by P A Duncan
“We want a less bureaucratic point of view. Plus the FBI are convinced militias are not a significant security threat.”
Ball pursed his lips, nodding to himself. “I consider the militia movement in this country to be like… You know how you see clouds on the horizon, and they seem harmless. You turn away for a while, and when you look back you’ve got a gathering storm. I do believe they pose a real threat. They’re growing in numbers and reach, and for the most part, law enforcement looks the other way.”
“Why is that?” Mai asked.
“Some of it is the local sheriff being a militia member so he can guzzle free beer. Mostly it’s not recognizing a bully until he kicks you in the nuts. Let me give you an example.”
Ball leaned forward, arms folded on his desk. “I grew up in a small town here in Mississippi. When I was around twelve, I guess, a family moved into a house next to my father’s farm store. That family had some of the wildest, nastiest kids I’ve ever seen then and since. Six or seven of them, from diapers to high school. For weeks after they arrived, these hooligans kept our neighborhood in total turmoil.
“Started out innocent enough. The sign over my father’s store got peppered with buckshot. That’s almost a southern pastime, but the noise scared my father’s maiden aunt who lived in an apartment over the store. Like I said, common occurrence, so no one said a thing. Then, things turned up missing. Cats and dogs found scalded. Or worse. Nothing like this had ever happened until those kids showed up, but we had no proof.
“One day, the oldest child, a bruiser of a girl, picked a fight with a black kid half her size and age. Beat the dickens out of him because he was black. Still, people shook their heads and wondered what to do. Not long after, one of the younger boys took two cats, tied their tails together with twine, and tossed them over a clothesline.”
Ball leaned back in his chair again, hands rubbing his face. “I can still hear those two cats, howling and screeching. I can see them clawing each other to ribbons, trying to get free. The street was in chaos. People screaming at the boy for what he did, his siblings yelling at everyone else for shouting at their brother, people yelling at each other to do something about the cats. Someone finally cut the clothesline, but the cats…” Another shake of the head. “My daddy drowned them in a bucket of water. ‘What we gonna do?’ somebody asked. ‘What we shoulda done in the first place,’ my daddy said. ‘Call the law.’ Like any bully, they backed down once confronted by a no-nonsense Mississippi sheriff. They moved away within the week.”
Ball gave Mai and Alexei a piercing look.
“Someone should have called the police when your father’s sign got shot,” Mai said.
“Absolutely. Would have saved a world of hurt. Right now in this country with the collection of militias and other right-wing loonies, we’ve got a large, unruly family in the neighborhood, and it’s time to call the law.”
“What if the law is the bully?” Mai asked.
Ball gave her a dismissive wave of a hand. “I’m more concerned with the potential victims of militia terrorism than with FBI and ATF excesses. Now, I don’t condone what the FBI and ATF did to Randy Weaver, and I’ve got a lot of problems with what happened at Killeen. However, these federal agencies have a legal basis to exist, and they have internal processes to deal with improper actions.”
Mai held back a retort about Hollis Fitzgerald’s promotion.
“Unregulated private armies,” Ball continued, “have no legal basis. Despite the militias’ declared love of the Constitution, they’re nothing but bullies. They try to legitimize extremism with cherry-picked history and quoting the founding fathers out of context. George Washington is one of their heroes, but he denounced privately armed groups, calling them a threat to democratic society.”
Alexei said, “And he was the one who put down a private army in the Whiskey Rebellion.”
Another grin from Ball. “You know your history.”
Before the two of them could wax historic, Mai asked, “The Constitution’s First Amendment guarantees freedom of assembly. Doesn’t that apply to militias?”
“The First Amendment doesn’t give anyone the right to form a private army or conduct dangerous paramilitary training.”
“Dangerous how?” Mai asked.
“Some of ‘em use live ammunition. The term ‘hunting accident’ covers a lot here in the south. What the First Amendment guarantees is the right to assemble peaceably and to express your personal views no matter how repugnant they might be. Courts have ruled—for public safety reasons—the government can put certain limits on that assembly. Time, place, manner, number of people, no weapons allowed, etc.”
“So, militias and patriot groups can meet and express their hatred of the government all they want?” Mai said.
“A bit different from Jolly Old England. Yes, completely free to do so. However, there are gaps in the laws. There’s a federal anti-paramilitary law against those who instruct others how to create civil disorder. About half the states have anti-militia laws. Other states have laws similar to the federal anti-paramilitary law.”
“What’s the difference?” Mai asked.
“Anti-militia laws are aimed at large groups. Anti-paramilitary laws can be used against smaller groups or individuals.”
“Do they work?”
“They can and have. I used the state anti-militia law to end the KKK’s paramilitary camps in Texas. I used the North Carolina anti-paramilitary law to stop the White Patriot Party.”
“If there are laws, why are militias increasing?” Mai asked.
“Unfortunately, in some states, those laws are rarely enforced. Mostly from lack of familiarity with them and the misconception the First and Second Amendment keep them from being applied. These laws, however, have stood up in court cases because they deal with behavior, not beliefs.”
“I see. The banning of private armies doesn’t affect beliefs only behavior.”
“Precisely. Another reason people don’t get worked up about the militias is they state their purpose in patriotic terms. Freedom. Justice. America. But paramilitary training makes America more dangerous, not freer. Can you imagine the prosecutorial reaction if African-Americans started forming militias? Either of you remember the Black Panthers?”
“I do,” Alexei said. “The country where I came from considered the Panthers freedom-fighters against capitalism. But the Panthers wanted nothing to do with the overtures made to them.”
Ball’s eyes narrowed at Alexei. “Well, federal law enforcement came down on the Panthers like a ton of bricks. Illegal wiretapping, illegal surveillance, maybe even outright murder, but large groups of white men who espouse racism and threaten to overthrow the government? They’re left alone.”
“Again, I have to ask why?” Mai said.
“Local law enforcement relies heavily on the support of their townspeople and county populace. Particularly in rural areas, their constituency supports militias or outright belongs to them. Local sheriffs are under political pressure not to take action if they want re-election. So, they accept the militias’ premise they’re like a neighborhood watch. Many times the local militia outguns the sheriff’s department in numbers and weaponry. Care to guess what else might be the case?”
“The local sheriff and his deputies belong to militias,” Alexei said.
“Far too often than we should be comfortable with.”
“How would you deal with the situation?” Mai asked.
“Have each state set up an anti-militia task force to study militia activity. Extend the federal paramilitary law, so the students of paramilitary training get punished, too.”
On a roll now, Ball began to tick ideas off on his fingers. “A federal statute outlawing private armies. Regulate the dissemination of certain dangerous substances, like ammonium nitrate, like…” He looked at Mai. “Like your countrymen did in response to IRA ANFO bombs.”
“Our constitution is a bit more fluid than yours,” Mai said.
Alexei shifted in his chair, his knee ending up against hers, no doubt because Ball had put the words “IRA” and “bomb” in a spoken sentence. Mai crossed her legs at the knee to break the contact.
Ball went on, “The Defense Department needs to prohibit active duty personnel from joining militias and providing training. That would go a long way to keep militias from having access to military arms. Millions of dollars worth of weapons and munitions go missing from national guard armories every year.”
“Funneled to militias?” Alexei asked.
“Absolutely. Further, military personnel who get caught belonging to or arming a militia? Automatic dishonorable discharge and time in the brig. Back in North Caroline when I took on the White Patriot Party, I found out Marines from Camp LeJeune were training them.”
“Can’t military commanders do something about that?” Mai asked.
“Of course they can discipline, but I don’t think that’s enough. I believe the same should be true of law enforcement officers—you cannot be a militia member. Finally, law enforcement needs to be better informed about the dangers militias pose.”
“Rather the point of our work,” Alexei said.
Ball’s eyes narrowed again. “How will you be doing that?”
Alexei’s smile was as charming as usual. “The U.N. does create a lot of wordy reports.”
Ball’s suspicion was easy to read, but he said, “Remember something important: We must strike a balance between security needs and First Amendment rights.”
“How?” Alexei asked.
“We track explosives. Why not track people who advocate blowing up things through public means, not in secret? Look at what people do in public on the internet. Some of these militia and patriot groups were the first to make wide use of computer bulletin boards and chat rooms, fax networks. Now they’re putting the internet to the same use. Law enforcement at all levels should have access to that public data, and they need to share intelligence better.”
“Wouldn’t a crackdown on militias fuel their paranoia?” Mai asked.
“Who’s cracking down? I said, look at public postings. These fringe groups forget they have a much more powerful weapon of change than pistols and rifles. The ballot box.”
“Given their penchant for weaponry, would taking on these groups pose a personal risk?” Mai asked.
“Yes, as I’m well aware. After I shut down that paramilitary force in Texas, someone smashed every window in my offices there. I was on The Order’s hit list. The White Patriot Party threatened to dismember my wife and rape my children. The threats are a price I’m willing to pay if it brings attention to these thugs. Doing nothing encourages the bullies.”
“You’ve explained the concept of differentiating between behavior and beliefs,” Alexei said. “I was raised in a system where behavior in the form of slavish devotion to a system or a person often meant more than beliefs. You’ve reminded me of something Dr. King once said. ‘Morality cannot be legislated, but behavior can be regulated. Judicial decrees may not change the heart, but they can restrain the heartless.’”
Mai watched him as he spoke, his depth of intellect a reminder he was so much more than he appeared to be. He’d been part of her life for almost half of it, and though that vexed her at times, she couldn’t imagine his not being here.
He turned to look at her and gave her a fleeting smile.
Norton Ball caught the interplay between the two people in his office. There was more to them than his friends in the FBI had related. They were certainly more than partners, as they’d termed it. On the man’s part, there was affection for the woman. Of the woman, he couldn’t be sure. She was sharp, engaging, but her eyes were cold and empty.
Mai turned to him, sober-faced, and asked, “Why has the mainstream interest in these groups increased lately?”
“Lack of information and good marketing by the militias. They’ve learned to choose their spokespersons well. You won’t see some gun-toting manic on TV. You’ll see a businessman or a family man who talks about freedom and safety. However, the nut jobs are out there. Just listen to talk radio.”
“Right-wing talk radio is beyond disturbing,” Alex said.
“That’s putting it mildly. It’s the same tired rhetoric they’ve always spewed, but before it was limited to a few, late-night shortwave radio broadcasts, not syndicated shows sponsored by companies everyone is familiar with. Someday, some wacko who listens to that crap, that so-called ‘balanced’ reporting is going to do something horrific. The absurdity is he’ll think he’ll get support from high places.
“Now, the government’s not perfect. You saw a recent example. Nixon sent the IRS after me. But I’ve also sued the state, local, and federal entities for violating civil rights, and every single goddamned time I went into court I relied on the U.S. Constitution. With that kind of power, who needs a militia? You heard of William Pierce?”
“Yes.”
“An avowed fascist and Nazi. He sits safe and sound on his whites-only West Virginia mountaintop, exercising his First Amendment freedoms. No one touches him. You know what he had to say about tolerating dissent against his beliefs? ‘Those who speak against us now should be looked at as dead men rather than as persons to be feared or respected or given any consideration.’ So much for freedom of speech in his version of America.”
The woman studied him with those flat eyes. When she spoke, it was as blunt as he’d come to expect.
“Perhaps because of what I’ve seen in my U.N. work, the abuses of the British in Northern Ireland, warlords in Yugoslavia, I can understand the desire for some additional check against an unbridled power.”
“That’s corrupt individuals, not a whole government.”
Her smile was indulgent. “You need to study the Balkans,” she said. “An entire government can be corrupt.”
“Anytime you give ordinary people extraordinary power, someone is bound to abuse it. The American system of checks and balances won’t allow Balkanization here. Now, we did see, with Watergate, individuals covered up wrong-doing, but the law got them. Except for that one big fish, of course. Remember, too, most of the people involved in the patriot movement are good Americans with gripes against the government, some of them justified. In our minds, though, we need to distinguish between them and those who would exploit their anger to foment violence. We have to show them for what they are: gun-crazy racists who believe in rule by the gun and swift elimination of anyone who opposes them.”
“How?” she asked.
“When they offer up some twisted, anti-Semitic interpretation of the Bible, the local minister or priest must counter that from the pulpit. People like you and me should publicly expose the links between the militias and white supremacists, not to mention neo-Nazis. Apply that standard to all racists, whether it’s Aryan Nation or Nation of Islam. Stop spreading the lie the Constitution is the word of God. Respect everyone’s views, yes, but there’s no place for those who’d impose their views at gunpoint. A true patriot votes rather than marches with militias.”
He sat back in his chair again. He’d done most of the talking, but he was a lawyer. He saw no reaction on their faces, nothing at all.
“Let’s take a break,” Ball said. “I need to return some phone calls and deal with a lawyer’s inevitable paperwork. Can y’all come back after lunch?”
45
Dark and Dangerous Roads
Alexei Bukharin was more than happy when Norton Ball concluded the afternoon discussion. The picture the lawyer had painted was far too bleak. Quotes from white supremacists he’d challenged in court, staggering numbers of militia membership and higher than the FBI’s projections, overt racism, illegal influencing of juries, and a trend The Directorate’s analysts had already noted: the different groups were coming together to form a network of anti-govern
ment zealots.
Mai sopped the dismal information up, but Alexei had tuned most of it out. He refocused when Ball handed Mai a thick file folder. “That’s yours,” Ball said. “Compare the pictures and profiles in there with FBI surveillance photos from Killeen. You’ll see what I mean.”
Mai’s mouth turned down. “That says to me the FBI, despite what some have said to me, are aware of the potential danger.”
“Aware and prepared are two different things.” Ball grew silent, his eyes flicking between them again. “Look, you two raise a big old red flag with me.”
“How so?” Alexei asked.
“You’re both armed. My security folks taught me how to spot that.”
“We’re allowed to protect ourselves.”
“We uncover abuses and corruption,” Mai said. “People don’t like that. You must not have been too worried. You’ve spent several hours with us.”
“I vetted you well. The thing is, I’m a big believer in letting these nut jobs exercise their rights and using their Constitutional protections. How else can they see the system works? And I like them out in the open where people can see their hate. Pardon me if I have concerns about your next steps in obtaining information on them.”
“We’re here, learning from you, not wiretapping them or leading armed assaults against them,” Mai said. “And you’ve used people to infiltrate these groups. We haven’t.”
Yet, Alexei thought.
“Touché,” Ball said. “Well, this has been quite the data dump. I may have lost my voice. What else?”
“If we were to slip into one of these organizations for a first-hand look, which one would you suggest?” Alexei asked, ignoring Mai’s surprised expression.
“None of them. Too dangerous,” Ball said.
“As my partner mentioned, you’ve sent people in deep.”
“They were all volunteers, and I always drew the line at the more dangerous groups. Now that they’re cooperating, it’s too risky.”
