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack
A fast food franchise throughout the rural south would serve as an excellent transition business, moving the KKK from violent hate group to an affordable, family-friendly eatery in no time. Competing with KFC, but with a more authentic, regional flavour, a Klansman with smiling face exposed–but still wearing the distinctive white hood– would be the corporate logo, much like Colonel Sanders for KFC. KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack would be racially inclusive, thus combating any negative connotations that might linger about the past of this emerging corporate titan.
The signature dish would be fried chicken skin crisps, and like MacDonald’s Happy Meal, KKK’s would serve The Hooded Order, which would be two pieces of chicken, an order of fries and a bottomless Coke, as well as a KKK action figure for the kids.
2. KKKSN Klu Klux Klan Sport’s Network
There’s nothing, excluding beauty pageants and guns, that’s’ more American than sports, and the marriage between the KKK and sports entertainment is a no-brainer. The network should focus on competitive eating (cross-marketing with KKK’s Fried Chicken Shack), crossbow hunting, street fighting and various rural soldier type programming. Over time, the network could expand to include more conventional sports, but to start it must specialize in that which it’s core audience loves best.
3. KKK: Guardians of the Earth
In the era of Global Warming, nothing could be more important to the public than the appearance of trying to save the environment. The KKK, showcasing their defining uniforms, could roam the land as a kind of cross between Forest Rangers and Guardian Angels, policing the public and making sure that people are not polluting, using too much hot water or otherwise disrespecting the land. One of the bonuses of this is that the KKK could still position itself as anti-government.
4. KKK Dog Walking and Pet Care
This would essentially be a corporate shell, existing primarily to keep members of the KKK in the public eye and achieving the positive association of being caretakers of the pets that American’s so love.
You have to curl and curve a bit to get there, navigating the narrow, broken roads until you come upon a small, rum shack set back a bit from the road. Remote from the perspective of a tourist, it seemed that this just happened to be where Rita lived as opposed to being the result of any sort of opportunistic business stratagem.
It was early afternoon and we were the only people in the two-table place. The pair of middle-aged women we encountered seemed indifferent to our arrival, maybe even a little bit confused by it, as if we’d gotten lost, happened into their kitchen and awoken them from naps. Without being particularly eager to impress, they decided they’d cook us some lunch, moving heavy and wordless back to the kitchen.
It took a long time, and as it was a very hot and humid day, Rachelle retreated to the protection of the AC of the car. Shortly after, the rain came in relieving torrents. The chickens that had been roaming freely in front all scattered, but the Blackbelly sheep in the field across the street were completely immobilized, as if cast under a spell. It was mysterious, almost mystical for me to see them frozen like that and I was utterly transfixed. One of the women looked at me and shook her head, “Sweet Jesus, it like you never see sheep before!” she said, as she shuttered the windows and closed the doors, the scent of pot drifting in with the wind and spray.
The rain stopped before the lunch was made, and I stepped outside as the women swept the accumulated water from out of the shack. The chickens had reassembled, each cock now crowing, creating a network of communication echoing down the streets. Nearby at a sheltered picnic table, three young men sat smoking and drinking. A gentle looking Rasta called me over, curious about the off-season tourist, and the group of us chatted for 10 minutes. One of them, just a boy, was hard looking, as if already preparing for a difficult future, the other one, chilled-out and fleshy, smoked dope with lidded eyes, the tattoo Self Made inked onto his hand.
They were going to be there all day. More friends and acquaintances– buying little bottles of rum from Rita’s—would be joining them as the hours passed. None of them had ever been off the island or expressed any particular desire to do so. The Rasta, rolling a new joint, asked me, “You like Barbados? It’s paradise, eh?” but he said this hopefully, like he was looking for an outsiders reassurance rather than expressing a known certainty.
