Connect with us

News

You can sword-fight at this club. But no politics allowed

Published

on

You can sword-fight at this club. But no politics allowed

Gaia Ferrency, 17, of Swissvale, Pa., waits to participate in a long-sword tournament as part of Friday Night Fights, hosted by Pittsburgh Sword Fighters, on Oct. 4 at a former Catholic church northeast of Pittsburgh.

Justin Merriman for NPR/‎


hide caption

toggle caption

Advertisement

Justin Merriman for NPR/‎

Over the last few years and through this year’s contentious campaign season, which was rooted in America’s deep divisions, there has been a coarsening in the way people talk to each other. We wanted to explore how some are trying to bridge divides. We asked our reporters across the NPR Network to look for examples of people working through their differences. We’re sharing those stories in our series Seeking Common Ground.

CREIGHTON, Pa. — With their faces hidden behind hard black masks, two fighters stand a few feet apart and raise their swords.

They step forward and clank the broad, dull metal blades against each other repeatedly. One fighter strikes the other in the chest. The fight is over, and a small crowd applauds.

Advertisement

Inside this former Catholic church northeast of Pittsburgh, under a 25-foot ceiling flanked by Gothic, pointed-arch windows, members of the Pittsburgh Sword Fighters club and school gather.

In this photo, two sword fighters, wearing all black and protective gear, fight against one another with long metal swords. In the background, audience members watch them compete in the tournament.

The audience cheers on two sword fighters as they take part in a long-sword tournament hosted by Pittsburgh Sword Fighters.

Justin Merriman for NPR


hide caption

toggle caption

Advertisement

Justin Merriman for NPR

It’s a tournament — as well as a party — billed as Friday Night Fights.

There are plenty of rules in a sword fight. But there’s one rule that applies after the fighters have put down their weapons: no talk of politics.

The evolution of the rule started around 2016, when club owner Josh Parise says he was getting fed up with the rancor of political discourse in the U.S. — personal attacks were on the rise, even within families, as was cancel culture.

Advertisement

“I couldn’t tolerate the lack of decency between human beings,” says Parise, whose club focuses on historical European martial arts.

“None of it made sense anymore,” he says.

This photo is a portrait of Josh Parise. The photo shows him from the waist up, and he's wearing a gray shirt with an unbuttoned horizontal-striped shirt on top of it.

Josh Parise, 48, of Oakmont, Pa., is the owner of Pittsburgh Sword Fighters.

Justin Merriman for NPR


hide caption

Advertisement

toggle caption

Justin Merriman for NPR

And then there were a few would-be sword fighters who came to the club and didn’t treat others well. Parise had to tell them to get on their horses and leave.

“It’s infuriating to me, so with this place, we just don’t allow that to happen,” Parise says.

Advertisement

Leaving their politics at the door

As club volunteer Kat Licause watches the matches, she says the directive to avoid politics has led to closer relationships in the club.

“I don’t think we avoid it in the sense that we’re running scared of big questions and topics,” says Licause, who works as a tech writer. “I think we just have this mutual understanding here that if any of us was ever in trouble, we would pick each other up, like immediately.”

The club space is outfitted with medieval and Gothic touches, like coats of arms, a three-eyed raven sculpture and faux stonework that Parise made himself.

Chuck Gross stands in the doorway of the former Catholic church. He's wearing a dark tank top and has a long beard. Taxidermic animals with antlers are mounted on the wall above and around him. A teenage girl or young woman is to the left of him in the doorway.

Chuck Gross, one of the head long-sword instructors at Pittsburgh Sword Fighters, stands in the doorway of the former Catholic church where a long-sword tournament will take place.

Justin Merriman for NPR


hide caption

Advertisement

toggle caption

Justin Merriman for NPR

Against the far wall, a custom Dumbledore throne sits on a fake altar. Off to the sides, there’s a table for potluck dishes and an open bar. The crowd and the vibe are noticeably chill, considering the main activity.

Advertisement

“You walk up, you acknowledge one another, and then you hit each other with big metal sticks,” Parise says with a wry smile.

But divisive political rhetoric, which can be sharper than the swords here, must be left at the club’s big wooden door. The politics ban doesn’t rise to the level of, say, a 15th-century heresy law, but it’s there.

Parise says his students and club members run the gamut politically, from religious conservatives to progressives. He loves to see them find common ground.

“I just don’t want people to feel uncomfortable, but I also don’t want them to bring their baggage with them,” he says. “Leave it outside and just do the thing.”

Teaching and learning from fellow fighters

As the tournament gets underway, a judge briefs the fighters and urges them to play by the rules and stay under control, lest he “red-card” them.

Advertisement
In this photo, Todd Rooney stands while holding a long metal sword. He's wearing a black protective sword-fighting outfit that has a skull patch on one sleeve.

Todd Rooney, a high school English teacher, is photographed on Oct. 4. Rooney is a competitor in the long-sword tournament.

Justin Merriman for NPR


hide caption

toggle caption

Justin Merriman for NPR

Advertisement

“These are teachable moments,” the judge says. “We fight at Friday Night Fights to learn and help each other.”

More fighters line up. Among them is high school English teacher and long-sword instructor Todd Rooney.

He’s holding his headgear, waiting for his name to be called to fight. Rooney has been a member of the sword fighters’ club for almost 10 years and appreciates the politics-free zone.

“Because that rule exists here, I get to work with, spar with, teach, learn from people from all different walks of life, all different political affiliations, religious groups,” Rooney says.

Advertisement

And the controlled conflict of a sword fight, he says, brings about a kind of clarity.

“We have to encounter each other as fully human — we have to respect each other,” he says. “And it’s especially important here, when we’re coming at each other with weapons.”

In this photo, nine men and one woman are congregated around the steps of the former church where the sword fights are held. They are wearing casual clothes. Some are sitting or standing on the steps, while a few are standing in front of the steps.

Members gather on the steps of the former Catholic church where Pittsburgh Sword Fighters hosts a Friday Night Fights long-sword tournament.

Justin Merriman for NPR


hide caption

Advertisement

toggle caption

Justin Merriman for NPR

News

How a Beer Hall Keeps Up With a World Cup Crowd

Published

on

The fans see the games, the crowds, the food and the beer. But behind every World Cup watch party is a team working long before kickoff and well after the final whistle. We go behind the scenes at a beer hall in Brooklyn to see what it takes to serve a room full of soccer fans on game day.

Continue Reading

News

With the white nationalist group Patriot Front, what you see is not what you get

Published

on

With the white nationalist group Patriot Front, what you see is not what you get

Members of the group Patriot Front ride the subway as a commuter looks on, in Washington, D.C., on July 4.

Cheney Orr/Reuters


hide caption



toggle caption

Advertisement

Cheney Orr/Reuters

The sight of hundreds of masked men roaming the streets of Washington, D.C., on July Fourth weekend, wearing khakis, blue shirts and uniform patches, was chilling to some of the city’s residents.

For many Americans, it was the first they heard about Patriot Front, a white nationalist organization that was born out of the deadly 2017 Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Va. A now-viral Reuters photo prompted reflections on the experience of a lone African American woman who was photographed in a Metro subway car, surrounded by white supremacists.

The planned demonstration of force was timed to bring a fringe group of extremists into public view as the nation marked 250 years of its independence. Indeed, the stunt succeeded in earning the group media coverage across mainstream outlets, amplifying its brand and potential to reach new recruits. On this occasion, the members refrained from engaging in violence and property damage, projecting an image of law-abiding, orderly activism.

Advertisement

But those who are closely familiar with Patriot Front’s history and operations warn: Don’t believe what you see.

“That is not who they are in private,” said Len Kamdang, director of the Criminal Justice Project at the Lawyers’ Committee for Civil Rights Under Law. “Although they were on their best behavior [last] weekend, this is a dangerous group that commits acts of violence all over the country.”

Patriot Front’s history of violence and property damage

Kamdang’s organization sued members of Patriot Front for vandalizing a public mural dedicated to the tennis legend and Black activist Arthur Ashe in Richmond, Va., in 2021. Ashe, who was inducted into the International Tennis Hall of Fame in 1985, was born in Richmond and his legacy is a continuing source of pride to members of that community.

“A couple of Patriot Front members showed up under cover of night and vandalized the mural,” Kamdang said. “They painted white stencils all over. … They literally tried to whitewash him and they put their symbols of hate all over — their stencils, their slogans. And all the while they were caught on video. And that video leaked using some of the most horrible language that you can imagine.”

In many jurisdictions, law enforcement can seek additional hate crime charges or sentencing enhancements in cases where illegal acts appear to have been motivated by racial bias. But in this case, Kamdang said, Patriot Front members faced no criminal charges and their identities were only revealed when online activists later infiltrated the group and leaked internal records.

Advertisement
Continue Reading

News

Graham Platner makes it official in Maine, submitting paperwork to leave Senate race

Published

on

Graham Platner makes it official in Maine, submitting paperwork to leave Senate race

Now-former Democratic Senate candidate Graham Platner speaks at his primary election night event on June 9 in Blue Hill, Maine. Platner officially dropped out of the race July 10 following rape allegations from a former romantic partner that he denies.

CJ Gunther/Getty Images


hide caption



toggle caption

Advertisement

CJ Gunther/Getty Images

Graham Platner, Maine’s Democratic nominee for Senate, is officially out of the race.

The Maine Secretary of State said Platner filed the necessary paperwork to withdraw his candidacy two days after he announced he planned to do so following an accusation of rape by a former romantic partner. Platner denies the allegation.

The Maine Democratic Party has until July 27 to pick Platner’s replacement.

Advertisement

In his withdrawal notice, Platner said “people are desperate for change” and that’s why they voted “for a new kind of politics” by making him the Democratic nominee. He expressed gratitude for those who supported his campaign and said that he will continue to fight for “the movement we have built together and the future we believe in.”

He ended his notice with a strong statement aligned with the progressive platform.

“F*ck ICE. Free Palestine. Up the Hearts.”

Platner announced his plan to withdraw from the race in an 11-minute video he posted to social media on July 8. He said he had no choice but to suspend his campaign, citing it was no longer viable financially.

Advertisement

“We are going to lose our ability to fundraise. We are going to lose our ability to access voter data. We are going to lose all of the things that any campaign needs on the basic level simply to function,” he said.

Platner added that dropping out was not an admission of guilt. Rather, the decision, he said, is to keep the progressive movement in Maine alive to defeat Republican Sen. Susan Collins in November. Platner blamed the “political establishment” for his downfall and argued the goal was to force him out of the race.

“We built a campaign. We engaged in electoral politics. We motivated people. We banded together. We did it the way that we were told we are supposed to make change and we won. And now they are not going to let us have it. Not if it’s me,” he said.

Continue Reading
Advertisement

Trending