Perception

Professor Kevin Waite had just finished a seminar on the run-up to the American Civil War on Friday morning when a student cautiously raised her hand.

“Can I ask about the Charlie Kirk situation?” she said in Waite’s classroom at the University of Texas at Dallas.

The student, he said, wondered whether recent events carried any echoes of the past. Hyperbolic comparisons between modern political conflict and the horrific bloodshed of past centuries have previously been the stuff of doomsday prepper threads on Reddit, but this week’s shooting made it a mainstream topic of conversation.

While cautioning that the country is nowhere near as fractured as it was when the Civil War erupted, Waite and other scholars of the period say they do increasingly see parallels.

“Our current political moment is really resonating with the 1850s,” the historian said.

He and other scholars note similarities between the deployment of troops to American cities, widespread disillusionment with the Supreme Court, and spasms of political violence — especially from disaffected young men.

“What we call polarization, they called sectionalism, and in the 1850s there was a growing sense that the sections of the country were pulling apart,” said Matthew Pinsker of Dickinson University.

Even before Kirk’s alleged assassin was publicly identified as a 22-year-old who left antifascist messages, President Trump blamed the shooting on “radical left political violence.”

Conservative influencers amplified the rhetoric, with Trump ally Laura Loomer posting on X, “More people will be murdered if the Left isn’t crushed with the power of the state.”

Violence was far more organized and widespread in the late 1850s, historians caution. Congressmen regularly pulled knives and pistols on one another. Mobs brawled in the streets over the Fugitive Slave Law. Radical abolitionist John Brown and his sons hacked five men to death with swords.

But some aspects of modern politics are worryingly similar, scholars said.

“What almost scares me more than the violence itself is the reaction to it,” Waite said. “It was paranoia, the perception that this violence was unstoppable, that really sent the nation spiraling toward Civil War in 1860 and ’61.”

Top of mind for Waite was the paramilitary political movement known as the Wide Awakes, hundreds of thousands of of torch-toting, black-capped abolitionist youths who took to the street out of frustration with their Republican representatives.

“There was this perception that antislavery Republicans hadn’t been sufficiently aggressive,” Waite said. Wide Awakes, he said, believed “that it was the slaveholders that were really pushing their agenda much more forcefully, much more violently, and antislavery [politicians] couldn’t just sit down and take it anymore.”

Most Democratic politicians of the era were fighting to expand slavery to the Western territories, extend federal power to claw back people who’d escaped it, and enshrine slaveholders rights to travel freely with those they held in bondage.

The Wide Awakes struck terror in their hearts.

“For their political opponents, it was a really scary spectacle,” Waite said. “Any time a cotton gin burned down in the South, they pointed to the Wide Awakes and other more radical antislavery Northerners and said, ‘This is arson.’”

For Waite, the Wide Awakes can be compared to an antebellum antifa, while the paramilitaries of the South were more like modern Proud Boys.

“The South was highly militarized,” he said. “Every adult white man was part of a local militia. It was like a social club, so it was easy to take these local militias and turn them into anti-abolitionist defense units.”

Still, incursions by abolitionists into the South were rare. Incursions by slave powers into the North were common, and routinely enforced by armed soldiers.

Legal scholars have already noted striking similarities between Trump’s use of the military to aid his mass deportation effort. The Trump administration has leaned on constitutional maneuvers used to enforce the Fugitive Slave Act — a divisive law that empowered slave catchers from the South to make arrests in Northern states — in legal arguments to justify the use of troops in immigration enforcement.

“I argue it was the fugitive crisis, more than the territorial crisis, that drove the coming of the Civil War,” Pinsker said. “The resistance in the North essentially made the Fugitive Slave Law dead-letter. They broke the enforcement of that law through legal, political and sometimes protest resistance.”

Many Northern states had passed “personal liberty laws” to prevent Black people from being snatched off the streets and returned to slavery in the South — a move Waite and others compare to sanctuary laws across the country today.

“The attempt to uphold these personal liberty laws and simultaneously the government’s attempts to take these Black fugitives led to violence, and to perceptions that the so-called slave-power was the aggressor,” Waite said.

By the late 1850s, Northerners were equally fed up with the Supreme Court, which under Chief Justice Roger B. Taney was seen as a rubber stamp for slaveholders’ goals.

“The Supreme Court in the 1850s was dominated by Southerners, mostly Southern Democrats, and they were pro-slavery,” said Michael J. Birkner of Gettysburg University. “I think the Dred Scott case and the court being on one side is absolutely a parallel with today.”

The Dred Scott decision, which ruled Black people ineligible for American citizenship, is widely taught in schools.

But far fewer Americans know about the Lemmon case, a New York legal battle that could have effectively legalized slavery in all 50 states had the Taney court heard it before the war broke out in 1861.

“Slaveholders were eager to get that case before Taney, because that would have nationalized slavery,” Waite said.

Despite the similarities, scholars say that there is nothing inevitable about armed conflict, and that the imperative now is to bring the political temperature down.

“Donald Trump has not been offering that message with the clarity it needs,” Pinsker said. “He says he’s a big fan of Lincoln, but now is the moment for him to remember what Lincoln stood for.”

When it comes to parallels with America’s deadliest conflict, “there’s only one lesson,” the historian said.

“We do not want another civil war,” Pinsker said. “That’s the only message that matters.”

It’s 7 p.m. on a Thursday at the driving range at the Westside’s Rancho Park Golf Course.

At one end of the raised platform, the stalls are mostly occupied by polo shirt-wearing men quietly practicing their swings. But at the other end, a crowd gathers. People of all backgrounds are vibing to hip-hop and Afrobeats playing over two portable speakers and socializing over beer and snacks from the food stand. They’re dressed in streetwear and stylish sports apparel — Jordan 1s, fitted caps, tennis skirts and baggy pants. One woman is wearing tall platform boots and a patterned skirt and hugging friends. When someone steps up to take a swing, others watch and offer support and pointers.

“Remember to breathe,” someone says.

“Relax your grip,” advises another.

Aspiring golf pro Rob Perea, right, teaches beginning golfers during a Swang golf event.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Not your typical golf meetup, this is Swang, an L.A. golf collective that hosts a regular gathering called “Free Range,” where attendees can receive casual guidance from longtime golfers — and just hang out. With the welcoming motto “pull up, tap in,” founder Modi Oyewole created Swang to provide a space for the golf-curious and those who’ve been searching for like-minded folks to play with in the historically white- and male-dominated sport. He says that for generations, entering the world of golf has been both financially and culturally difficult.

“When I ask people how they found out about us, a lot of the stories are the same,” says Oyewole, 38. “People never felt like this was a thing they could do. But with this, we are quite literally saying, f— all that. We can do this too. You can wear what you want. You can be you and still come play.”

Swang golf collective founder Modi Oyewole, left, with Juliet Udeochu.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

A small camera crew follows Oyewole, who is wearing a Toro y Moi T-shirt, cargos and Adidas sneakers, capturing content for Swang’s social media accounts. He takes a powerful swing, sending the ball flying onto the field. You’d think that he’s been playing for years, but golf is a new passion for the multifaceted creative who’s worked at various record labels and for brands like Nike and Redbull.

Oyewole’s father introduced him to the sport about 20 years ago during the height of Tiger Woods’ career. “I think seeing a Black person in this sport that’s predominantly white and him dominating it definitely got my dad like, ‘Alright, we can do this now. We have representation,’” Oyewole recalls. His dad began taking him and his younger brother to a public driving range in their District of Columbia neighborhood until it shut down.

Oyewole didn’t think about golf again until several years later, when one of his friends invited him to the Hypegolf Invitational hosted by Hypebeast in Santa Clarita — an invitation he accepted begrudgingly, he says. But what he saw surprised him.

“This was my first time experiencing golf in it’s entirety, ever. I’d never been to a golf course, let alone a very fancy country club, and I’d also never seen golf presented in this way,” he recalls.

One of the first people he saw at Hypegolf was rapper Macklemore, who was rocking a clothing collaboration between his golf line Bogey Boys and Adidas. Every hole on the course was sponsored by a different brand. DJs were spinning upbeat music, and all of the attendees were, in Oyewole’s words, “swaggy.”

Blaise Butler of Los Angeles sets up a golf ball on the tee, left, while attendees pose for photos. Swang’s Instagram bio reads that it’s a community for those “who were never invited — but always belonged.”

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

He was also amazed to run into several people within his orbit who he didn’t know played golf. “It was just one of those moments where I was like, ‘Wait, I feel like they figured out a way to make this digestible to a person like me,’” says Oyewole. “It was eye-opening because it taught me that the game was cool, and it wasn’t the game that I was upset at. It was the context surrounding the game.”

A few weeks later, Oyewole quit his job as the vice president of creative, experiential and content development at Def Jam Recording. With his newfound free time, he started playing golf at the Maggie Hathaway Golf Course in South Central — named after a longtime civil rights activist who helped break the color barrier on L.A.’s public golf courses — with a friend who gifted him hand-me-down clubs. Before long, he was hooked.

He hosted the first Swang event in August 2023 at the Rancho Park driving range. Oyewole and two of his friends brought a speaker to play music, along with golf clubs and balls for attendees to practice with. About 25 people showed up, including a few golf influencers like Jacques Slade and Loulou Gonzalez — some of whom had never played golf before and others who’ve been playing their whole lives.

“Just seeing that was magical, but I think what was more magical than that was hearing these longtime golfers say, “Man, I’ve been golfing forever and I’ve never seen anything like this,” Oyewole says. “You’re not going to see this makeup of people in this size at the driving range. It doesn’t happen. Golf doesn’t look like this.”

Swang arrives in L.A. at a time when golf is booming in popularity post-pandemic, particularly among women and young people. Although golf has long been perceived as a sport that “older” people play, the National Golf Foundation revealed that in 2024, the largest group of on-course golfers — nearly 6.3 million players — were between the ages of 18 to 34. Since 2019, there’s been a 41% increase of female golfers, the NGF reports, and every year since 2020, roughly 3.3 million people have hit the course for the first time. The surge can be credited to content creators and YouTubers amplifying the sport online, trendy apparel brands, shows like “Full Swing” on Netflix, nightlife-adjacent establishments like TopGolf and collectives like Swang who are introducing the sport to a new demographic.

A crowd fills the top level of the driving range.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Swang attracts roughly 75 to 100 regular attendees at each Free Range session. Among them are creatives, musicians, entrepreneurs, tech professionals, actors, marketers and more.

Although some people bring their own golf gear to the meetups, none is required. It’s also “a safe place to suck,” Oyewole says.

Prior to discovering Swang, Adil Kadir’s only experience with the sport was going to TopGolf, but it was something he wanted to get better at. As someone who worked in the tech industry, he viewed golfing as a “language” or entry point that could improve his “ability to integrate into the world of business.”

But through Swang, he discovered that golfing was also fun. “Nothing can really stimulate the amount of dopamine you get from actually hitting the ball the right way,” he says.

Beginning golfers get individual instruction.

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)

Stacey Esteban was nervous about attending Free Range for the first time because of negative experiences she had at other golf ranges in L.A.

“I’ll hear side comments from other people who don’t look like me, and they’re trying to give me lessons that I never asked for, and it doesn’t feel safe for me. But here, I was like, ‘It’s safe,’ ” says Esteban, who started playing golf during the pandemic. “These are people I’d want to talk to and hang out with.”

Josh Hubberman, 43, has been playing golf on and off since he was a child, but he didn’t get back into the sport until he went to a Swang meetup last year. “Driving ranges are often quiet [with] two people in a bay, and you’re kind of just politely waiting for a bay to open,” says Hubbeman, who is the co-founder of the creative venture studio Cthdrl. “Then when you show up at Swang, we have music playing. We take over 10-plus bays, and it’s a big social event as well, so there’s an energy that immediately, you get on site and it’s like, ‘Oh, that’s got to be Swang!’ ” About a year later, Hubberman reached out to Oyewole about teaming up with Cthdrl and working together to turn Swang into a viable business.

Swang is already making an impact on the golf industry in L.A. and beyond. In August, the collective programmed the music at an exclusive TopGolf event featuring rapper Larry June. Earlier this year, Swang partnered with the Rolling Loud music festival to co-produce a golf invitational and release a capsule collection. Swang also hosted a tournament in L.A. called Spicoli’s Scramble — in honor of Oyewole’s late best friend — and raised $20,000 for the Grammy Museum and Recording Academy’s Quinn Coleman scholarship.

The larger vision for Swang, Oyewole says, is to continue hosting the Free Range sessions and eventually add a membership component that would allow members to access exclusive events and experiences such as group trips to golf tournaments around the globe. The collective recently started creating short- and long-form social media content, and they will debut their first Swang apparel piece at Paris Fashion Week later this month.

Back at the driving range, chill R&B music is playing, and a handful of attendees are taking their final swings for the night before the overhead lights at the range shut off.

Reni Somoye, 32, was about to leave, but she decides to stay after another attendee encourages her to hit the ball one last time. She’s been watching other people throughout the night and realized that she needed to swing more powerfully. When it’s her turn, she walks toward the edge of the stall, pauss, swings and then strikes the ball so hard it flies out onto the field. The group that was mingling nearby begins to cheer.

She turns around, smiling from ear to ear, and daps up the coach.

“Alright,” she says. “Alright, that was good!”

(Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times)