If they're coming to get me, Condom Lady thought as she peeled off her last layer of clothes, then they're going to have to take me in the nude.

It was a quiet April night in West Philadelphia, the streets lined with tidy houses, whitewashed porch swings swaying in the breeze. In an attic that had been converted into a radio studio, the standoff began; Condon Lady, A.K.A. Diane Imelda Fleming, thirtyish, with spiky brown hair and long freckled legs, prepped her makeshift studio, lighting candles, checking her equipment. Taking a seat behind the panel of radio dials, she wiggled a few knobs and crackled the transmitter into life.

"This is the very naked Condom Lady sitting in the studio," she purred into the microphone, "feeling very exposed."

Though she'd sat in this room every Thursday night for a year and a half, this was her first time naked. The metal folding chair felt a bit colder than she had expected, but Condom Lady was prepared to stick it out. After all, this was war. Twice in the past two weeks the Federal Communications Commission had ordered her low-power broadcasting station, WPPR, 91.3 F.M., "Radio Mutiny," to shut down, but she and her fellow broadcasters had refused. The feds never showed that night. A few months later, however, on June 22, 1998, they arrived in a van with a warrant, broke doen the door, cut wires, seized equipment, and shut down the station for good.

For Condom Lady and her colleagues at Radio Mutiny, an ongoing war between the F.C.C. and thousands of "microbroadcasters" had finally hit home. Over the past two years, the F.C.C. has used taxpayer dollars to bust scores of low-power radio stations, contending that the unlicensed broadcasters are "pirates" who interfere with sanctioned broadcasts and airline communication. For their part, the "pirates" argue that interference ins't the issue. In Radio Mutiny's two years of operation, no one had ever complained about airwave disturbance. A 20-watt station, its signal could reach only a few miles in any event. And while sometimes controversial-it was the only station in Pennsylvania to broadcast the death-row commentaries of convicted cop killer Mumia Abu-Jamal - Radio Mutiny provided a forum for a diverse group that can't afford tens of thousands of dollars to get licensed. Every day the station's volunteers would broadcast a varitey of programs: alternative music, community news, political commentary, and, of course, Condom Lady's health and sexuality show, "Sweey City Sensation."

Off the air but undaunted, Condom Lady and the Mutiny crew vow continued resistance. "The F.C.C. cannot declare victory over a movement that has the power to reshape and relocate like we do," she says. And along with hundreds of pirates across the country, they are determined to fight for their cause. Micropower to the people, the airwaves should be free.

But according to the F.C.C., the Corporation for Public Broadcasting and the national Association of Broadcasters - the group that represents the majority of the country's commercial radio and TV stations - freedom is not the point. "All spectrum management is based on the question of interference," says David Fiske, deputy director of public affairs for the F.C.C. Pirates can interfere with airline or emergency-vehicle radios, as well as commercial broadcasts, he declares. The public's safety is at risk - as are corporate advertising revenues.

Why the sudden concern? Because the number of pirate radio outlets has hit an all-time high. With the cost of gear dropping to less than $2,000 per setup, thousands of radio rebels are transmitting over unoccupied airwaves. Even rock supergroup Pearl Jam has got into the act, sponsoring pirate broadcasts of concerts and interviews from an orange van that trails the band on the road. But, the F.C.C. warns, the pirates' days are numbered. And the pace of shutdowns is picking up. According to the most recent available numbers, 70 pirate stations were "visited" by the F.C.C. in the first half of 1998, compared to 100 throughout all of 1997. During one week last August alone, the F.C.C. shut sown 15 station in Miami - the largest single bloc of raids in pirate history. And last October in Los Angeles, KBLT, a popular 40-watt haven for alt rockers like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Glen Danzig, and Mike Watt, was shut down after three years of operation. With great fanfare, some of the most famous pirates on the scene have been busted - sometimes at gunpoint by federal marshals who accompany the raids. If the F.C.C. and the N.A.B. have their way, the airwaves will be rescued from pirates and returned to corporate control.

The airwaves once were free. Back in the early days of radio, in the 1920s, unregulated transmissions were the norm, for better and worse. Competing broadcasters would sometimes jam up the same frequencies, muscling one another for airwave space. Finally, commercial stations asked the government to intervene; with the Communication Act of 1934, the F.C.C. was created to tame the wild waves. The power to divvy up the radio spectrum was in Uncle Sam's hands.

In the late seventies both the C.P.B. and the N.A.B. began lobbying the F.C.C. for a crackdown on mom-and-pop broadcasters. To pave the way for an array of National Public Radio stations, the C.P.B. wanted the airwaves clear of plebeian competition. As Ted Coltman, the C.P.B.'s executive director of strategic planning, says today, microbroadcasting is "sandbox radio, and we should make sure it stays in the sandbox." For its part, the N.A.B. saw microbroadcasters as nuisances, but nuisances that presented a potential threat to profits. In 1978 the F.C.C. officially limited licensed stations to a minimum of 100 watts. The only exception would be made for "translator" stations, low-power affiliates of major stations that broadcast in remote areas. (Maybe interference wasn't such an issue after all.) With start-up costs for a fully operational, licensed station running in the neighborhood of $100,000, the great unwashed were locked out of the airwaves. At least officially. With just a turntable, a tape deck, a small F.M. transmitter, and a Radio Shack antenna, anyone could still broadcast on an unoccupied frequency. Soon, a swell of airwave activists began building makeshift studios. In city after city, low-power stations sprang up, many focusing on inner-city issues that are ignored by commercial and public radio. Microstations devoted to rock 'n' roll, poetry, politics, and local immigrant communites took to the air. Other stations featured assorted pariahs: white supremacists, "patriot" militias, biker gangs, S&M and B&D enthusiasts. Every voice could find an audience.

But this self-engendered freedom carries heavy risks: civil fines of up to $10,000 a day and possible criminal sanctions of up to $100,000. And the F.C.C. is always listening, monitoring the airwaves. After identifying a pirate and issuing a warning, F.C.C. investigators can obtain a warrant and seize any equipment related to the broadcasts. Consider the case of Stephen Dunifer, the founder of Free Radio Berkeley, who for five years topped the F.C.C.'s "Most-Wanted Pirate" list. A self-described "philosophical anarchist" and electronics hobbyist, he launched his small 50-watt station in 1993. "Free Radio Berkeley is part of an ever-growing micropower broadcasting movement to liberate the airwaves," he proclaimed, "and break the corporate broadcast nedia's stranglehold on the free flow of news, information, ideas, and cultural and artistic creativity."

Dubbed the Johnny Appleseed of free radio by The New York Times, Dunifer has traveled to Haiti and Mexico to set up microstations, and he created a Website to educate the public and distribute inexpensive radio kits. For microbroadcasters all around the world, he's a cause celebre. But don't ever call him a pirate.

"Pirates are engaged in felonious activity, appropriating things that don't belong to them," Dunifer says in a soft but resonant voice. "We're engaged, not in felonious activity, but free speach. If pirate should be applied to anyone, it's the media broadcasting corporations who have solen yet another resource - the airwaves - aided and abbetted by the F.C.C. They've enjoyed a legally protected cartel for some time now. In the worst case, we can be charcaterized as attempting to recover stolen property; I feel very strongly that we're not engaged in anything illegal. I'm sure the F.C.C. would have a different opinion." It does. Within a few months of Dunifer's initial broadcast, the F.C.C. slapped him with $20,000 in fines, prompting him to move his operation into the Berkely hills, where he suspended an antenna from a tree. This began a battle that riveted the micropower movement. Securing Dunifer's status as a folk hero, U.S. District Judge Claudia Wilken twice refused to grant the F.C.C. an injunction against Dunifer. The reason: She was considering Dunifer's claim that the F.C.C.'s rules were an unconstitutional restraint on free speech.

Dunifer's lawyers argue that the F.C.C. is merely the enforcer for the N.A.B.'s financial interests. "The N.A.B. has a total monopoly of the airwaves," says Louis Hiken, one of Dunifer's attorneys. "The American public is being denied accersss to the airwaves on the basis of corporations who have a lock on it." Indeed, the numbers appear to confirm Hiken's point. N.A.B. heavyweight CBS/Infinity alone owns and operates more than 160 stations in the 15 largest markets. And while the F.C.C. and the N.A.B. often cite interference problems as the reason for the crackdown on microbroadcasters, neither would provide Penthouse with documentation of complaints by listeners. When pressed, N.A.B. spokesperson John Earnhardt admits that there's something else at stake: money. "Many (Microbroadcasters) are selling advertising," he says, "which cuts into the ad dollars of local stations and their ability to serve their community."

Yet very few microbroadcasters generate any income from their shows. Doug Brewer, a beefy biker who operated Tampa's Party Pirate 102.1 F.M. for seven years under the monaker Craven Moorehead (hint: say the name a few times out loud), says he earned $1,000 per month at most from advertising time sold to local strip clubs and record stores. Chump change for any major station. But that didn't stop Drew Rashbaum, former general manager of the neighboring102.5 F.M., from complaining to the F.C.C.

According to Rashbaum, Brewer's high-octane mix of sex, bikers, and rock 'n' roll was confusing listeners and advertisers. Someone looking for Phil Collins or Mariah Carey on 102.5 might accidentally pick up lesbian strippers on Party Pirate's 102.1 instead. "People would hear (his) profanities and think it was us," Rashbaum explains. "We had advertisers call and say they wouldn't work with us."

Brewer, however, asserts that his raunchy content seldom, if ever, exceeded that of someone like Howard Stern. The real issue, he retorts, was competition. "We hurt some big daddy's pocket," Brewer says. "If you're going to be a radio pirate, my rules are you gotta to in there an kick some commercial station's ass."

It didn't take long for Big Daddy to kick back. At 6:30 A.M. on November 19, 1997, 20 armed men swept through Brewer's front door. A team of federal marshals, local police, and F.C.C. agents forcibly cuffed Brewer and his girlfriend as they lay facedown on the floor. Then they proceeded to dismantle and seize more than $100,000 worth of Brewer's Broadcasting equipment. When Brewer protested, one marshal pulled a gun on his cat. The last thing to come down was Brewer's 150-foot-tall radio antenna, Jolly Roger flag and all. On the same day, F.C.C. officials busted two other Tampa microbroadcasters. One of them, Arthur Kobres, who operated the anti-government Lutz Community Radio 96.7 F.M. for three years, had had his equipment seized once before. This time, however, the feds didnŐt just throw the book at thim, they threw the whole shelf. In February 1998 he was found guilty on 14 counts of unlicensed broadcasting, and faced a possible sentence of 28 years in prison and $3.5 million in fines. (On July 14, 1998, he was sentenced to three years probation, a $7.500 fine, plus six months of home detention, during which he was required to wear an electronic monitoring device.)

The staggering potential sentence in the Kobres case exceeded any threat ever made even to a notorious pirate like Dunifer. At the time, Dunifer felt lucky to have good legal representation and strong community support. Despite the wave of busts, he declared that he was "confident the judge will rule in our favor."

Or so he thought. On June 16, 1998, Free Radio Berkeley was dealt a stunning blow. Because Dunifer had never applied for a broadcasting license, Judge Wilken declined to rule on his free-speech challenged to the F.C.C.'s restrictions. Faced with prosecution and mammoth fines, the "most wanted" pirate was forced to shut down his station. After five years of battles, the F.C.C. declared it had finally won. "This decision represents a great victory for legitimate broadcasters who play by the rules," said N.A.B. president and C.E.O. Edward O. Fritts. "The F.C.C. deserves credit for putting Mr. Dunifer and other broadcast bandits out of business."

Now they were finally going to silence the bandits once and for all.

Or so they thought.

In response to the shutdowns, the micro-radio movement has become unified and more vocal than ever. In April 1998 hundreds of microbroadcasters crashed an N.A.B. convention in Nevada and held a rally they called "Fear and Transmitting in Las Vegas." That same month, in Philadelphia, thousands of supportes of Condom Lady and Radio Mutiny rallied in front of the Liberty Bell to protest the F.C.C.'s actions.

In addition, microbroadcasters continue to press for their freedom on constitutioal grounds. In New York City, members of the Steal This Radio collective, a 20-watt station that broadcasts at 88.7 F.M. from somewhere on the Lower East Side, are suing the government in federal district court because they believe the ban on their broadcasts violates the First Amendment. TheyŐre ready to fight for democratic principles, they say. It's time for the feds and their corporate cronies to walk the plank.

To the astonishment of many microbroadcasting activists, F.C.C. Chairman William Kennard seems to be listening to their greivances. "I have heard and talked to some pirate-radio people and their supporters," Kennard told Radio World magazine in early 1998. "They have a legitimate issue in that there are in some communities, not outlets for expression on the airwaves. And I believe that this is a function in part of the massive consolidation that we are seeing in the broadcast industry." This past January, with Kennard's blessing, the F.C.C. released a proposal to license new 1,000-watt and 100-watt low-power F.M. radio stations, and it sought comment on establishing a third "micro-radio" class at power levels of one to ten watts.

Many micro-radio activists remain skeptical. They say the new licensing will just create more red tape while adding only limited broadcast possibilities. In fact some don't want licenses at all. "With licensing, there's just more control that can be asserted over people," says Dunifer attorney Hiken. The National Lawyers' Guild Committee on Democratic Communications and the Stephen Dunifer Legal Defense Team propose a kinder, gentler micropower environment. Applicants would pay a more "appropriate registration fee" to the F.C.C. (the current fee is $2.500), meet basic technical specifications, and if a station caused interference, it would first be warned and then shut sown if the interference continued. The main goal, they say, is to make the process more affordable and keep microbroadcasting operations relatively independent of the F.C.C.

Nowadays many microbroadcasters are seeking a new outlet: the Internet. For about the same cost as a micropower station, someone can get a computer with special software that will let him or her broadcast audio (and video) in realtime over the Net. Best of all, since the F.C.C. has no jurisdiction over the Internet, there's no risk of predawn raids. Radio4all, an online collective run by micro-radio activists, links the pirate stations across the world. With just a mouse click, someone can call up an audio program of these broadcasts and listen over a home computer.

For Stephen Dunifer, the Internet is a nice outlet, but hardly a solution. "Some homeless person on the street isn't going to be able to listen to us on the Net," he explains. For Dunifer and his compatriots, micropower is about community, about reaching the people, all the people. Many individuals don't have a telephone, let alone a computer. But almost everyone has a radio.