SOUNDS OF SILENCE

Still, that misses a big point: If it were the police who had wanted to catch the Quigleys plotting a conspiracy, they would have had to ask a judge for a warrant. As private citizens, the Aronsons are relieved of that legal burden. (If it were a police officer who suggested they tape the conversations, however, a warrant would be required and the Aronsons' tapes probably would not stand as evidence, the DA's Terrett says.)

Whether the Aronsons' tapes will be accepted as evidence will be decided as the case winds its way through federal district court. In the meantime, the Quigleys have fired back. In a December 29 court filing, Horowitz announced his intention to challenge the constitutionality of the state's ethnic-intimidation statute under which William and Dee Quigley and a neighbor, Joy Mudd, have been charged.

Colorado's ethnic-intimidation law has been around since 1988, when it was passed in the wake of the murder of Alan Berg, a Jewish radio talk-show host. Tim Tymkovich, Colorado's solicitor general, says 35 other states have similar laws.

Two hate-crime laws have been challenged in state supreme courts. The first, in Minnesota, was struck down in 1992 because it proscribed specific actions the court held as expressions of free speech--cross-burning, for instance. The second, in Wisconsin, was upheld unanimously in 1993.

Tymkovich explains that such laws are meant to enhance other criminal charges. A person charged with intimidation based on his victim's race, for example, faces a stiffer penalty than someone who harassed a victim indiscriminately.

That means the Aronsons must prove first that the Quigleys did something--or at least were seriously planning to do something, i.e., a conspiracy--and were not just blowing off steam. Then they must prove they did it because the Aronsons are Jewish and because the Quigleys hate Jews.

A hearing on the criminal charges against the Quigleys is scheduled for January 20.