"Look around you And what do you see? What is the result of this so-called democracy, thisso-called^reedom, this so-called liberty? Oppression, persecution, slaughter. Brothers, you can seeit on national television every day, every evening, every nightl Chaos, disorder, confusion. They arenot ashamed or embarrassed or self-consciousl They don't try to hide, to conceal, to disguise. Theyknow as we know: the entire world is in a turmoil! Everywhere men indulge in prurience,promiscuity, profligacy, vice, corruption and indulgence. The entire world is affected by a diseaseknown as Kufr the state of rejection of the oneness of the Creator refusing to acknowledge theinfinite blessings of the Creator. And on this day, i December 1992,1 bear witness that there isnothing worthy of worship besides the sole Creator, no partner unto Him. On this day we shouldknow that whosoever the Creator has guided cannot be misguided, and whosoever he hasmisguided from the straight path shall not return to the straight path until the Creator puts guidancein his heart and brings him to the light. I will now begin my third lecture, which I call "IdeologicalWarfare", and that means I will explain for those that don't understand the war of these things .. .

　　these ideologies, against the Brothers of KEVIN.. . ideology means a kind of brainwashing . and weare being indoctrinated, fooled and brainwashed, my Brothers! So I will try to elucidate, explainand expoundNo one in the hall was going to admit it, but Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah was no greatspeaker, when you got down to it. Even if you overlooked his habit of using three words where onewould do, of emphasizing the last word of such triplets with his see-saw Caribbean inflections,even if you ignored these aseverybody tried to, he was still physically disappointing. He had a small sketchy beard, ahunched demeanour, a repertoire of tense, inept gesticulations and a vague look of Sidney Poitierabout him which did not achieve quite the similitude to command any serious respect. And he wasshort. On this point, Millat felt most let down. There was a tangible dissatisfaction in the hall whenBrother Hifan finished his fulsome introductory speech and the famous but diminutive BrotherIbrahim ad-Din Shukrallah crossed the room to the podium. Not that anyone would require an alimof Islam to be a towering height, or indeed for a moment dare to suggest that the Creator had notmade Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah precisely the height that He, in all his holy omnipotence,had selected. Still, one couldn't help thinking, as Hifan awkwardly lowered the microphone and theBrother Ibrahim awkwardly stretched to meet it, you couldn't help thinking, in the Brother's veryown style of third-word emphasis: five foot Jive.

　　The other problem with Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah, the biggest problem perhaps, washis great affection for tautology. Though he promised explanation, elucidation and exposition,linguistically he put one in mind of a dog chasing its own tail: "Now there are many types ofwarfare ... I will name a few. Chemical warfare is the warfare where them men kill each otherchemically with warfare. This can be a terrible warfare. Physical warfare! That is the warfare withphysical weapons in which people kill each other physically. Then there is germ warfare in which aman, he knows that he's carrying the virus of HIV and he goes to the country and spreads his germon the loose women of that country and creates germ warfare. Psychological warfare, that is one ofthe most evil, the war where they try to psychologically defeat you. This is called psychologicalwarfare. But ideological warfare! That is the sixth warfare which is the worst warfareAnd yet Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah was no less thanthe founder of KEVIN, an impressive man with a formidable reputation. Born Monty ClydeBenjamin in Barbados in 1960, the son of two poverty-stricken barefoot Presbyterian dypsomaniacs,he converted to Islam after a Vision' at the age of fourteen. Aged eighteen he fled the lush green ofhis homeland for the desert surrounding Riyadh and the books that line the walls of Al-ImamMuhammad ibn Saud Islamic University. There he studied Arabic for five years, becamedisillusioned with much of the Islamic clerical establishment, and first expressed his contempt forwhat he called 'religious secularists', those foolish ula ma who attempt to separate politics fromreligion. It was his belief that many radical modern political movements were relevant to Islam andmoreover were to be found in the Qur'an if one looked closely enough. He wrote several pamphletson this matter, only to find that his own radical opinions were not welcome in Riyadh. He wasconsidered a troublemaker and his life threatened 'numerous, countless, innumerable times'. So in1984, wishing to continue his study, Brother Ibrahim came to England, locked himself in his aunt'sBirmingham garage and spent five more years in there, with only the Qur'an and the fascicles ofEndless Bliss for company. He took his food in through the cat-flap, deposited his shit and piss in aCoronation biscuit tin and passed it back out the same way, and did a thorough routine of press-upsand sit-ups to prevent muscular atrophy. The Selly Oak Reporter wrote regular bylines on himduring this period, nicknaming him "The Guru in the Garage' (in view of the large BirminghamMuslim population, this was thought preferable to the press-desk favoured suggestion, "The Loonyin the Lock-Up') and had their fun interviewing his bemused aunt, one Carlene Benjamin, a devotedmember of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

　　These articles, cruel, mocking and offensive, had been written by one Norman Henshall andwere now classics of their kind, distributed amongst KB VIN members throughout England as anexample (if example were needed) of the virulent, anti-KEVINelement that bred in the press from even this foetal stage of their movement. Note KEVINmembers were advised note how Henshall's articles end halfway through May '87, the very monththat Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah succeeded in converting his aunt Carlene through thecat-flap using nothing else but the pure truth as it was delivered by the final prophet Muhammad(peace be upon Him!). Note how Henshall fails to document the queues of people who came tospeak with Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah, so many they stretched three blocks round thecentre of Selly Oak, from the cat-flap to the bingo hall! Note the failure of this same Mr. Henshallto publish the 637 separate rules and laws that the Brother had spent five years gleaning from theQur'an (listing them in order of severity, and then in subgroups according to their nature, i.e."Regarding Cleanliness and Specific Genital and Oral Hygiene). Note all this, brothers and sisters,and then marvel at the power of word of mouth. Marvel at the dedication and commitment of theyoung people of Birmingham!

　　Their eagerness and enthusiasm was so remarkable (extraordinary, outstanding, unprecedented)that almost before the Brother emerged from his confinement and announced it himself, the idea ofKEVIN had been born within the black and Asian community. A radical new movement wherepolitics and religion were two sides of the same coin. A group that took freely from Garveyism, theAmerican Civil Rights movement and the thought of Elijah Muhammed, yet remained within theletter of the Qur'an. The Keepers of the Eternal and Victorious Islamic Nation. By 1992 they were asmall but widespread body, with limbs as far-flung as Edinburgh and Land's End, a heart in SellyOak and a soul in the Kilburn High Road. KEVIN: an extremist faction dedicated to direct, oftenviolent action, a splinter group frowned on by the rest of the Islamic community; popular with thesixteen to twenty-five age group; feared and ridiculed in the press; and gathered tonight in theKilburn Hall, standing on chairsand packed to the rafters, listening to the speech of their founder.

　　"There are three things," continued Brother Ibrahim, looking briefly at his notes, 'that thecolonial powers wish to do to you, brothers of KEVIN. Firstly, they wish to kill you spiritually .. .

　　oh yes, they value nothing higher than your mental slavery. There are too many of you to fighthand-to-hand! But if they have your minds, then ' "Hey," went a fat man's attempt at a whisper.

　　"Brother Millat."It was Mohammed Hussein-Ishmael, the butcher. He was sweating profusely as ever, and hadforced his way through a long line of people apparently to sit next to Millat. They were distantlyrelated, and these past few months Mo had been rapidly nearing the inner circle of KEVIN (Hifan,Millat, Tyrone, Shiva, Abdul-Colin and others) by virtue of the money he had put forward and hisstated interest in the more 'active' sides of the group. Personally, Millat was still a little suspiciousof him and objected to his big slobbery face, the great quiff emerging from his toki and hischicken-breath.

　　"Late. I have to close up shop. But I been standing at the back for while. Listening. BrotherIbrahim is a very impressive man, hmm?""Hmm.""Very impressive," repeated Mo, patting Millat's knee conspiratorially, 'a very impressiveBrother." Mo Hussein was partly funding Brother Ibrahim's tour around England, so it was in hisinterest (or at least it made him feel better about donating two thousand quid) to find the Brotherimpressive. Mo was a recent convert to KEVIN (he had been a reasonably good Muslim for twentyyears), and his enthusiasm for the group was two pronged. Firstly, he was just flattered, downrightflattered, that he should be considered sufficiently successful a Muslim businessman to poncemoney off. In normal circumstances he would have shown them the door and where they couldstuff a freshly bled chicken, but the truth was, Mo was feeling a bit vulnerableat the time, his stringy-legged Irish wife, Sheila, having just left him for a publican; he wasfeeling a little emasculated, so when KEVIN asked Ardashir for five grand and got it, and Nadirfrom the rival hal al place put up three, Mo came over all macho and put up his own stake.

　　The second reason for Mo's conversion was more personal. Violence. Violence and theft. Foreighteen years Mo had owned the most famous hal al butchers in North London, so famous that hehad been able to buy the next door property and expand into a sweetshop butchers And in thisperiod in which he ran the two establishments, he had been a victim of serious physical attacks androbbery, without fail, three times a year. Now, that figure doesn't include the numerous punches tothe head, quick smacks with a crowbar, shifty kicks in the groin or anything else that failed to drawblood. Mo didn't even phone his wife, no matter the police, to report those. No: serious violence.

　　Mo had been knifed a total of five times (Ah), lost the tips of three fingers (Eeeesh), had both legsand arms broken (Oaooow), his feet set on fire (jiii), his teeth kicked out (ka-too of and an air-gunbullet (ping) embedded in his thankfully fleshy posterior. Boof. And Mo was a big man. A big manwith attitude. The beatings had in no way humbled him, made him watch his mouth or walk with astoop. He gave as good as he got. But this was one man against an army. There was nobody whocould help. The very first time, when he received a hammer blow to his ribs in January 1970, henaively reported it to the local constabulary and was rewarded by a late-night visit from fivepolicemen who gave him a thorough kicking. Since then, violence and theft had become a regularpart of his existence, a sad spectator sport watched by the old Muslim men and young Muslimmothers who came in to buy their chicken, and hurried out shortly afterwards, scared they might benext. Violence and theft. The culprits ranged from secondary school children coming in the cornershop side to buy sweets (which is why Mo only allowed one child from Glenard Oak inat a time. Of course it made no difference, they just took turns beating the shit out of him solo),decrepit drunks, teenage thugs, the parents of teenage thugs, general fascists, specific neo-Nazis,the local snooker team, the darts team, the football team and huge posses of mouthy, white-skirtedsecretaries in deadly heels. These various people had various objections to him: he was a Paki (trytelling a huge drunk Office Superworld check-out boy that you're Bangladeshi); he gave half hiscorner shop up to selling weird Paki meat; he had a quiff; he liked Elvis ("You like Elvis, then? Doyer? Eh, Paki? Do yer?"); the price of his cigarettes; his distance from home ("Why don't you goback to your own country?" "But then how will I serve you cigarettes?" Boo/); or just the look onhis face. But they all had one thing in common, these people. They were all white. And this simplefact had done more to politicize Mo over the years than all the party broadcasts, rallies and petitionsthe world could offer. It had brought him more securely within the fold of his faith than even avisitation from the angel Jabrail could have achieved. The last straw, if it could be called that, camea month before joining KEVIN, when three white 'youths' tied him up, kicked him down the cellarsteps, stole all his money and set fire to his shop. Double-jointed hands (the result of many brokenwrists) got him out of that one. But he was tired of almost dying. When KEVIN gave Mo a leafletthat explained there was a war going on, he thought: no shit. At last someone was speaking hislanguage. Mo had been in the front line of that war for eighteen years. And KEVIN seemed tounderstand that it wasn't enough his kids doing well, going to a nice school, having tennis lessons,too pale skinned to ever have a hand laid on them in their lives. Good. But not good enough. Hewanted a little payback. For himself. He wanted Brother Ibrahim to stand on that podium anddissect Christian culture and Western morals until it was dust in his hands. He wanted thedegenerate nature of these people explained to him. He wanted to know the history of it and thepolitics of it and theroot cause. He wanted to see their art exposed and their science exposed, and their tastesexposed and their distastes. But words would never be enough; he'd heard so many words (If youcould just file a report.. . If you wouldn't mind telling us precisely what the attacker looked like),and they were never as good as action. He wanted to know why these people kept on beating theshit out of him. And then he wanted to go and beat the shit out of some of these people.

　　"Very impressive, Millat, hey? Everything we hope for.""Yeah," said Millat, despondent. "I s'pose. Less talk, more action, though, if you ask me. Theinfidel are everywhere."Mo nodded vigorously. "Oh definitely, Brother. We are two birds from the same bush on thatmatter. I hear there are some others," said Mo, lowering his voice and putting his fat, sweaty lips byMillat's ear, 'who are very keen on action. Immediate action. Brother Hifan spoke to me. About the31st of December. And Brother Shiva and Brother Tyrone"Yes, yes. I know who they are. They are the beating heart ofKEVIN.""And they say you know the man himself this scientist. You in good position. I hear you are hisfriend.""Was. Was.""Brother Hifan says you have the tickets to get in, that you are organizing'

　　"Shhh," said Millat irritably. "Not everyone can know. If you want to get near the centre, you'vegot to keep shtoom."Millat looked Mo up and down. The kurta-pyjamas that he somehow managed to make looklike a late seventies Elvis flared jumpsuit. The huge stomach he rested on his knee like a friend.

　　Sharply, he asked, "You're a bit old aren't you?""You rude little bastard. I'm strong as a bloody bull.""Yeah, well, we don't need strength," said Millat tapping his temple, 'we need a little of the stuffupstairs. We've got to get in the place discreetly first, in nit The first evening. It'll be crawling."Mo blew his nose in his hand. "I can be discreet.""Yeah, but that means keeping shtoom.""And the third thing," said Brother Ibrahim ad-Din Shukrallah, interrupting them, suddenlylouder and buzzing the PA system, 'the third thing they will try to do, is to convince you that it ishuman intellect and not Allah that is omnipotent, unlimited, all-powerful. They will try to convinceyou that your minds are not to be used to pronounce the greater glory of the Creator but to raiseyourselves up equal to or beyond the Creator! And now we approach the most serious business ofthis evening. The greatest evil of the infidel is here, in this very borough of Brent. I will tell you,and you will not believe it, Brothers, but there is a man in this very community who believes thathe can improve upon the creation of Allah. There is a man who presumes to change, adjust, modifywhat has been decreed. He will take an animal an animal that Allah has created and presume tochange that creation. To create a new animal that has no name but is simply an abomination. Andwhen he has finished with that small animal, a mouse, Brothers, when he has finished he will moveto sheep, and cats and dogs. And who in this lawless society will stop him from one day creating aman? A man born not of woman but from a man's intellect alone! And he will tell you that it ismedicine .. . but KEVIN makes no complaint against medicine. We are a sophisticated communitywho count many doctors amongst us, my Brothers. Don't be misled, deluded, fooled. This is notmedicine. And my question to you, Brothers of KEVIN, is who will make the sacrifice and stop thisman? Who will stand up alone in the name of the Creator, and show the modernists that theCreator's laws still exist and are eternal? Because they will try and tell you, the modernists, thecynics, the Orientalists, that there are no more beliefs, that our history, our culture, our world isover. So thinks this scientist. That is why he so confidently presumes. But he will soon understandwhat is truly meant by last days. So who will show him '

　　"Yes, shtoom, yes, I understand," said Mo, speaking to Millat, but looking straight ahead as in aspy movie.

　　Millat looked around the room and saw that Hifan was giving him the eye, so he gave it toShiva, who gave it to Abdul-Jimmy and Abdul-Colin, to Tyrone and the rest of the Kilburn crew,who were stationed by the walls as stewards at particular points in the room. Hifan gave Millat theeye once more, then he looked at the back room. Discreet movement began.

　　"Something is happening?" whispered Mo, spotting the men with the green steward sashes,making their way through the crowds.

　　"Come into the office," said Millat.

　　"OK, so, I think the key thing here is to come at the issue from two sides. Because it is a matterof straight laboratory torture and we can certainly play that to the gallery, but the central emphasishas to go to the anti-patent argument. Because that's really an angle we can work. And if we lay ouremphasis there, then there are a number of other groups we can call upon the NCGA, the OHNO,etc." and Crispin's been in touch with them. Because, you know, we haven't really dealt in this areaextensively before, but it's clearly a key issue I think Crispin's going to talk to us about that in moredepth in a minute but for now, I just want to talk about the public support we have here. I mean,particularly the recent press, even the tabloid element have really come up trumps on this .. . there'sa lot of bad feeling regarding the patenting of living organisms ... I think people feel veryuncomfortable, rightly, with that concept, and it's really up to F A The E to play on that, and reallyget a comprehensive campaign together, so if.. ."Ah, Joely.Joely'Joely'Joefy. Joshua knew he should be listening, but looking was so good.

　　Looking at Joely was great. The way she sat (on a table, knees pulled up to chest), the way shelooked up from her notes (kittenishly!), the way the air whistled between her gappy front teeth, the wayshe continuously tucked her straggly blonde hair behind her ear with one hand and tapped out arhythm on her huge Doc Martens with the other. Blonde hair aside, she looked a lot like his motherwhen young: those fulsome English lips, ski-jump nose, big hazel eyes. But the face, spectacular asit might be, was mere decoration to top off the most luxurious body in the world. Long in all itslines, muscular in the thigh and soft in the stomach, with breasts that had never known a bra butwere an utter delight, and a bottom which was the platonic ideal of all English bottomrey, flat yetpeachy, wide but welcoming. Plus she was intelligent. Plus she was devoted to her cause. Plus shedespised his father. Plus she was ten years older (which suggested to Joshua all kinds of sexualexpertise he couldn't even imagine without getting an enormous hard-on right now right here in themiddle of the meeting). Plus she was the most wonderful woman Joshua had ever met. Oh, Joely!

　　"As I see it, what we have to impress upon people is this idea of setting a precedent. You know,the "What next?" kind of argument and I understand Kenny's PO V, that that's way too simplistic atake on it but I have to argue, I think it's necessary, and we'll put it to a vote in a minute. Is that allright, Kenny? If I can just get on ... right? Right. Where was I ... precedent. Because, if it can beargued that the animal under experimentation is owned by any group of people, i.e." it is not a catbut effectively an invention with-cat-like-qualities, then that very cleverly and very dangerouslyshort-circuits the work of animal rights groups and that leads to a pretty fucking scary vision of thefuture. Umm ... I want to bring Crispin in here, to talk a little more about that."Of course the cunt of it was, Joely was married to Crispin. And the double-cunt of it was, theirswas a marriage of true love, total spiritual bonding and dedicated political union. Fan-fuckingtastic.

　　Even worse, amongst the members of FATE, Joely's andCrispin's marriage served as a kind of cosmogony, an originating myth that explained succinctlywhat people could and should be, how the group began and how it should proceed in the future.

　　Though Joely and Crispin didn't encourage ideas of leadership or any kind of icon worship, it hadhappened anyway, they were worshipped. And they were indivisible. When Joshua first joined thegroup, he had tried to sniff out a little information on the couple, get the low-down on his chances.

　　Were they wobbly? Had the harsh nature of their business driven them apart? Fat chance. He wastold the whole depressing fable by two seasoned FATE activists over some pints in the Spotted Dog:

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