the government, the police and councilmen, to live right herernin the community,” concludes Al-lkhlas. Moor goes further,rnstriking an almost Tolstoyan note: “If we’re all following andrnsubmitting to the will of God . . . then you don’t need government.”rnHilder, a philosophical anarchist, is quick to agree.rnThis is not to sav that any of this will last. Moor, for one, hasrncooled to the idea of black-white cooperation. When I calledrnhim to discuss this story, he was unenthusiastic. “I don’t talk tornthe white media no more,” he told me gruffly. “Every time werntalk to Whitey, something happens.” The militias “seem sincere,”rnhe continued, “but you have to wonder what their hiddenrnagenda is, who’s pulling their strings.” There’s alwavs thernchance that “behind closed doors, we’re still niggers to them.rnI’m not necessarily talking about Anthony [Hilder], but sometimesrn1 don’t even know where he’s coming from.” After all,rn”They’re getting too much pub’ from the white media. . . . Afterrnthey overthrow the overlords, maybe they’ll start lording itrnover people of color.”rnAl-Ikhlas—a black and a Muslim, but not a Black Muslim—rnremains tolerant, but even he has his doubts. “When militiarnpeople talk about ‘the good old days,’ I want to ask them, ‘Howrnfar does the militia want to go back?'” Despite this, he rejectsrnthe popular image of a movement dominated by whiternsupremacists. “The media portray it differently than what it reallyrnis,” he says.rnThe alliance that remains is determined to stick it out, andrnto propagate its message as far as it can. Islam has been busyrnproducing an album on Warner Brothers for a rap/rock supergrouprncalled the Bubbleheads, a CD he promises will include arntrove of conspiracy lore. In the meantime, Hilder has recordedrna rap of his own, a catchy number called “Ordo Ab Chao.” Andrnif the vision it expresses seems a little, er, apocalyptic . . .rnMasonic mind manipulationrnInciting riots, it’s crisis creationrnBiochip implantationrnVaccinate your kid for U.N. identificationrn. . . the wake-up message behind the X-Files motifs is still loudrnand clear:rnThey’ve numbed us down and dumbed us downrnWith TV, drugs, the NEA, and public schools.rnThey’ve taken your brightest and our bestrnAnd made them public fools.rnCast the tired old labels aside. Erom here on out, things onlyrnget stranger. ?rnThe Sign of the Crossrnby Hayden HeadrnGrief has no order unless one regardsrnThe gasping spasms of pain as rhythmic;rnGrief is not fooled by garden-like graveyards—rnThe form is false, the truth cataclysmic.rnOne mother’s son has grown wild and angry:rnHe ranges the night with his savage friends.rnAt home his mother prays the rosary,rn”Hail, Mary, full . . . “A distant siren sendsrnA long shudder of cold and certain dreadrnThrough her ephemeral murmur of prayer.rnShe makes the sign of the cross, bows her head.rnAnd weeps the wracking rhythm of despair.rnFull of grief, she tried to inscribe the air.rnBut she will stroke his brow and blood-stained hair.rnMARCH 1996/27rnrnrn