You can't really talk about modern American counterculture without talking about Noxon. It’s a tiny town. In the early 1990s, it became the epicenter of something that still ripples through our news feeds today. John Trochmann, his brother David, and his nephew Randy started something called the Militia of Montana. They didn't just start a club; they basically pioneered the blueprint for the entire modern patriot movement.
People forget how much the world changed between 1992 and 1995.
Before the internet was a household utility, the Militia of Montana (MOM) was reaching people through fax machines and shortwave radio. It sounds primitive now. Back then? It was revolutionary. They were tapped into a very specific kind of anxiety that felt unique to the rural West but soon spread everywhere. If you look at the DNA of almost any modern anti-government group, you’ll find MOM's fingerprints all over it. They weren't just about guns. They were about a worldview.
Why the Militia of Montana took off in the nineties
To understand why a bunch of guys in camouflage in the woods of Montana became national news, you have to look at Ruby Ridge. In 1992, the standoff between Randy Weaver’s family and federal agents in northern Idaho ended in tragedy. John Trochmann was actually there, at the barricades, protesting. He saw the government’s tactical response as a declaration of war against the "common man."
Then came Waco.
The 1993 siege of the Branch Davidian compound in Texas acted like gasoline on a fire. For the Militia of Montana, these weren't just news stories. They were proof of a "New World Order." That phrase gets thrown around a lot now in meme culture, but for the Trochmanns, it was a literal belief that the United Nations was planning to take over the United States. They believed the black helicopters were real. They believed the salt mines were being prepared as concentration camps.
It’s easy to laugh at that now. However, for a farmer in the Midwest losing his land or a logger in the Northwest losing his job to environmental regulations, these theories provided a "why." It gave them an enemy they could name.
The MOM "Catalog" and the business of resistance
Honestly, the Militia of Montana was as much a mail-order business as it was a paramilitary group. They operated out of a post office box in Noxon. They sold everything. You could buy "how-to" manuals on guerrilla warfare, books on constitutional law (their version of it, anyway), and VHS tapes explaining the "Blue Beam" project.
They were remarkably good at marketing.
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While other groups were hiding in the shadows, the Trochmanns were doing interviews with The New York Times and appearing on high-profile news programs. They wanted the spotlight. John Trochmann, with his distinctive white beard and calm demeanor, didn't look like a "terrorist" to his followers. He looked like a grandfatherly figure who just happened to be worried about the Constitution. This was a calculated move. It made the Militia of Montana feel accessible to people who weren't necessarily "radical" but were definitely angry.
They didn't just sell fear; they sold a sense of community. If you bought their newsletter, Taking Aim, you were part of something. You weren't just a guy in a basement anymore. You were a "Minuteman."
The Oklahoma City turning point
April 19, 1995, changed everything for the militia movement. When Timothy McVeigh detonated a truck bomb outside the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, the national gaze turned immediately to the militias.
McVeigh wasn't a member of the Militia of Montana, but he moved in those circles. He had reportedly visited militia meetings in Michigan and was steeped in the same literature the Trochmanns distributed. Suddenly, being a "militiaman" wasn't just a quirky rural hobby. It was seen as a direct threat to the state.
The scrutiny was intense.
The FBI and the ATF didn't just look at the bombers; they looked at the "intellectual" infrastructure that fueled them. The Militia of Montana found itself under the microscope. John Trochmann spent a lot of time testifying before Congress and defending his organization, claiming they were strictly educational and defensive. He famously told a Senate subcommittee that they were "not a bunch of kooks."
But the damage, in the eyes of the public, was done. The movement fractured. Some members went further underground, while others, terrified of federal prosecution, burned their manuals and stopped attending meetings.
The ideology of the "Sovereign Citizen"
One of the most lasting legacies of the Militia of Montana is the spread of sovereign citizen ideas. This is the belief that you can "opt-out" of the government. They argued that by filing certain paperwork, you could revoke your Social Security number and become a "free man on the land."
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It’s a legal rabbit hole.
It involves incredibly complex—and totally debunked—interpretations of the Uniform Commercial Code (UCC) and maritime law. People would try to pay off debts with "sight drafts" or refuse to get driver’s licenses. While the Trochmanns didn't invent these ideas (groups like Posse Comitatus did), they were the primary distributors. They made the "legal" arguments of the far-right available to the masses.
Even today, you see these same arguments popping up in courtrooms across the country. People still try to tell judges that the gold fringe on the American flag means the court has no jurisdiction over them. That’s a direct line back to the literature shipped out of Noxon thirty years ago.
What happened to the Trochmanns?
The world sort of moved past the specific brand of 90s militia fervor. The Y2K bug was supposed to be the "big one" for the Militia of Montana. They spent years telling people to prepare for a total societal collapse on January 1, 2000. They sold "survival kits" and urged people to move to the mountains.
When the clocks struck midnight and nothing happened? It hurt their credibility. Big time.
The group didn't disappear overnight, but it faded. John Trochmann continued to speak at small conferences, but the massive rallies were over. The rise of the internet meant people didn't need a P.O. Box in Montana to get their conspiracy theories anymore. They could get them for free on message boards and later, social media.
The "official" Militia of Montana storefront eventually closed. The family moved on to other things, though they’ve never really recanted their core beliefs. They just became less visible as the movement they helped birth grew far larger and more chaotic than a few guys in Noxon could ever control.
The legacy in the 21st century
If you look at the events of the last few years—the standoff at Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, the growth of the Three Percenters, or the rhetoric around recent elections—the Militia of Montana provides the essential context. They were the ones who moved the "patriot" ideology from the fringe of the fringe into a recognizable political force.
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They proved that you could build a national movement based on distrust of federal authority.
They also proved that this movement could be monetized.
The militia movement today is more digital and more decentralized, but the core grievances remain the same: land rights, gun control, and the feeling that "elites" are conspiring against the average person. The Trochmanns were just the first ones to realize how powerful those grievances could be if you packaged them correctly.
Distinguishing myth from reality
There is a lot of misinformation about what the group actually did.
- Myth: They were a massive private army with tanks.
- Reality: They were mostly a group of people who met in living rooms and VFW halls. Their "power" was in their printing press, not their armory.
- Myth: They were all white supremacists.
- Reality: While the group was overwhelmingly white and had ties to the Christian Identity movement (which is racist), John Trochmann often tried to distance the group from "traditional" hate groups like the KKK to maintain mainstream appeal. This was a tactical choice.
Actionable insights for understanding the militia landscape
If you are researching the history of these movements or trying to understand current events, keep these things in mind.
First, always look at the source of the "legal" documents. If you see people talking about "strawman" identities or "maritime jurisdiction," you are looking at the direct descendants of 1990s militia literature. Understanding the history of these ideas helps you realize they aren't new—they are decades old.
Second, recognize the role of "preparedness." The militia movement has always been closely tied to the survivalist community. This isn't inherently political, but the Militia of Montana used the fear of collapse to drive political engagement.
Finally, keep an eye on the geography. The "American Redoubt" (the idea of moving to the Pacific Northwest for safety) is a concept that was championed by MOM and continues to draw people to Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming today. The geography hasn't changed, even if the technology has.
To truly grasp the "patriot" movement, you have to look at the books. Specifically, the books that were being mailed out of a small town in Montana when most of us were still figuring out how to use AOL. The Militia of Montana didn't just happen; it was built, one fax at a time.