Ingrid's Veterans Today Articles

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  • Historical Revisionism – the Irreversible Contagion

    Historical Revisionism - the Irreversible Contagion

    By Dr. Ingrid R. Zundel on January 6, 2013

    Doug Collins at the Zundel-Haus


       by  Dr. Ingrid R. Zundel


    [Editors Note: Dear readers, we are looking forward to Ingridís series on going down the yellow brick road of Historical Revisionism to revisit not only some of the main events, but those on the front lines at the time. We hope to be having a mystery contributor later in the Spring-Jim W. Dean]


    The famous WWII Vet - Doug Collins

    As I have lamented many times, the problem with historical revisionists has always been that they have tried to be so scrupulously ìneutralî for fear of being smeared that they have undermined their own effectiveness.

    Power goes to him who seeks it - and revisionist never sought power. They merely sought respect for their forensically based arguments. Their efforts were impeccably scholastic, but a vivacious human element was missing.

    Holocaustianity, the temporal religion of the world, is not about respect. Itís hard to get respect for constant yammering. It is about power anchored firmly to belief, not proof. Guilt-tripping is one handy tactic that pays off.

    Political censorship aims for control. Censors expect unquestioning surrender to dogma. This is not readily admitted, but historical revisionism has been profoundly threatening to those politically entrenched brainwashing experts ñ a threat unlike most any other threat in that their doctrine must not be perceived as a means of carefully targeted mass manipulation. Once that self-serving aspect stands out in relief, the game for the censorship hucksters is over.

    In revisionist ranks, there have been some exceptions to the political detachment rule in that flamboyant personalities rose here and there from the lackluster scholarly dust. In his younger years, Ernst Zundel was one such exception. You will meet him in the clip below that was filmed at the Zundel-Haus almost three decades ago.

    I did not know Ernst then ñ I wish I did. I ache to have been part of those exhilarating days when it all started with just a handful of motley supporters against the mightiest moneyed power in the world. What was unleashed at Zundel-Haus became a spiritual avalanche that is still gathering momentum. Itís awesome to behold!

    Doug Christie

    Another one who used his magnetism was Ernstís dynamic attorney, Doug Christie, whom you shall get to know in due time. A third was Doug Collins, a feisty Canadian reporter who early joined the uneven struggle and thus upset the apple cart with his inimitable style and raw professional guts.

    The clip below comes from a documentary I stitched together in 2005 after Ernst had already been kidnapped and deported to the Vaterland, courtesy of what David Irving christened ìthe non-members of the High Church of Scotlandî ñ for fear of calling them î the Jewsî. It certainly wasnít the Eskimos or Hottentots who did it!

    I am a bit apologetic for that tape because it was my first attempt at using film to spread a vivid message, and I was technically unskilled. Yet I knew what I wanted ñ I wanted a documentary with a strong human interest storyline that summarized what all this persecution and prosecution of Ernst Zundel was really all about.

    It was meant to be played in the Court in Mannheim ñ and in fact portions of it were introduced and even written up in Germanyís paper of record, the widely read Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. Right on Page Three ñ almost full page!

    It would have cost us tens of thousands of Euros, had we been asked to pay for the space. Proof that a human interest story gets more attention and more mileage, publicity-wise, than all the scholarly arguments by an otherwise brilliant defense inside a court. Emotions in the service of a Cause!

    The song at the beginning of this tape fit my mood in those days because I seriously feared for Ernstís life in captivity ñ if life there was to be at all. In those scary weeks that dragged into months, I really feared the worst.

    Ernst Zundel leaving prison in Germany

    At the very least I assumed Ernst would never see freedom again ñ that the very ìGermansî whom he had tried to free from their shackles had conspired to put lifelong shackles on him.

    To paraphrase a saying from the Bible ñ easier might it be to pass a camel through a needleís ear than to get a brainwashed German with his thumb in his mouth to let go of his lollypop guilt !

    I am planning a series of brief video vignettes to show that there was flesh and blood and pain and tears behind this monumental struggle for Truth in History.

    Not only that ñ there was also often poignancy and out-and-out hilarity because so much of this trial, and subsequent trials, was wacky to the point of being utterly bizarre.

    Now that I have ìset up the clipî, as they say in Hollywood, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Doug Collins, a top notch journalist who started as your average media dupe but soon became a trusted Zundel friend and comrade for Truth in History.


    A bit of background on Doug to frame this story properly. Hereís Wikipediaís bio, condensed:

    At the start of World War II he joined the British Army. He was captured in the Battle of Dunkirk in 1940, later being awarded the Military Medal for bravery during this campaign.

    During his four years as a prisoner of war, he made no fewer than ten escape attempts. Iíve been told he succeeded with sevenÖwe used to refer to Doug as ìÖ the one who got awayî! He was able to escape from a German POW camp in Silesia and stealthily made his way to Hungary.

    After being captured there, he made another daring escape, this time making his way to Romania. There he was imprisoned once again, but when Romania capitulated in 1944, he was freed and returned to Britain, serving in combat with British forces in northwest Europe to the end of the war.

    Doug Collins ñ Ten escape attempts

    From 1946-1950, Collins worked as a political intelligence officer with the British Control Commissionís de-nazification department in Germany.

    Collins immigrated to Canada in 1952 and worked for several decades as a reporter or columnist for several Western Canadian newspapers, including the Calgary Herald, Vancouver Sun and Vancouver Province.

    In 1960 eight trade unions sued Collins for libel when he was the Vancouver Sunís labour reporter. The same year, the newspaperís managing editor, Erwin Swangard, fired Collins for doing outside freelance work.

    Collins successfully sued for wrongful dismissal. He was reinstated and returned to work after four months. He collected his back pay, walked into the editorís office and quit ñ and then went to personnel to demand holiday pay.

    In 1963, he sued Readerís Digest for libel ñ and won.

    Collins returned to the Sun in the 1970s. He quit for the last time when then-publisher Clark Davey tried to restrict his freelancing.

    Collins worked as an interviewer/editorialist for CBC Television in Vancouver from 1958 to 1968. From 1981 to 1985 he was the news director/talk show host for CJOR radio in Vancouver.

    Collins was the recipient of two awards for journalism. He received the National Newspaper Award (1953). He received the MacMillan Bloedel Award (1975) for reports on alleged corruption at UBC.

    In 1993 he was awarded the 125th Anniversary of the Confederation of Canada Medal, given to approximately 42,000 Canadians ìwho have made a significant contribution to their fellow citizens, their community, or to Canada.î

    Between 1983 and 1997, Collins wrote a column for the North Shore News, a small weekly community paper in North Vancouver, B.C.

    No mean media maven, that one! Doug Collins was a man of principles and a journalist and anchor of distinction. When he first met Ernst Zundel in 1985, he did not care for him.

    Like most in his profession who take their marching orders from what are now called Zionists who serve a non-Western agenda, Doug had absorbed the Canadian media venom, and as a former British soldier and later intelligence officer in a defeated, bombed-out Germany, he had to overcome some built-in biases. It is to his credit that he did.

    Hereís Doug, going to bat for Truth in Reporting if not for the ìNazi on Carlton Streetî yet. Itís one of my favorite moments: 

    YouTube - Veterans Today -

    Fairly recently, Ernst filled me in on how Doug shed his prejudice against a so-called ìHolocaust Denierî and joined the Ranks of the Damned. Conversion happened on the roof of the notorious Zundel-Haus where Ernst had built himself a private little nook for those few hours of the day when he needed to escape the frenzy of his ever-present friends and foes below.

    The Pow who would not accept prison, Collins did not accept ideological boundaries either

    With two bottles of wine and a sausage between them, those two re-fought World War II, with Dougís nose getting redder and redder. Thatís where, incidentally, Doug shared with Ernst the true fate of the infamous Heinrich Himmler, the Chief of the F¸hrerís SS. You might want to know. Tread with caution.

    You may have read that Himmler bit into a cyanide capsule the Hitler government provided for high echelon officials if worst should come to worst. I did. That is the orthodox story, widely believed.

    Now Doug told Ernst that in his capacity as intelligence officer in the employ of vengeful Allies, he was an eye witness to a different scenario. Himmler had been beaten to death, and Doug was shown the body.

    I found this story shocking and asked: ìWho did it? The Brits?î and Ernst replied, ìÖ no ñ those who worked for them.î

    See? You have just experienced an important revisionist moment. Truth in History can and will surface in the most unlikely times and places, if only youíll give it a chance.

    Anyway, the salutary lesson of this story is that, at the end of a deprogramming session, a renowned newspaperman climbed down from the Zundel-Haus roof top a seriously contemplative man ñ and subsequently penned many a column where he talked boldly of ìSwindlerís Listî and other politically incorrect stuff, spreading revisionism every which way for the rest of his life with real gusto.

    Here are some authentic Doug Collins gems, as taken from a little paperback, published 1998 ñ ìHere We Go Again!î:

    ï ìSwindlerís List will hit the Academy bell because Hollywood is Hollywood and what happened to the Jews during the Second World War is not only the longest lasting but also the most effective propaganda exercise ever ñ Dr. Goebbels himself couldnít have done it any better. (..) Hardly a day goes by but that press, radio and television donít mention something about the six million. That figure is nonsense but media go on parroting what everyone ëknows.í I used to do the same.î

    ï ì[Holocaut propaganda] is so effective that the mere mention of Auschwitz makes even babes feel guilty.î

    ï ìYour man Doug is in trouble for saying that the ëholocaustísí six million story is nonsense, that the biggest influence in Hollywood is the Jewish influence, and that the whole thing has become a businessÖî

    ï ìIt brings a blush to my battle-hardened hide, but frankness forces me to confess that in 1997 I became the most discussed columnist in the country, thanks to the Canadian Jewish Congress and other would-be censors. But it still puzzles me that my harmless offerings could create a national furore and, in British Columbia, a media feeding frenzy.î

    ï ìSuch are the joys of political incorrectness. Only a few years ago, when men were men and liberals, homosexuals and feminists did not rule the roost like so many squawking chickens, the columns in question would never have raised an eyebrow.î

    ï ìFor such critics I was the serpent in the Garden of the Politically Correct Eden. Sleepwalkers in the major media nodded their heads like clockwork Barbie dolls as your correspondent was put through the grinder, describing me as an anti-Semite, a racist, a dork, and other terms with people who profess to hate hate.î

    ï ìFree speech has always had a bad name. It had a bad name when Luther nailed his theses to the door of Wittenberg Cathedral. It had a bad name when John Milton wrote that Truth and Falsehood should grapple freely, and when John Tyndale was burned at the stake for translating the Bible into English. The peasants couldnít be trusted with it. Who knows what ideas they might get? The Spanish Inquisition had no time for free speech eitherÖ oh, there was one other chap who got bad headlines for speaking out. I think his name was Jesus.î

    ï ìStick with me,î Doug Collins counseled, ìand I will educate thee. Difficult but not impossible.î

    ï ìIt ainít easy, being me. The rage of the politically correct and the journalistically gutless knows no bounds. So they denounce ìhate literatureî while writing it.î

    Doug was not shy about dropping names either. Here are a few such nuggets:

    ï About a fellow named Foth who apparently gave Doug a hard time in some publication:

    ìOn reading all this, I cried with joy and went into the attack mode. To suckle fools and chronicle small beer was a waste of time, I wrote, but [these] inanities had to be dealt with. I felt sorry for Foth, I sobbed, but that would not prevent me from kicking him in the gonads. We of the lower classes are like that.î

    ï About Lisa Mrozinski, a lawyer representing the government side [who] stated that ìÖ the need for proof makes it difficult to get anywhere with such complaints in the courts.î

    ï About Roger McConchie, legal counsel for the B.C. Press Council, ìÖ who put it perfectly when he said that the purpose of the [Hate Laws] was to ëstifle speech that is not criminal.íî

    ï ìWasnít it Elie Wiesel, a major holocaust propagandistî asked Doug, ìwho said the world should never stop hating the Germans?î


    And here comes my all-time favorite punch line where Doug speaks of ìÖ Sol Littman, a propagandist from the Simon Wiesenthal Institute who dines out on the holocaust.î

    In our self-chosen revisionist battles where verbal sorties fly every which way, it doesnít get any better than that!

    Toward the end of his life, Doug was sued twice by Jewish spokesmen for his irreverence ñ and, true to his colors, he kept swinging like the true champion he was, lambasting them for suing him ìÖ under the terms of the B.C. Human Rights Act, which should be renamed the Kill Collins Act or the Never Call a Spade a Spade Act.î

    And elsewhere, many times in various venues:

    ìUnder the vicious B.C. Human Rights Code truth is no defense, fair comment is no defense, which it is in libel and slander, and within the framework of the code there is no right to appeal.î

    That was a lesson that Canada learned, largely thanks to Dougís columns and subsequent defeat. He and his publisher, a fellow named Speck of the North Shore News, ended up ordered by court edict to line the pockets of Canadaís censors to the tune of $200,000 for their politically incorrect ways. Wikipedia, that lying outfit in the service of said censors, claims it was a puny $2,000.

    Doug Collins passed away about a dozen years ago, but he is not forgotten. I miss him very much. He and I fought many cyber wars together when the Zundelsite was under global siege and I needed all the help that I could get. I met him only once in person ñ on the barge to Vancouver Island sometime in 1998. I believe it was on that occasion that he told me: ìErnst Zundel is a man in a nation of wimps.î

    Just count yourself in, Doug! That makes two of you. Might there be three? Four? Five? Never underestimate the clout and muscle of steadfast dissidents for Truth in History to ìSet the Record Straight!î ñ so we can all relax!                                                        Editing:  Jim W. Dean


    Ingridís brand new on-line store can be visited here at Soaring Eagles Studios and Gallery. It offers DVDs in English and German, as well as many books. Zundel Prison Art items will be raffled off later to help support sound scholarship for Truth in History.

  • UFOs and Antarctic Bases – A Realistic Appraisal

    UFOs and Antarctic Bases ñ A Realistic Appraisal

    by  Ernst Zundel


    This article was written more than ten years ago ñ before Ernst Zundelís political kidnapping and subsequent incarcerations in six prisons in three countries on two continents for his politically incorrect ways.

    Those who know my husband personally know that he has many interests and talents beyond the one for which he was abducted and for which he is internationally known ñ the one that cannot now be mentioned on fear of life and limb in Europe!

    Iíll let you guess what that is.

    Instead, letís talk of esoteric Zundel hobbies.

    For one, Ernst kept a vivid interest in World War II technology inside the Third Reich ñ including ìFlying Saucersî. When I showed him the write-up which I had pulled from the Net, we both had a good laugh, and Ernst, in a flamboyant mood, dashed off the following while sitting on our deck, enjoying the Tennessee sunshine:


    I consider this a garbled account about the Third Reichís best-kept secret weapons research and development ñ circular flying craft, commonly called UFOs.

    YouTube - Veterans Today -

    The article gives one an insight into the state of the mind of at least a segment of the Russian reading public, when one sees newspaper stories of this type, which mix pure speculation, propaganda tales of World War II and weird, far-fetched occult themes with the serious side of cutting edge technology.

    There is also the usual misspelling of names, incomplete titles etc., and one wonders what original sources the authors consulted for this rather incredible tale.

    Nonetheless, the goofy essay merits comment.

    I believe I can claim at least some familiarity with the UFO topic, having authored and published some small booklets on Nazi UFOs in the late í60s and early í70s ñ before I was forced by Germanyís enemies to tackle [a politically sensitive topic] , which put an end to my youthful fascination and explorations of the esoteric.

    This political derailing of my life caused me to become a serious activist and made me dedicate my life to the clearing of my peopleís and countryís reputation by debunking an untrue accusation. Had my enemies left me alone, who knows what flights of fancy might I have indulged in instead?

    YouTube - Veterans Today -

    Seriously, I personally corresponded with and interviewed some of the German UFO researchers in the 1960s still alive then, including Rudolf Lusar, post-war Germanyís most famous author on German secret weapons in World War II.

    Nobody ever told me about a secret project code-named ìBase 211î, although some, who were aircraft engineers ñ one attached to Hermann Gˆringís Reichs-Luftfahrtministerium, was personally present when one of those circular crafts, being tethered to a concrete floor of a large aircraft hangar and propulsion-tested in Wiener Neustadt, Austria, broke its moorings and shot through the ceiling, damaging it and the aircraft severely.

    I can say with certainty that advanced research, production and flight testing were definitely going on during World War II of these circular flying craft, some which could reach incredible heights very quickly and obtain high speeds in horizontal flight ñ well in excess of the speed of sound.

    Some of the sanest descriptions of German secret weapons can be found in the bestselling books of Lusar, who was an aircraft engineer and whose books went through several printings in the 1950s and 1960s. The German title was ìDeutsche Geheimwaffen des II. Weltkrieges und ihre Weiterentwicklung.î (German Secret Weapons And Their Continuing Development) At least one English translation was published in London at the time.

    In a similar vein, the American Air Forceís Air Technical Intelligence Chief, a general named Simon, published a hardcover book about Nazi Secret Weapons he and his team had inspected and tested in the 1960s with a small publishing house called WE Inc., based in Connecticut. It is full of astonishing photos and rich in technical details.

    When I spoke to the publisher, who had ordered some of the UFO books published by me, he said: ìVery interesting, Z¸ndel, but you have only scratched the surface!î

    One more very interesting source was a mass-circulation book published in England and America, titled ìIntercept But Donít Shoot!î by Renato Vesco, who is alleged to have been Benito Mussoliniís Air Technical Intelligence Chief during World War II. Vesco lists an incredible number of sources, among them whole sets of declassified British intelligence and engineering assessments of German research projects, including weird alloys, completely new metals and Rube Goldberg-like contraptions, all tried and tested by the Germans. In the 1970s, it was obtainable from the Queenís Printer in London.

    As to German Antarctic explorations ñ there was at least one publicly known German Antarctic expedition undertaken by the Third Reich in 1938 before the war broke out. The documentation is replete with lots of maps, flying courses, black-and-white photographs and even a color photo section.

    The title is ìDie deutsche antarktische Expedition 1938î, published by the Safari Verlag. The book itself is long out of print ñ at least since 1945. However, the negatives of the aerial photos taken by the expedition and some newsreel film footage survived World War II and can be seen at Hamburgís famous Hydrographic Institute.

    The serious British publisher, W.R.D. McLaughlin, published a book after the war called German Antarctic Raiders, which is about German naval activity in the Antarctic in World War II.

    In the 1970s, a film documentary appeared about the German Antarctica expedition on prime time German TV, which included filmed interviews of some of the actual participants of that expedition. This expedition team surveyed and mapped large areas and took soil, water and ice samples. It charted the Antarctic waters and air currents. It left behind hundreds of Swastika flags driven into the Antarctic snow and more hundreds of flags air-dropped to lay proper explorersí rights of possession to that terrain. All of this is documented in the above mentioned book.

    This expedition claimed officially for Germany a clearly defined geographic area of the Antarctic Continent and named warm water lakes and mountain ranges they discovered you can read about and find on any map put out by the National Geographic Society, for instance. This claim is presently recorded in the Antarctica Gazetteer No. 14, available from the United States Board on Geographic Names.

    There even exists a German Antarctic Foundation which, through its various chapters around the world, keeps alive Germanyís rightful claim to the area, known as Neu-Schwabenland ñ and trust me, I had nothing to do with the selection of that name, even though I am a proud, full-blooded Swabian. I was born in 1939!

    Thus, Germany is far larger than the chopped-up, politically truncated, demonically maligned little piece of real estate in the very heart of Europe the Allies left behind after their defeat of Hitler. Germanyís Antarctic claim, never challenged, is three times the size of pre-World War II Germany. Many of its highest, Alp-like mountains as well as lakes and glaciers are named after those wicked Nazi crew and expedition members. Horrors!

    In the 1990s I interviewed an American publisher and author from Florida who publishes a magazine, called Sharkhunters, devoted largely to WWII submarines with lots of famous U-Boat aces as contributors. He told a fascinating story, which I broadcast on my satellite show, The Voice of Freedom. He claims that he had, indeed, come across maps and photographs of German Antarctic bases in World War II in the Chilean and Argentine naval archives, one based in Tierra del Fuego, accommodating approximately 8,000 men.

    One Japanese national TV program invited me to Princeton University in the middle 1990s where I was interviewed for hours and where some of my unpublished material was filmed. This television program was then enhanced with computer-generated, brilliantly done Nazi flying saucers, being shielded by icebergs at first, gracefully rising out from Antarctic ocean bases and glaciers.

    They are some sight to see ñ what with the Swastika strikingly adorning these incredibly maneuverable, exotic flying craft wobbling out of the choppy, iceberg-strewn ocean, shaking off pieces of ice and trailing cascading water, as they elegantly zoom away at very high speed!

    There is immense worldwide interest in this alleged German Antarctic UFO activity, borne out by the fact that large-circulation Japanese newspapers, magazines and TV programs devote a lot of space, money and time to this story.

    One even came to interview me in Toronto and ended up hiring one of my own ìZundel-Haus Lieutenantsî, a volunteer who helped around the office, but who had lived in Argentina many years and spoke several languages. This man had personal knowledge of the people and places involved. That expedition is as well a fascinating one ñ but too long to recount here. Perhaps another time!

    Even in America, the topic is a sizzling one. Right after World War II, Admiral Byrd, the famous American Arctic Explorer, was sent to Antarctica by President Truman in 1947 with a military task force, equipped with the latest military hardware including air craft carriers, submarines, helicopters, even tanks.

    What was he looking for ñ in, of all places, Antarctica? There are all kinds of articles, serious and otherwise, suggesting that he was sent to smoke out Hitlerís last stronghold there. National Geographic Magazine covered that Task Force in over 40 pages of photographs and texts in 1947.

    Lt. Cmdr.Richard Byrd ñ early exploration years

    When I was younger than I am today and learned about all these things in the 1970s, I tried to raise public awareness with my little easy-to-read books, which turned quickly into controversial bestsellers, going through numerous printings before I myself pulled the plug on the ìSecret Nazi UFO Projectî by not reprinting and not writing new material on this topic.

    My Jewish detractors made me change course, but I want to touch briefly on a widely misreported story of my UFO exploits. It had to do with my last UFO project, a planned Antarctic overflight via a leased, extra-large, fuel tank equipped, long range Boeing 747 from South African Airways.

    For political reasons, this airline had to fly non-stop from Europe to South Africa, not being allowed to land and refuel anywhere in Black Africa at the time, courtesy of apartheid. I had a lead on the plane and had tentatively found a crew of Australian and New Zealanders with 747 flying skills and training and also Antarctic overflight experience.

    The idea itself was a bit of a publicity lark ñ we were going to toast each other with champagne over the South Pole and drop a Hitler flag onto some glaciers from the plane to send a greeting to whoever might have been holed up down below. It caused lots of media interest. I had already close to ten media and TV programs lined up whose executives had pledged the $9,999.- fee to send their staff writers and photographers along ñ to see for themselves what was down there!

    I was young, rich and adventurous then ñ and we were all roaring to go. I had lots of fun and did up to three and four talk shows a week on that ìNazi-Antarctic-UFO-Find-the F¸hrerís Basesî story and sold lots of UFO booklets to boot ñ when tragedy struck! An Air New Zealand passenger plane crashed into Mt. Erebus, killing all passengers and crew members.

    The subsequent, painstaking investigation came to no firm conclusions on why the plane crashed. The United Nations, in conjunction with the Big Powers ñ Russia, America, England etc. ñ got involved and declared the Antarctic Continent off limits to all civilian overflights.

    Coincidence? It put an end to the Zundel UFO Adventure for good.

    The last person to raise my ìUFO pastî and grill me intensely on it was the famous Mike Wallace of ìSixty Minutesî in the 1990s. Wallace seemed to be fascinated and not a little freaked out by the topic. What did he have to fear?

    In the summer of 2000, Ingrid Rimland, my new wife, and I visited the famous, much-visited Roswell, New Mexico UFO Museum. Many will recall that a UFO allegedly crashed there in 1947 only two years after World War II ñ with little ìaliensî on board etc. etc.

    While there, I bought a nicely produced hardcover book by U.S. Col. Philip J. Corso, (Ret.), who worked deep within the Pentagon hierarchy on a secret UFO Project in the 1950s-60s. On the dust jacket it says this: ìÖWith unprecedented detail, Corso divulges how he spearheaded the (U.S.) Armyís reverse engineering project that seeded Alien technology at American companies such as IBM, Hughes Aircraft, Bell Labs and Dow Corning.î

    We toured the museum for several hours and talked with employees and tour guides there, and what do you know? Nicely protected by glass I spotted some diaramas ñ life-like models reduced to scale: ìNazi Saucersî, Swastikas, Balkenkreuze, Luftwaffe insignias and all ñ being refueled by tankers on the ground with Luftwaffe ñ and SS-uniformed and armed German soldiers guarding the ìNazi UFO base.î I thought I could not trust my eyes!

    Colonel Philip Corso

    Allow me this thought as a German who has refused throughout a lifetime to make myself a slave to the Pavlovian Reflex and kick a long-dead Adolf Hitler in the shin:

    The Americans captured and shipped thousands of German rocket, aircraft and other weapons specialists to the US immediately after World War II to ìseedî exactly the same projects that Col. Corso described as their advanced weapons research.

    While in Roswell, Ingrid and I also went to the American rocket pioneer Stoddardís workshop/museum and looked at the tools and scientific gear displayed there ñ a shockingly primitively equipped place, compared to what Wernher von Braun had had to work with Hitlerís test facilities at Peenem¸nde at the end of World War II.

    On that hot summer afternoon I wondered to myself if what had really crashed in Roswell might not have been one of the German Flying Saucers, keeping an eye on what the competition was up to at Mr. Stoddardís lab and test site ñ and that the ìlittle green menî story was a false road flare, planted by US authorities at the time!

    Why so? Would it not have been painfully embarrassing to admit to the American and world public that ìÖ here we were, having clubbed the Germans to a pulp in massive bombing raids, monkeying around at Mr. Stoddardís lab and other places with that outdated, old-fashioned, glorified fire cracker rocketry the departing Hitler regime left behind, along with Wernher von Braun ñ while a still-undefeated bunch of high-tech Nazis are hot-rodding it around the globe and maybe even through the universe, snugly ensconced in their never-captured, Antarctic based UFOs?î

    A man can speculate, canít he? After all, this is America, isnít it? And red-blooded Americans donít fear ñ or do they? ñ that they will faint or turn into some frogs if they discover that a real live ìNaziî called Ernst Zundel ñ according to the ADL, the JDL, the Wiesenthalers and other some such outfits that specialize in smears ñ turned out to be a human being after all who has just given them a publicly little-known piece of his mind. [End]


    Ingridís comment: Much of the information on Antarctica and German UFOs are in Ernst Zundelís various UFO booklets, some a bit tattered and grimy after the 1995 arson of the renowned, world-famous Zundel-Haus in Toronto, set ablaze by Germanyís enemies 50 years to the day after Germany surrendered to the Allies, May 8, 1945.

    They still sell, believe it or not! They need to be updated badly!

    Visit and check them out yourself!

  • Colonia Dignidad: A Trading Post for Nazi UFOs?

    Colonia Dignidad: A Trading Post for Nazi UFOs?



    Written by Ernst Zundel in 2004 while he was incarcerated in Canada after having been abducted in Tennessee by his political opponents. I always loved this story for its veiled mystery.


     Ö  by  Dr. Ingrid Rimland


    Have you ever heard of Hacienda Dignidad? My Spanish is a bit rusty, but I believe the name translates into ìRanch of Honorî or ìPlantation of Pride.î Hacienda Dignidad is a mysterious place, deep in the Chilean mountains. Allegedly, it is a trading post for Nazi UFOs.

    Ernst Zundle on his release from prison

    Remember, I am writing this totally from my faulty memory without any access to any notes I may still have in my files, at least in fragments. This is the rough story by no means complete. The Hacienda Dignidad myth is only a small piece of a puzzle that is much larger, much more mysterious, encompassing people all over the globe for at least 60, maybe even 70 or 75 years.

    When I was young, I stumbled upon it because of my interest in space exploration and space journeys to the near planets ñ to the Moon, to Mars, Venus and, beyond, to Orion and Sirius. It did not take long for me to make all kinds of interesting contacts in Canada, America, Germany, Austria, Spain and, especially, South America and, strange as it may seem, Japan of all places.

    My first encounter with Japanese interests in space came in 1967 when I met the CEO of what was then a sizeable conglomerate of Japanese corporations worth well over US$250 million, all involved in the most diverse business fields. That man, letís call him the Chairman, was a Japanese Naval AttachÈ in Germany during World War II.

    He was ultimately taken to Japan by German submarine in late 1943 with a secret cargo apparently involving jet planes. The Germans were far ahead of the Japanese, even the British and the US in that field, having had operational jets, several different kinds, by different manufacturers and designers since 1938. There is a story of just such a submarine which carried nothing but mercury, which the Japanese apparently needed in war production.

    < center>_______________________________________

    A German submarine caught on the surface

    Incidentally, I corresponded with some of the crew of Captain Sch‰ferís sub which landed in Argentina long after Germany's surrender in Europe ñ there is also the story of a German sub using an uninhabited island in the Falklands/Antarctic/South Atlantic region. That island could still not be visited in the 1970s because it seems the Germans used a mine barrier at the lagoon entrance to prevent the Allied ships from landing there.

    Anyway, the Chairman was thrilled to meet me, and I was wined and dined, had a Japanese driver/translator assigned to me, who was dressed formally, including gray gloves at all times. He did a lot of bowing. Wherever he guided me, I was showered with gifts from shops located on the most famous shopping streets in Tokyo.

    He took me to large art supply stores near the University of Tokyo and to the National gallery of Japan, where I was introduced as though I were a V.I.P., receiving fine collections in gift boxes of rice paper, seals and sealing wax - a very big deal in Japan! Evidently the Chairman thought that I was someone special because, as he said in his accented German, î Herr Z¸ndel, Sie sind der erste Deutsche, der denkt wie meine Kameraden in Deutschland im Kriege.î [You are the first German who thinks as my comrades did in the war].

    WWII German Sub - View from the bridge

    The Chairman was the one who told me over a slow meal of many courses that Japan was at war with America. He pointed to an attachÈ case and said, "This time we will defeat them with this (meaning commerce) and not with tanks, ships, or planes."

    He said in parting that Japan would never forgive the Americans for dropping the atomic bomb and for making Japan lose face before other Asians, especially the Koreans and Chinese.

    That was a big deal with him, as were the humiliations and executions by hanging of Japanese leaders via the Tokyo war crimes trials and tribunals. He was far less forgiving than the Germans!

    I donít know if this Chairmanís hand was involved in what followed, but in the middle 70s I was contacted by a man who claimed to be a Japanese reporter/writer. He was very interested in my UFO books, ordered several of them, kept calling me for details and basically pestering me because, by then, I was phasing out this rather frivolous line of books. I would imagine that it must have been in '78 or '79 when this reporter finally made arrangements to come over from Japan to interview me at length.

    Money seemed no object with this Japanese reporter, who arrived with a photographer/sound man with state of the art tape recorders in tow. They parked their stretch limousine, chauffeur and all, in a no parking, no stopping zone outside my house. The bored white driver would sit there for hours, pulling away once in a while because Toronto police told him to move on.

    Meanwhile, we talked and looked through my UFO/Nazi Secret Weapon/Antarctica file, only interrupted by lunch, tape changes, coffee breaks. Later on, we went out to the CN Tower where I was treated to one of the most expensive dinners in my life.

    The two came back the next day, and this time they seemed quite interested in talking to one of my male secretaries, Sepp. We used to horse around a lot, talking of olden times, and I used to call him my ìAdjutantî, for Sepp had an illustrious past. He had served as an aide de camp and interpreter for Field Marshall Kesselring in Italy during the latter part of the war.

    We were young and brazen then. We thought we would supply some visual aids for our Japanese guests, so for the occasion we dressed Sepp up in a spiffy Nazi uniform of an officer of the communications section - visorís officerís cap, the works! The photographer just loved that man and his uniform! I could see why - it would lend authenticity to the story being told for a magazine or television special.

    Then my Japanese guests left, loaded with UFO literature. They said they would be in touch, and mentioned that if they could raise the funds, they might be tempted to go and visit some of the places in Europe and Latin America. Especially submarine bases and underground installations left over from World War II really interested them. They were like children with a new toy.


    In the months that followed, I helped them gain entry to some circles and installations, such as the former German submarine base and bunkers in Bergen, Norway, which operated undamaged until after surrender in May 11th 1945 ñ not May 8th! The Norwegians used those facilities, along with the most modern German subs, into the 1970s.

    My guests also visited the Hydrographic Institute in Hamburg and looked into the thousands of air photos taken over Antarctica and its German bases, established by the Ritscher Expedition under the protection of Hermann Gˆring, with Rudolf Hess as the liaison for the project.

    They went to Camp Dora in the Harz Mountains and to the bunker complexes in the Alpine Redoubt, which figured large in the Allied propaganda in '44 and '45. They sent me many postcards from those places. Unfortunately, the 1985 arson claimed all of those files.

    In the wake of those visits, UFO orders for books, spotter charts and investigator passes began to pour in from Japan. We even sold Frisbees resembling UFOs. The first articles appeared, and we did a brisk business for a while with Japan in that period.

    Then one day, I received a call from our Japanese writer. He was in the US, in Los Angeles. Could he drop by? He wanted to make me a proposal about a research trip.

    Sure, said I. Come on up.

    He arrived within a week and suggested that I accompany him to Latin America, together with another Japanese tape recorder man and photographer, using my trusty German aide - minus Nazi uniform, I insisted! - on the trail of the Nazi UFOs. The expedition was to last from 4 to 7 weeks.

    Ernst in his earlier publishing days

    I was still a hands-on graphic artist at that time. I ran a lucrative graphic arts studio, along with my publishing house, and I had important contracts with some of Canada's largest corporations.

    There was no way I could stay away that long without losing my business. So we made a compromise. I would not go, but I would lend him my German AttachÈ.

    Of course, Sepp liked the idea of researching Hacienda Dignidad, somehow connected to Nazi UFOs, because he could get a free first class trip out of this deal and see his friends in Chile and Argentina, where he also had family.

    He was happy to go along. I was excited for him, even paid him his salary, bonuses, insurance, the works ñ for which the Japanese researchers reimbursed me generously. For me, it was a good deal, because my trusted Adjutant would be in fact my eyes and ears and report back to me. The Japanese had no problems with that. Everybody was satisfied.

    Sepp took off for Los Angeles where he would meet the rest of the team. The first stop was a special effects studio in Hollywood, which mightily impressed my World War II staff officer turned volunteer. That educational experience behind them, the team flew off into the wild blue yonder and landed in Santiago, Chile to meet up with my co-author of my first German UFO book, titled ìUnbekanntes Flugobject? Letzte Geheimwaffe des Dritten Reiches.î The manís last name was Mattern.

    Mr. Mattern was a German who had emigrated to Chile in the 1920s as a professional photographer. In time, he became the official photographer for all the presidents and most of the military big wigs in Chile in the early 1930s and thereafter. He was in and out of the Presidential Palace, the military academies, the Parliament ñ he simply knew everybody!

    Chileís military was thoroughly Prussian, having adopted Prussian drills, ethos, code of honor, WWII German uniforms, and helmets ñ even the goose steps! ñ which, by the way, they have kept to this day. The Chilean army under Pinochet was like an extension of the World War II German Army in looks, behavior and feel as well as in outward appearance. Exclusively German marching bands and German marches were, and are, still played to this day by that time warp Chilean army!

    Mr. Mattern was to be in charge of the Chilean part of the trip, especially since he had once personally visited the area upon which the Japanese seemed to be totally fixated ñ the fabled Shangri-la called Hacienda Dignidad in a remote interior mountain range. As the story went, during his one and only visit to Hacienda Dignidad, Mr. Mattern was picked up at the train station or air field ñ I canít recall which ñ by someone and driven to the Hacienda, and when his visit was over, he was driven back to his point of arrival in the South Central part of Chile. I believe the town was called Parral.

    Mattern was, by then, already a man well into his 80s, but his correspondence was absolutely lucid. He assured the Japanese team plus Sepp that they would be met at the airport by a representative of Mr. Richter who would then take them to the Hacienda for a reception and interview with Mr. Richter personally. Security and secrecy were given as the reasons for this somewhat out of the ordinary arrangement.

    The meeting with Mr. Mattern was cordial at his upper middle class home. The meals were served in the finest china, rare wines, candle light, very civilized. The team was on its way, being briefed by Mr. Mattern what he had observed during his visit many years ago, such as the brand new Mercedes Benz ambulances which were used by German emergency services, Mercedes Diesel mini-buses, sheet metal workshops with the latest German metal bending machines, punch presses, all of them equipped with the most modern tools and machines.

    Mattern spoke of extensive vehicle repair facilities, motor reconditioning shops, modern communal kitchens and learning/meeting facilities, a state of the art hospital with a surgery and an outpatient clinic for Indians in the area and a maternity ward where local people, mostly Indios or Mestizos, were treated by the medical staff of the Hacienda Dignidad, completely free of charge.

    The nurses, said Mattern, wore typical German nursesí uniforms with Red Cross and Christian insignia on their gowns and habits. There was also a dairy farm, he recalled, as well as sheep, flocks of chickens, geese etc. In fact, it seemed that the Hacienda was based on what in National Socialist Germanyís time would have been called a ìMusterbetriebî ñ an ideal, self-contained community, run like a perfectly integrated prototype enterprise.

    Mattern also saw a neat little Christian chapel. He said he was taken for long rides on magnificent horses along well-kept trails, accompanied by Richter, who would stop and talk to Indio laborers, male and female, in Spanish.

    Although their outings would often last several hours, said Mattern, they never seemed to come to a fence or the edge of the property. It was rolling hills and dales, fields of potatoes, wheat, rye, and corn. Every once in a while he would hear the sounds in the distance ñ the whine of jet engines or turbines being accelerated, and then the sounds would die down again, and silence would prevail.

    Only a few times, he told his guests, did he think that he saw strange aerial activity going on by even stranger craft. He was never told what was it was, and it was clear to him that the host was unwilling or perhaps under orders not to expand on those strange noises and those odd goings-on.

    During his stay, there were communal suppers and lectures on different topics by different people, said Mattern. There were German and Austrian folk dance performances and even some by Indian dancers accompanied by rather primitive local instruments. He was not allowed to take any pictures or make any drawings and notes. Camera, note pad, pens were politely taken from him and returned at the end of the visit. Some of these Mattern recollections, by no means all, found their way into the initial German books and my subsequent far more Mickey-Mouse English language books on UFOs, titled UFOs: Nazi Secret Weapons.

    This, then, was a little preview of what the Japanese investigative reporter, the sound man photographer, and my own secretary/translator hoped to find at the mysterious Hacienda. Remember, this was long before faxes, satellite phones, much less cell phones, the Internet and e-mail came onto the scene. Letters from and to Chile would normally take 9-12 days one-way, which is still good and fast by todayís standards.

    The team left Santiago, the capital, full of anticipation and arrived in Parral, hoping to be met by Mr. Richter or by one of his staff members, as Mr. Mattern said he was assured via his usually well-connected channels.

    The team arrived. Parral is a regional, administrative center with military and federal police bases as well as airports and rail center.

    No Mr. Richter. No one else either! Now what?

    Mr. Mattern, back in Santiago, could not get any explanations from his highly placed sources either, which shocked him visibly. All his inquiries hit dead ends.

    My man on the scene spoke five languages. As a German military officer on Field Marshall Kesselringís staff, Sepp had served as a liaison to Benito Mussoliniís government, and as such he had participated in all the high level meetings, including the ones concerning Mussoliniís liberation by German commando leader Otto Skorzeny at the Gran Sasso.

    Anyway, Sepp was a resourceful man because of his background and training. He decided to do the logical thing ñ he went to see the postmaster of the town and asked for the address of the Hacienda Dignidad.

    There he was met with evasive answers. Security considerations. Obscure laws. Shrugs. Blank stares. I should also mention that Chile was then under martial law since Allende had been overthrown. Martial law can bring out very strange behavior.

    When he could not shake loose the address, Sepp went to see the mayor, Japanese crew in tow. At city hall, he was at first cordially received by the staff and was shown into the mayorís spacious office. There, behind the mayorís desk were several large maps of the area ñ one of the town, another of the whole region with oddly colored patches towards areas heading to the foothills of the mountains. While they chatted with the mayor, asking for Mr. Richter and the way to the Hacienda Dignidad, it became quickly clear that security did not permit the city official from giving them the information they sought either.

    By now it was past lunch. After a meal, the team decided to rent a car - a Volkswagen Beetle - and do their exploration without Mr. Richter.

    Sepp had memorized the map at the mayorís office. At the car rental place they obtained a similar scale map of the region, matched with what he had seen shaded in. A decision was made to head out into the general direction of those colored/shaded areas. Sepp was certain it had to be the Haciendaís location, going by the description of the landscape Mattern had given them in his briefings. Sepp was confident that he could find the Hacienda by asking local people in the foothills.

    By now it had begun to rain, and as they were climbing steadily, it was getting colder and darker. Quickly, they left civilization behind. Telegraph poles and electric wires ended. Farmersí fields gave way to bush land, poor soil, and the odd Indio shack made of corrugated metal roofs, old leftover wooden pallets, crates etc. with run-down or broken down cars strewn in the fields. The road got progressively worse, and the asphalted surface had long given way to potholes and gravel, which made for a bouncy ride as they wound their way ever higher into the foothills.

    It was a miserable afternoon drive. The Japanese wanted to turn back. Sepp wanted to press on, and since he was the driver and navigator, German stubbornness won out. With his cold and grumbling passengers getting more weary by the minute, things were heading for a crisis, when suddenly the rain stopped just as they came to an area of clearly man-planted, 25-year-old conifer trees on either side of the road. They could see a light flicker in some hut on a hillside in the distance.

    They hit upon a paved road, and soon they found themselves on a driveway with a cut lawn on each side. They could see a white stucco gate, Latin American style, with a high wrought iron fence on either side, and then a long, heavy wire security fence, metal links with barbed wire continuing on into a distant, man-planted forest. They were, in fact, in a turn-around, circular driveway area, and there was even an electric bell.

    By the street lamp they could see some metallic reflections in some high birch trees inside the fence behind the large gate, which had a smaller gate for pedestrians on the side of it. This road carried on behind the gate into a well-kept landscaped area, dotted by majestic 25-35 year old coniferous, German-type blue spruce, or Norwegian pine trees familiar to people in Central Europe, the Black Forest and the Alpine regions. There was a winding path up to the blinking light shack a few hundred meters up a steep bank.

    It began to drizzle again. The Japanese were lightly clad, shivering and uncomfortable, sitting huddled in the car. Sepp had a waterproof ski jacket and offered to investigate the light, while the others waited. He decided to take a shortcut and climb straight up the hill. It was slippery and rough going ñ when, suddenly, a car horn sounded, and as he turned around and looked down, he saw several men in non-descript rain coats surrounding the Volkswagen Beetle.

    Hastily, he slid down the hillside to get there faster, getting himself wet and muddy by the rain-covered high vegetation. The men had started questioning the Japanese who did not speak Spanish and were clearly at a loss as to what to do next. One of the strange men, to Seppís surprise, wore a forage cap used by German mountain troops in World War II, the famous Gebirgsj‰ger of Oberst Dietl in Narvik, Murmansk and later the Caucasus when they climbed the highest mountain, Mount Elberus, and planted the Swastika flag on the peak, creating a worldwide sensation at the time.

    The German spread-eagle insignia and the Edelweifl had been neatly removed from the cap, but one could still see the outline in the sun-bleached material. This man was muscular, bronzed, blue-eyed and blond. More yet, he spoke heavily accented Spanish with a clear Bavarian twang, familiar to my south Tyrolian born Sepple! Sepp knew he was in the right place. He knew that was no local Indio or Chilean.

    Sepp addressed him in German; however, the man refused steadfastly to answer in German. In Spanish, he asked the team what they wanted, denied knowing a Dr. Richter, and requested that they hand him their passports, airline tickets, cameras and tape recorders. He then motioned them inside the gate which opened electrically, although no wires or high poles were visible anywhere. He motioned them to drive down the driveway, while the rest of the ìreception committeeî followed them in their own, four-wheel drive military type vehicle.

    After 300-400 meters, they came to a series of typically German type buildings ñ sturdy masonry with baked-tile roofs, stone and stucco Alpine style architecture. They were told to park their car. Politely, they were assisted with their luggage. They entered a large office/reception type room, tastefully decorated, again Alpine type, and were asked to make themselves comfortable. It was a building with all modern amenities, electric lights, flush toilets, wash basins, typewriters, office desks, office lamps, clothes racks etc. It had the feel of a military officerís quarters.

    By now, it was pitch dark outside.

    They were given sandwiches, hot herbal tea, some dessert, and then the interrogations began ñ at first, separately in different rooms by different people, some of whom spoke English with the Japanese. With Sepp they insisted on speaking Spanish, an odd situation. They could not be persuaded to speak German ñ even though they were clearly Germans.

    No one answered any questions as to where they were, what the place was called. No one claimed to know a Mr. Richter. No one admitted that this was indeed Hacienda Dignidad.

    The interrogations lasted several hours, and about 10 p.m. they were all brought together again. They were told that they had penetrated a restricted military area without authorization, and that this was a serious offense ñ that a military police escort was on its way from Parral to pick them up, and that it would be up to the military to decide what to do with them once they got there.

    Their passports, cameras, tape recorders, films, and luggage would be turned over to the military. It was suggested that they could get some rest in a room that had some bunk beds and blankets, and they were warned not to try anything foolish. They could use the rest room but not leave the building for any reason.

    The Japanese seemed pretty upset by all this and wondered what they had gotten into. Their ardor had considerably cooled by then, and they felt it was wiser not to press their luck und instead beat it back to Parral, get their passports back and get out of the jam they were in!

    They were satisfied that out in nowhere, cut off from civilization, there obviously were people living with all the accoutrements of civilization, European no less, who had video surveillance cameras, electricity, flush toilets, heating systems, paved roads, tall metal wire fences, automatic electric door openers as well as a facility where there were multilingual people working in shifts, people connected somehow with the military or at least the federales, the police, who had the power to take peopleís passports.

    Everybody was tired, and soon all were asleep, only to be wakened in the early morning hours by truck motors howling, doors being slammed, loud voices in Spanish. They were introduced to the head of their military escort ñ a whole convoy of trucks and jeeps! After a short breakfast, they headed out into more rain and fog, making visibility difficult. Even so, they could make out numerous European type buildings in the distance which looked like part of a community with neatly cut lawns, garden flowers, and all asphalt roads everywhere they looked!

    The trip back to Parral was slow and rocky. The team was taken to an army or federal police compound where they were herded into a large room and, once again, separately interrogated. They were told what they already knew ñ that they had entered a restricted military area without authorization, for which they could be jailed for a substantial period, but seeing that they were foreigners, and that their press credentials and stories checked out, they were only going to lose their undeveloped film, same with the tape recordings.

    They were told to take their rental car, drive it all the way to Santiago, check at the federalesí posts along the way, have their expulsion orders stamped at each place ñ and be out of the country in 72 hours! Pronto!

    The Japanese did as they were told ñ they left Chile in a hurry. All were glad they got off easy. They were given their passports and cameras and tape recorders back and went on to points in Brazil and Argentina for other interviews on the trail of the mysterious Nazi UFOs. And our Sepp told us this story as he remembered it.

    A decade later, I was invited to Princeton University for a lengthy series of Nazi UFO-related interviews, which were aired on prime time Japanese TV in a remarkable if sensationalized UFO special with superb computer animations of realistic Nazi UFOs.
    Mr. Mattern never did find out what had happened to Mr. Richter ñ or to Hacienda Dignidad for that matter. He died within a year, but as I said, he was well into his eighties by that time. Sepp passed away a few years later.

    From other sources, such as El Mercurio, a left-leaning mass circulation Chilean newspaper, as well as from the German weekly, Der Stern, and the German news magazine, Der Spiegel, the following story emerges:

    Hacienda Dignidad is a colony totally self-sufficient in everything, technologically equipped with the very latest amenities. The community has its own schools, teachers, hospital, medical staff, and technical people. It is claimed that mysterious testing of some sort is being carried on at the Hacienda for the Chilean military.

    Even Chilean senators and parliamentarians find all their efforts blocked, usually by courts, the police, and the military. The German Embassy reports that numerous Germans receive their World War II army, air force, and other pension checks, which are sent to a collective address in the town of Parral, where they are deposited into a joint account.

    The El Mercurio newspaper reported already in the late í40s and í50s that one of their reporters, in fact, did penetrate the Hacienda terrain via back roads through the mountains, using pack horses, and that he did observe strange flying craft taking off and landing in some remote area of a valley away from the actual community ñ which is what Mattern reported seeing during his one and only visit in the 1950s or 1960s ñ I donít remember now exactly just when his visit took place.

    The latest report about Hacienda Dignidad I read in the late 1990s in Der Spiegel. There was talk that the community was run by an autocratic leader. It was described almost like a semi-religious cult, but that there were married couples with children there.

    After his visit to what he certainly believed had been Hacienda Dignidad or a similar enterprise in the remote foothills of the Chilean mountains, Mattern was of the view that this place was a supply base for fresh fruit and vegetables picked up by ìflying saucersî. He also felt that the colony served as a rest/recuperation and medical facility for German-staffed UFO bases further to the South like Tierra del Fuego and even Antarctica proper.

    The story of the El Mercurio reporter, except for Mattern the only other human being claimed to have visited Hacienda Dignidad, is in one of my booklets in excerpted form. It was a bestseller in its time and is still widely quoted, as is the hastily organized Admiral Byrd Expedition to the mysterious continent of Antarctica in 1947.

    The most extensive photographic documentary is to be found in an exhaustive article in National Geographic magazine, replete with maps and flight paths of the Byrd overflights, leaving out the far more sensational revelations supposedly contained in Byrdís private diary, which was forbidden to be published by U.S. authorities ñ or so it is alleged. Its content was leaked by Admiral Byrdís son, who himself came to a rather bizarre and mysterious end.

  • Doug Christie - Rest in Peace

    Doug Christie ñ Rest in Peace

    Holocaust Enforcers  vs  Holocaust Deniers

    The First Trench Warfare Holocaust Court Case, 1985

     Ö by  Dr. Ingrid Rimland Zundel


    Doug Christie was a veritable star in various Canadian court venues ñ the likes of which the Lobby that plagues us all with all their lies piled up on lies and yet more lies had never yet encountered.

    Doug Christie was young, brilliant, fearless, smashingly handsome, determined, exceedingly quick on his feet ñ conventional descriptions will not do him justice. He was in a league by himself.


    YouTube - Veterans Today -

    His adversaries ñ in the courts, and in the streets? Iíll let you be the judge.

    Somebody called Doug Christie ìErnst Zundelís Battling Barristerî ñ the moniker fit, and it stuck. Seven times he took the Zundel Case alone to the Supreme Court of Canada ñ I have been told, more often than any other Canadian lawyer with any other case before him or since. He was a class act, both feared and admired by many.

    Ernst and Ingrid ñ Before his secret trial

    Two weeks ago, Doug Christie passed on. Ernst Zundel is still being held as a free speech hostage by political hacks who run the country of his birth right down into the ground.

    Whole governments world-wide now know that the so-called ìHolocaustî is a political weapon of mass deception in terms of holding huge nations in hock. Long story I wonít repeat here.

    I took three days to stitch together from faded movie clips the essence of what ìHolocaust Denialî is really all about ñ and who the actors were, and are, in a drama of near cosmic dimensions.

    If you are ignorantly vomiting the media hype right back into the arena about the ìgassingsî of ìsix millionî, please do yourself a favor and educate yourself at least at kindergarten level.

    If you already know, as many do ñ as millions all around the globe now know! ñ that ìAuschwitzî was a false flag operation before that term was even coined, I honestly believe you wonít forget the raw emotions in this short documentary that powered both sides of the battle. This morning, I give you Act I.

    Doug was an intellectual warrior of true grit as well as warmth you seldom find in the legal profession. He was despised and demonized by many, as was and still is his ill-reputed client. Their battle took decades ñ and isnít yet done. On good days it simply rained media spitballs. On bad days it was wall-to-wall, blood-curdling death threats and worse ñ not just against them, but those who supported the battle of constitutionally guaranteed Freedom of Speech.

    Today I give you Doug Christie, in life and in death. You will also meet beautiful Keltie, law researcher and comrade extraordinaire, Dougís partner of 32 years and mother of his children. You will meet a much younger Ernst Zundel, the tireless street action populist ñ by now a world-wide icon of the Movement, prevented from joining his wife.

    You will get a glimpse of three or four dozen of Zundel supporters, simple folks like you and I. You will also meet a howling, shrieking mob of Zundel detractors whose behavior speaks for themselves.

    In this Shakespearean play, there is your corrupt judge. Your hateful prosecutor who does a hatchet job.

  • A Defense of Hitler the Veteran?

    A Defense of Hitler the Veteran?

    War Veterans in Crisis:  Then as Now

    Satanic Mass Murderer or Victim of Propagandized ìHistory?î

    By Dr. Ingrid Rimland Zundel

    (Editorís note:  VT was dared to print this.  We shy away from nothing, America has already given up too many rights, rights we have fought for and will fight for again.  Here, Dr. Zundel cites Americaís Neocon traitors as Marxists.  For many of us here, our own separate ìpath of discoveryî has led us inexorably to the same conclusion, that the ìBush revolutionî was everything but ìReaganesqueî or even conservative.

    America, like Germany in the 20ís, has been overrun by Bolsheviks, repackaged as ìneocons,î as ìZionistsî and even as ìChristian evangelists.î  They have been lovers of totalitarianism, of war, of ìone world governmentî and of concentration camps and torture.

    Increasingly, they control the current ìanti-governmentî dialog of what purports itself to be the ìanti-imperialist left.î  As the phony left and phony right melded, the underlying heart of Bolshevism has been revealed.g)

    When I was twelve years old, I had it out with the Mennonite Elders ñ I asked why the Devil was not given a fair hearing.  I knew he was a villain ñ everybody knew! ñ but nowhere in the Bible did I find a forum where the poor sob could argue his case. 

    I was, in essence, pleading chivalry.

    I had been raised to take it for granted that an accused be treated with fairness and not be dismissed out of hand.  As you can imagine, that argument fell on deaf ears.  As a matter of fact, I found myself under suspicion that Satan himself had infested my mind.  It was an experience I have never forgotten ñ my first introduction to the fury unleashed by conformist belief.

    Reason did not enter into it at all.

    More decades than I care to admit have turned me into a lady of decorum, but I still feel inside as I did then ñ defiant about unexamined dogma.  In my book, itís just not fair to dump buckets of slime on a scoundrel without allowing him the slightest chance of defense.

    I speak of obligatory Hitler Bashing.

    Even at risk of losing my scalp, I intend to raise that principle of chivalry again.  Nowhere in the post-war era do I find a respectable forum where the Western worldís favorite villain can argue his case without rivers of spitballs and volleys of vilification.

    Here goes:

    After having listened to three generations worth of wall-to-wall disparagement I speak for one lone veteran who has been demonized like no other veteran on earth.  Ever.

    Veterans know that any war of serious magnitude will write its own harsh rules.  Nonetheless, I take it for granted that my argument ñ even now ñ will fall on deaf ears.  I know that I will find myself under suspicion that the F¸hrerís jackboots are surreptitiously parked under my bed.

    However, this is Veterans Today ñ not veterans three or four generations ago.  The time has come for balance.

    More than a year ago, I was invited by Veterans Todayís senior editor, Gordon Duff, to have my say my way.  When several months ago I asked Gordon if this topic or that one might be too hot, he wrote me back, ìWe ainít afraid of no one.î

    I take him up on it.  I take that chance to convey my uncensored opinion.

    I will argue facts and conditions that were then, as they are now, on every veteranís mind.  The German veterans of yore ñ those who fought World War I ñ could have been your brothers Ö and might yet be, if soldierly gallantry ever be given a chance.

    Here is what todayís media tells me:  That US veterans today are being marginalized, neglected, arrested, abused, labeled as mentally ill ñ for speaking out against a corrupt government that has misused their youth and openheartedness  and  cares not one whit for its own.

    ìIs that how America honors its veterans?î they ask in disbelief.  I hear it everywhere.

    For me, itís dÈj‡ vu, although I was not yet alive when my own ancestors, so history records, learned that a nasty government at the behest of faceless traitors had stabbed them in the back.  Those were the times that brought forth Adolf Hitler ñ a young, impoverished veteran who had done his duty as best he knew how.

    Now he and his comrades were homeless, hungry, unemployed, severely traumatized ñ battling  depression and thoughts of suicide,  their situation worse, much worse, than what it is today in a perplexed and traumatized America.

    They, too, dealt with treason within.

    They, too, saw their country betrayed, their values debauched, their parents in rags, their childrenís future  compromised ñ in the clutches of banksters and crooks.

    I ask for simple fairness for a young man of modest means whose bravery in war, if nothing else,  has never been in doubt.  Say what you will ñ what you feel that you must since you think you are dealing with Satan! ñ  but first know some pertinent facts before you condemn.

    Fresh from the bloody battlefields and rat-infested trenches of a fratricidal war to benefit big banks, decorated with an iron cross for valor, now lying blinded by a poisoned gas attack in one of Germanyís dilapidated military hospitals ñ this young man, all by himself, decided that enough was enough.

    He and his comrades would end the treason, betrayal and abuse by treacherous civilians as well as some of their own military leaders at the front.

    The Versailles Treaty, with all its ghastly clauses and conditions that spelled the end of Germany, became the crux on which Adolf Hitler focused millions of Germanyís veteransí fully justified rage.  This unknown former soldier molded a ragged army of defeated, hungry comrades into a formidable political fighting force, which through its battlefield-tested courage and its resourcefulness and manly self-assertion took back the towns and cities of their fatherland from Marxist revolutionaries.

    Street by street.  City-block by city block.  Village by village.  Eventually whole regions.

    Veterans marched.  Veterans acted.  And for the most part, without the use of guns.

    How was that done?  By comradely unity at huge demonstrations ñ stark evidence of an indomitable patriotic will.

    This will to survive, to save their fatherland from hunger, shame, and treason was the accomplishment of millions of German war vets, fresh from the front, having come back to a hellís pit of depravity. The decent, honorable country they had loved was finished.  The banking system lay in ruins.  Inflation had ravaged all savings.  Pornography was king.  Raw hunger stalked the streets ñ until one lone, self-educated veteran stood up, rolled up his sleeves, and rallied what strength was still left!

    History records the rest of the story, a truly epic tale.  The world should stand in awe.

    Ah, but what of the SA?  And what of the SS?

    What of it?  Itís cheap to be a Monday Morning Quarterback.

    Those early supporters joining Hitlerís fledgling political party were not of the scum of the earth that had infested Germanyís cities.  They were decent Germans, the salt of the earth, highly decorated, battle-tested war vets like you and your disheveled comrades ñ among them Rudolf Hess and Hermann Gˆring, a celebrated ace, severely wounded in combat.

    Next joined the volunteers of what was called the Freikorps, by the thousands ñ soldiers who, without pay, would rush to the assistance of the hard-pressed, demonized, inadequately funded Reichswehr, forming a home-grown militia in many of the border regions where aliens flooded in to fatten themselves on Germanyís defeat.

    Those were no Sunday visitors.   They were the bloody Marxists and other foreign revolutionaries ñ thieves and murderers, all ñ seizing power over German towns, cities, entire regions ñ hell-bent on benefiting shamelessly from the ruin of Germany.  You call your Marxists ìneoconsî.   They called them Spartakists.  All blood-red commies, to the core ñ the alien vermin from the East.

    Had Hitler not come, in no time at all Germany would have turned red ñ as would have all of Europe.

    It was this highly disciplined force of disillusioned, furious war veterans that joined the equally emaciated, ill-equipped government forces on the Right.  These German veterans, led by their F¸hrer ñ meaning Leader ñ lept into the breach, time and again, to prevent the collapse of their homeland.

    Thousands of German war veterans sacrificed limbs, careers, families, even their  lives by coming to the aid of what they called their Heimatland ñ the land which they called ìhomeí ñ which had fallen on desperate times.

    It was the sacrifice of these thousands upon thousands of idealists that saved the mortally wounded German state and post-WWI society from utter collapse and threatening chaos.

    These German war vets made the difference.  In those dark days, the Germany of yesterday had simply no one else.

    You did not know that ñ did you?  I didnít.  I heard this story only recently.  I always assumed that Hitler, in the early years, collected some rambunctious skinheads from the dirty streets of Germany who rioted in taverns by swinging table legs.

    When communist revolution had been checked and defeated, it was natural that many of the Freikorps volunteers joined Hitlerís National Socialist party and its uniformed political units ñ the SA and later the SS.   Those were their nationís best ñ their battle-tested vets.  It was these millions of veterans that followed Hitlerís rallying cry ñ and in no time at all, by sheer necessity and iron discipline, subdued the Marxist scum.

    Think what you will and say whatís expected, but know that Hitler was a man of valor who did not shrink from duty in an emergency. He was the one who sent the Marxists packing.


    I found a book review for you.  Please take to heart what one of your own highly valued military historians has to say:

    ìHitler: Beyond Evil & Tyrannyî ñ By R. H. Stolfi, Prometheus Books, 2011


     Reviewed by Gregory Johnson, Ph.D.  :


    ìNo man is a hero to his valet, not because the hero is not a hero, but because the valet is a valet.î ó G. W. F. Hegel


    Adolf Hitler was clearly the man of the 20th century, whose shadow grows taller as the sun of the West sinks ever lower. Sadly, though, there is no biography worthy of Hitler.

    If great men are those who leave their stamp on history, then Hitler was a great man. But great men present great problems for biographers. Great men are not necessarily good men, and even good men, when they hold political power, often find it necessary to kill innocent people. Evil men do not find this difficult, but good men do. Thus a good man, if he is to be a great man, must also be a hard man. But it is difficult for biographers, who are ordinary men, to sympathize with great men, especially men who are unusually bad or hard.

    But biographers must at least try to enter imaginatively into the minds of their subjects. They must feel their feelings and think their thoughts. They must feel sympathy or empathy for their subjects. Such sympathy is not a violation of objectivity but a tool of it. It is a necessary counter-weight to the antipathy and ressentiment that hardness, cruelty, and greatness often inspire. Sympathy is necessary so a biographer can discover and articulate the virtues of intellect and character necessary to achieve anything great in this world, for good or ill.

    Of course, oneís ability to sympathize with great men depends in large part on oneís moral principles. A Nietzschean or Social Darwinist would, for instance, find it easier to sympathize with a human beast of prey than would a Christian or a liberal democrat. Even so, it has been possible for Christians and liberals to write biographies of such great conquerors as Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Mohammed, Genghis Khan, and Napoleon without whipping themselves into thousand-page paroxysms of self-righteous moralistic denigration.

    Hitler, of course, provides even greater problems for biographers, because his demonization is a prop of contemporary Jewish hegemony, and there are consequences for any writer who challenges that consensus.

    R. H. S. Stolfiís Hitler: Beyond Evil and Tyranny [2]  is one of my favorite books on Hitler. It is not a biography of Hitler, although it is organized chronologically. It is, rather, a kind of ìmeta-biography,î an essay on the interpretation of Hitlerís life. Stolfiís project has both positive and negative aspects: Stolfi critiques the existing interpretations of Hitlerís life as a whole and of specific episodes in Hitlerís life, and Stolfi sets forth his own interpretations.

    Stolfiís criticism of Hitler biographies focuses on the work of those he calls the four ìgreat biographersî: John Toland (Adolf Hitler: The Definitive Biography [3]), Alan Bullock (Hitler: A Study in Tyranny [4] ), Joachim Fest (Hitler [5]), and Ian Kershaw (Hitler: 1889-1936, Hubris [6] and Hitler: 1936-1945, Nemesis [7] ). In Stolfiís words, ìthe penchant of [Hitlerís] biographers for gratuitous sarcasm, strained skepticism, and writing from preconceived heights of antipathy has left the world with a dangerously inaccurate portrait of Hitlerî (p. 54). (Judging from the reception of David Irvingís Hitlerís War and The War Path, the existing establishment regards an accurate portrait of Hitler more dangerous than an inaccurate one.) Four examples of this bias will sufficice:

    (1) Ian Kershaw claims that outside of politics, Hitler was an ìunperson,î a nullity, which completely ignores Hitlerís voracious reading, serious engagement with and understanding of philosophers like Schopenhauer, love of painting and fine art, remarkable architectural knowledge and skill, and love of classical music, including a connoisseurís knowledge of the operas of Richard Wagner that impressed the Wagner family and other highly discerning individuals.

    (2) Hitlerís biographers invariably denigrate his humble, common origins, coming off like parodies of the worst forms of social snobbery. But of course the same authors would wax sodden in describing any other manís rise from poverty and obscurity to fame and fortune. Jesse Owens, for instance.

    (3) Stolfi rebuts one of Joachim Festís most outrageous liberties as follows: ìThe great biographers all debunk Nazi theories of racial differences, which they characterize as pseudoscientific and based on unredeemed prejudice, yet one of them [Fest] could claim confidently, without hint of countervailing possibility, that the subject of his biography had ëcriminal featuresí set in a ëpsychopathic faceíî (p. 268).

    (4) The great biographers regularly slight Hitlerís service as a soldier during the First World War, yet as Stolfi points out, Hitler won the Iron Cross First Class, the Iron Cross Second Class, and a regimental commendation for bravery. He was also seriously wounded twice. Hitler never spoke much about what he did to earn these commendations, partly out of his characteristic modesty and reserve, but also probably because he did not wish to relive painful experiences. But even this is twisted by his biographers to cast aspersions on Hitlerís bravery and character. Stolfi notes that with no other historical figure do biographers feel entitled to take such liberties.

    Kershaw is the most tendentious of the great biographers, repeatedly characterizing Hitler as an ìunperson,î a ìnonentity,î a ìmediocrity,î and a ìfailure.î These epithets must surely feel good to Kershaw and like-minded readers, but if they are true, then Hitlerís career is utterly incomprehensible. Stolfi is acerbic, witty, and tireless in skewering the great biographers ó although some of his readers might find it tiresome as well.

    In addition to offering fascinating interpretations of particular events, Stolfi argues for three overriding theses about Hitler: (1) Hitler cannot be understood as a politician but as a prophet, specifically a prophet forced to take on the role of a messiah; (2) Hitler cannot be understood as an evil man, but as a good man who was forced by circumstances and his own ruthless logic and unemotional ìhardnessî to do terrible things; and (3) Hitler must be understood as one of the great men of history, indeed as a world-historical figure, who cannot be grasped with conventional moral concepts.

    Surely by now you are thinking that our author must be some sort of ìdiscredited,î ìmarginal,î outsider historian like David Irving, or even a dreaded ìrevisionist.î So who was Russell Stolfi?

    Born in 1932, Stolfi is to all appearances an established, mainstream military historian. He was Professor at the US Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey, California and a Colonel in the US Marine Corps Reserve. He is the author of three other books: German Panzers on the Offensive: Russian FrontñNorth Africa 1941-1942 [8] (Schiffer Publishing, 2003), Hitlerís Panzers East: World War II Reinterpreted [9] (University of Oklahoma, 1993), and NATO Under Attack: Why the Western Alliance Can Fight Outnumbered and Win in Central Europe Without Nuclear Weapons [10] (with F. W. von Mellenthin, Duke University Press, 1983). I first read Hitler: Beyond Evil and Tyranny in May of 2012, and I was so excited that I tried to contact Stolfi for an interview only to learn that he had just died in April.)

    Politician or Prophet?

    Adolf Hitler was a formidable political organizer who took over a minuscule Bavarian debating club and turned it into the largest political party in Germany. After being imprisoned for an abortive Putsch, Hitler decided to attain power legally, through electoral politics. To that end, he virtually created the modern political campaign, traveling tirelessly by automobile and airplane and masterfully employing the mass media of his time. When he became Chancellor, Hitler proved a formidable statesman, transforming Germany with a virtually bloodless revolution and recovering German lands and pride through a series of deft foreign policy triumphs until the British and French started a World War to stop him.

    Yet for all that, Stolfi argues that Hitlerís personality, goals, and grand strategy were more like those of a religious prophet, specifically an armed prophet like Mohammed.

    Politicians presuppose a common political system and climate of opinion. They generally avoid contesting fundamental principles and instead deal with essentially quantitative differences within the same political and ideological continuum, hence their ability to compromise and their susceptibility to corruption. Stolfi points out again and again that Hitler refused to behave like a politician.

    Hitler never compromised on basic principles. He took dangerously unpopular stands (p. 225). He refused to soften the partyís message to appeal to squeamish and lukewarm people. He was no demagogue: ìA demagogue tells his audience what it wants to hear. A messiah tells his audience what he wants it to hearî (p. 248). Hitler never worried that his radical views would ìdiscreditî him in the eyes of the public, whose minds were mostly in the grip of his enemies anyway. Instead, Hitler was supremely confident of his ability to lend credit to his ideas through reason and rhetoric. He wanted to elevate public opinion toward truth rather than condescend to pander to ignorance and folly.

    Hitler also refused to enter common fronts with enemy parties, especially the Social Democrats, even when they took patriotic stands.

    Hitler was, moreover, utterly incorruptible. He refused to make special promises to businessmen and other interest groups. He just handed them the partyís platform. In the end, he was offered the Chancellorship simply because his opponents knew he could not be bought off with anything less.

    Revolutionaries deal with fundamental issues of principle, which is why they seek to overthrow existing systems and begin anew. Hitler was, of course, a political revolutionary. But he was something more. He saw himself as the exponent of a whole philosophy of life, not just a political philosophy. He placed politics in a larger biological and historical perspective: the struggle of Aryan man against Jewry and its extended phenotypes Communism and Anglo-Saxon capitalism. He believed the stakes were global: nothing less than the survival of all life on Earth was in peril. And having miraculously survived four years of slaughter and two serious wounds in the trenches of World War I ó including an experience that can only be described as supernatural (p. 95) ó Hitler believed that he enjoyed the special protection of Providence.

    Hitler had a number of heroic role models. As a child, he was transported by Germanic myths and sagas. As a teenager, he identified with the hero of Wagnerís opera Rienzi, based on the story of Cola di Rienzi, the 14th century popular dictator who sought to restore Rome to its Imperial glory but who was undone by the treachery of the aristocracy and church and finally murdered. Hitler prophesied that he would become a tribune of the people who would rise and fall like Rienzi, and he did. Hitler also identified with Wagnerís Lohengrin and Siegfried. Although Hitler himself had little use for the Bible, his later career as armed prophet brings to mind the Hebrew prophets and lawgivers as well. Stolfiís analogy between Hitler and Mohammed is quite apposite and revealing.

    Savior of Germany ó and Europe

    Hitler, however, apparently did not think of himself as a messiah figure, but more as a John the Baptist, preparing the way for someone greater than him. But, as Stolfi documents, many of Hitlerís closest followers ó all of them intelligent men, ranging from mystics like Hess to consummate cynics like Goebbels ó as well as some of his more fair-minded enemies, did see him as a messiah figure, and in the end, he was forced to take on that role. Reading Stolfi makes Savitri Deviís thesis in The Lightning and the Sun that Hitler was an avatar of the god Vishnu seem a little less eccentric. (Savitri did not originate that thesis. It was a view that she encountered widely among educated Hindus in the 1930s.) There was something messianic about Hitlerís aura and actions, and people around the world understood it in terms of their own cultural traditions.

    Stolfi does not mention it, but there is a sense in which Hitler was the savior of Germany and all of Western Europe, although his accomplishments fell far short of his ambitions, consumed his life, and devastated his nation. When Hitler launched operation Barbarossa in 1941, the Soviets were poised to launch a massive invasion of all of Central and Western Europe. Hitler pre-empted that invasion, and although he failed to destroy the USSR, the Third Reich was destroyed instead, and Stalin conquered half of Europe, the outcome would have been much worse if Stalin had been able to launch his invasion. Stalin could have conquered all of Europe. At best he would have been repulsed after unimaginable devastation and bloodshed. Thus every Western European who has lived in freedom from want and terror since 1941 owes a debt of thanks to Adolf Hitler, the German people, and their Axis partners.

    (See on this site Daniel Michaels, ìExposing Stalinís Plan to Conquer Europe [11]î and the National Vanguard review [12] of Viktor Suvorovís Icebreaker; for more recent literature on this subject, see Viktor Suvorovís definitive statement of his research has been published as The Chief Culprit: Stalinís Grand Design to Start World War II [13] [Annapolis, Md.: Naval Institute Press, 2008] and Joachim Hoffmann, Stalinís War of Extermination, 1941-1945: Planning, Realization and Documentation [14] [Capshaw, Al.: Theses and Dissertations Press, 2001].)

    The Question of Evil

    In todayís climate of moral relativism and rot, Adolf Hitler is probably the only human being that even liberals will denounce as evil. Hitler is the modern worldís paradigm and embodiment of evil. But of course other people can be evil if they are ìlike Hitler.î Thus the most radical thesis of Stolfiís book is that Adolf Hitler was not evil.

    There are many dimensions to this argument.

    (1) Stolfi points out that there is no evidence that Hitler had psychopathic or sociopathic personality traits as a child. He did not torture animals or steal, for instance. He was polite, serious, and reserved.

    (2) Stolfi also points out that Hitler was not primarily motivated by hate or ressentiment. He arrived at his two great enmities, namely against Jewry and Bolshevism, based on personal experience, current events, and extensive research. But when he was rationally convinced of their enormity, he naturally hated them with appropriate magnitude and intensity. As Stolfi writes, ìIt is difficult to imagine Hitler either as messiah or otherwise and not hating the enemy. Did Jesus the Christ or Mohammed the Prophet hate Satan or merely disapprove of him?î (p. 233).

    (3) Calling Hitler evil, like calling him ìcrazy,î is mentally lazy, because it exempts us from trying to understand the reasons for Hitlerís actions: both his thought processes and objective events that prompted him to act. Hitler had his reasons.

    (4) Stolfi argues that Hitlerís character, goals, and actions were not evil. Hitler did what he thought was right, and he was hard enough to spill oceans of blood if he thought it was necessary to advance the greater good. A Socratic, of course, would claim that it is an empty claim, as nobody does evil as such but only under the guise of a perceived good. The evil of an act is in its outcome, not its motive. We all ìmean well.î

    (5) Stolfi hints that Hitler may have, in a sense, been beyond good and evil, because his goal was nothing less than the creation of a new order, including a new moral order, and it begs the question to subject such men to the moral laws they seek to overthrow. This points us back to Stolfiís thesis that Hitler has to be seen more as a religious than a political figure and forward to his third major thesis, that Hitler was a world-historical individual.

    Stolfi deals with a number of episodes in Hitlerís life that are adduced as evidence of evil. Stolfi argues that some of these acts are not evil at all. He others that others were necessary or mitigated evils.

    And he claims that still others were no more evil than the actions of other great men of history who nevertheless manage to receive respectful treatment from biographers. Finally, Stolfi argues that all of these acts, even the evil ones, do not necessarily make Hitler an evil man, for even good men can commit horrific acts if they believe they are necessary to promote a greater good.

    (1) Stolfi argues that Hitlerís Beer Hall Putsch and other violations of the laws of the Weimar Republic are somewhat softened by the fact that he believed that the Weimar Republic was an illegitimate and criminal regime. Hitlerís early attempts to defy it and replace it are not, therefore, ìevil,î unless all acts of disobedience and revolution against governments as such are evil. In any case, after his release from prison, Hitler adopted a policy of strict legality: he pursued the Chancellorship through electoral politics, and he won.

    (2) Stolfi argues that the creation of the Sturmabteilungen (Storm Troops) was not motivated by a desire to violently intimidate political opponents and seize power. Instead, the SA was formed in self-defense against organized Communist efforts to violently intimidate political opponents and seize power, violence that had effectively suppressed the ability of all Right-wing parties to assemble. The SA did not merely assure the NSDAPís freedom to assemble and organize, it broke the Red terror and restored political freedom to all parties.

    (3) Stolfi argues that the Rˆhm purge was necessary because there was ample evidence that Rˆhm himself was plotting a coup, and, true or not, Hindenburg, the leaders of the military, and Hitlerís top lieutenants all believed it to be true. Hindenburg threatened to declare martial law and have the army deal with Rˆhm if Hitler would not. Hitler had to act, because if he didnít, he would be effectively deposed: he would be abdicating the sovereign function to decide and act for the good of the people to Hindenburg and the army. Even so, Hitler temporized to the last possible moment.


    R. H. S. Stolfi, 1932ñ2012

    Stolfi claims that Rˆhmís death was a kind of apotheosis for Hitler: ìBy June 1934, Hitler stood poised to pass beyond friendship with any man into the realm of the lonely, distant Leader. But Hitler could never pass into that realm with Rˆhm alive and serving as a reminder of Hitlerís own historical mortality. Rˆhm had to die, and Hitler had to kill himî (p. 306). But this was not, of course, Hitlerís motive for killing him.

    Ultimately, Stolfi judges Rˆhmís death to be politically necessary and morally excusable. He describes it not as a cool, premeditated murder but as a ìcrime of passionî of a man faced with the infidelity of a sworn confidant (p. 309). Of course, the Rˆhm purge was the occasion for settling a number of other old scores, which complicates Stolfiís moral picture considerably.

    (4) Stolfi evidently thinks there was nothing evil at all about Hitlerís assumption of dictatorial powers ó through a provision in the Weimar constitution ó or his suppression of a political movement as destructive and implacable as Marxism. But he praises the relative bloodlessness of Hitlerís legal revolution.

    (5) As for the concentration camps off to which Hitler packed the leaders of the Marxist parties and other subversive groups: in 1935, when the German population stood at 65 million, the concentration camp inmates numbered 3,500, most of them Communists and Social Democrats. The camp system and its mandate were expanded to house people in protective custody for being social nuisances, including beggars, drunks, homosexuals (homosexuality was criminalized under the Second Reich, remained criminalized under Weimar, and was criminalized in the liberal democracies too), gypsies, and habitual criminals ó by 1939 there were 10 camps with 25,000 inmates in a country of 80 million people. That doesnít seem quite as evil as it was cracked up to be. Furthermore, since Himmler and Heydrich certainly did not lack persecuting zeal and organizational skill, we can conclude that the camp system was exactly as big as they thought it should be.

    To give some context, according to Wikipedia [16] ñ where statistics about Soviet atrocities tend to be on the low end due to Marxist policing ó in March of 1940, the Soviet Gulag comprised 53 separate camps and 423 labor colonies in which approximately 1.3 million people were interned out of a population of 170 million. Whatever the real size, it was exactly as big as Stalin wanted it to be.

    Although I have not been able to find records of similar forms of internment in liberal democracies for political dissidents and social nuisances, these surely did take place. But even in the absence of these numbers, it seems clear that Hitlerís camps were far more similar to the prisons of liberal democracies than the Soviet Gulag to which they are always likened.

    Of course, these were peacetime numbers. Under the exigencies of war, Hitlerís camp system expanded dramatically to house hostile populations, prisoners of war, and conscript laborers, which is another topic.

    (6) Hitlerís anti-Semitism is often put forward as evidence of evil. Hitler himself thought that certain forms of anti-Semitism were repugnant if not outright evil: religious anti-Semitism, anti-Semitism based on ressentiment, gutter populist scapegoating, etc. His repugnance for such phenomena prejudiced him against anti-Semitism as such. But his personal experiences in Vienna, combined with serious reading eventually led him to a dispassionate, scientifically based, and historically informed anti-Semitism.

    When Hitler took power, Germany had a relatively small Jewish population. His basic policy was to prevent any further German-Jewish genetic admixture, remove Jews from positions of power and influence, and encourage Jews to emigrate. By the outbreak of the Polish war, Germanyís Jewish population had been dramatically reduced. But due to Hitlerís war gains, millions of new Jews fell into his remit. More about this anon. Stolfi is somewhat circumspect in passing judgment about Hitlerís peacetime Jewish policy. But we can safely say that it was no more evil than, say, the British treatment of Boer non-combatants or the American treatment of the Plains Indians.

    (7) Regarding Hitlerís foreign policy exploits as Chancellor ó including rearmament, pulling out of the League of Nations, remilitarizing the Rhineland, the annexation of the Sudetenland and Austria, the annexation of Bohemia, and the war with Poland ó Stolfi writes, ìevery international crisis that involved Hitler in the 1930s stemmed from an iniquity on the part of the Allies in the Paris Peace Conference of 1919? (p. 316). According to Stolfi, in all of these crises, morality was on Hitlerís side, and he lauds Hitler for conducting them with restraint and relative bloodlessness ó at least up until the Polish war.

    These were hardly the outrageous, unendurable moral provocations of Allied propaganda that justified Britain and France starting a World War because Hitler, having exhausted diplomatic negotiations, started a war with Poland to recover German lands and peoples subjected to horrific Polish oppression. The British and French simply could not grasp that, in Stolfiís words, ìa world-historical personality had marched, outraged, out of the desert of shattered Flanders fields, and the former Allies had not even superior morality to shield themselves from himî (p. 317).

    (8) Stolfi interprets Operation Barbarossa against the USSR as a colonial war of conquest as well as a crusade to rid Europe of the scourge of Bolshevism. From an ethnonationalist perspective, of course, Hitlerís aim to reduce Slavs to colonized peoples was evil. Furthermore, it was more evil than British, French, Spanish, Portuguese, Belgian, American, and Russian imperialism directed at non-European peoples, because it is always worse to mistreat oneís own blood than foreigners. But it was certainly not uniquely evil in the annals of human history. If Genghis Khan and Timur the Lame can be the subjects of objective historical assessments, then Barbarossa does not disqualify Hitler.

    Stolfi does not treat Barbarossa as a necessary war to preempt Stalinís planned invasion of Europe. I wanted to ask Stolfi his thoughts about the thesis defended by Viktor Suvorov and Joachim Hoffmann in an interview, but that was not to be. If they are right, of course, than there was no evil at all in launching Barbarossa, although one can justly criticize the excesses of its execution.

    (9) According to Stolfi, Hitlerís darkest deeds are the massacre of 3.1 million Soviet POWs captured in the opening months of Barbarossa and the killing of 4.5 million Jews in what is known as the Holocaust. Stolfi is certainly a Hitler revisionist, but I do not know whether he is a Holocaust revisionist or not, since I am unsure if it is legal for him to think that ìonlyî 4.5 million Jews were killed by the Third Reich. I had not even heard of the 3.1 million Soviet POWs, which Stolfi mentions only a couple of times in passing. But of course I have heard of the Holocaust, to which Stolfi dedicates the last two paragraphs of the book (pp. 461ñ62). Such a brief treatment may itself constitute revisionism, at least in France, where Jean-Marie Le Pen was fined for saying that the Holocaust was only a footnote to the Second World War. Given that some footnotes are longer than the paragraphs in question, Stolfi might have gotten in trouble in the land of libertÈ. Stolfiís treatment, however, is a welcome corrective to the Jewish tendency to treat World War II as merely the backdrop of the Holocaust.

    Of course, just as Hitler is our ageís paradigm of an evil man, the Holocaust is the paradigm of an evil event. Stolfi does not dispute that the massacre of 7.6 million people is evil. But he does not think it is uniquely evil in World War II or the annals of history in general. Winston Churchill, for example, was responsible for the starvation of millions of Indians whose food was seized for the war effort. He was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of German non-combatants in strategically unnecessary terror bombings of German cities. He was responsible for the expulsion of 14 million Germans from their homes in Eastern and Central Europe, up to two million of whom died. Was Churchill evil? His apologists, of course, would argue that his actions were necessitated by the exigencies of war and the pursuit of the greater good. But Hitlerís apologists, if there were any, could argue the very same thing and be done with it. If Churchill, Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Julius Caesar, and other members of the Million Murder club can receive fair treatment in a biography, then why not Hitler?

    Stolfi compares the Holocaust to Julius Caesarís 10 year conquest of Gaul, in which he killed more than a million armed men and reduced another million to slavery. One million civilian non-combatants were also killed or reduced to slavery. Some particularly troublesome tribes were entirely exterminated because they were ìirreconcilable, menacing, and useless either as allies or slavesî (p. 38). Stolfi points out, however, that Caesarís acts ìrevealed harshness of almost incredible proportion,î but his acts were ìbased on realism and prudence in the face of perceived danger ó scarcely sadism and crueltyî (p. 38). Likewise, Stolfi argues that ìHitler took the action of pitiless massacre as a last resort in the face of a perceived irreconcilable enemyî and his actions ìshowed virtually nothing that can be interpreted as sadism, cruelty, or ingrained hate as opposed to temporary fury in the carrying out of the actionî (p. 39).

    Hitlerís massacres, terrible though they may be, do not prove that he is an evil man, since even good men might resort to such measures in direst extremity. Moreover, even if they were expressions of evil, they were not unique expressions of unique evil but all too common in the annals of history. But, again, only in Hitlerís case are they treated as insuperable objections to serious historical treatment.

    In sum, Stolfi argues that Hitler cannot be seen as evil if that means that he was motivated by sadism, psychopathy, hatred, or a neurotic need for power and attention. Instead, Hitler was motivated, first and foremost, by love of his people, beyond which were wider but less pressing concerns with the larger Aryan race, European civilization, and the welfare of the world as a whole. Because Hitler believed that the things he loved were imperiled by Jewry, Bolshevism, and Anglo-Saxon capitalism, he fought them. And when the fight became a world conflagration, he fought them with a remarkable hardness and severity. But his essentially decent character and positive ends remained unchanged. Thus for Stolfi, Hitler is a good man who did some bad things as well as good things ó a good man who made many good decisions and some catastrophic mistakes.

    A Dark World Historical Personality

    But there is a sense in which Stolfi thinks that Hitler is beyond the very categories of good and evil, at least as far as historians should be concerned. Stolfi argues that Hitler was a great man, like such great conquerors as Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Mohammed, and Napoleon. (Stolfi makes scant mention of unarmed prophets like the Buddha or Jesus.) According to Stolfi, if one were to freeze Hitlerís life at the end of 1942, he would have to be considered one of historyís greatest statesmen and conquerors. And even if one plays the film all the way to the end, Stolfi argues that the Allies did not win World War II so much as Hitler lost it, which itself underscores his greatness and the relative nullity of his opponents.

    Indeed, Stolfi argues that Hitler was more than just a great man but one of Hegelís ìworld-historical individuals,î who inaugurates a new stage in human history and cannot be judged or comprehended by the standards of the previous stage. Stolfi, it seems, detaches this concept from Hegelís overall view that world-historical individuals advance history toward the Providential goal of universal freedom, a goal that Hitler, of course, rejected in favor of particularisms of race and nation. Sadly, though, Hitler may have advanced the universalist agenda in defeat, through no intention of his own.

    But, as another prophetic figure once said of World War II, ìthe warís not over as far as Iím concerned,î meaning that history is still unfolding, including the consequences of Hitlerís actions. So it remains to be seen whether Hitler will contribute to the victory or defeat of universalism. If racial nationalism ó of which Hitler is an inexpungeable part ó defeats the drive toward a homogeneous global society, then Hitler would be a world historical figure of an entirely new order: not an agent of ìprogress,î but of its termination; the man who ended the ìend of historyî and started the world anew; the man who took the ascending line of progress and inscribed it within a cyclical view of history, whether interpreted in the widely variant Traditionalist or Spenglerian senses.

    * * *

    Hitler: Beyond Evil and Tyranny is a remarkable book that I recommend to all my readers. It is an audacious project executed with clarity and dry humor. Sometimes Stolfi seems to go a bit too far, perhaps just to test his dialectical skills. For instance, he even defends Hitler as a painter. He does a surprisingly good job, but I will still not budge from my conviction that Winston Churchill was Hitlerís superior in this ó and only this ó regard.

    This book is even more remarkable because it is the work of a mainstream military historian. Let us hope that it clears the way for other genuinely historical studies of Hitler and the Third Reich. This really is an inevitable development as the generations that lived through the war die off. Furthermore, we are now living in a multipolar world with new rising powers ó Russia, China, India ó that are free of Jewish cultural and political hegemony and hungry for a genuine understanding of Hitler and the Second World War.

    White Nationalism would, of course, still be true and good even if Hitler were every bit the monster and tyrant that his enemies claim. But White Nationalists should still welcome Stolfiís book because reducing the cloud of moral hysteria and denigration that surrounds Hitler somewhat lowers the impediment we have to step over. Stolfi takes some of the sting out of the inevitable accusation that we are ìjust like Hitlerî ó which, it turns out, is an undeserved compliment.

    Book Review by Dr. Gregory Johnson, June 7, 2013,

  • Monsters!


    Ö by  Ingrid R. Zundel


    The letter below, written by a Norwegian physician volunteer working in Gaza, needs no introduction ñ the heading I gave it says it all! A lifetime ago, I was a child who experienced first-hand the kind of carnage the Gaza civilians experience even as I write this. To call it ìinhumanî does not do it justice. It is, in my opinion, satanic.

    Please circulate this letter widely. It needs to go viral on the Net.


    Mads Gilbert MD PhD?.

    The last night was extreme. The ìground invasionî of Gaza resulted in scores and carloads with maimed, torn apart, bleeding, shivering, dying ñ all sorts of injured Palestinians, all ages, all civilians, all innocent.

    The heroes in the ambulances and in all of Gazaís hospitals are working 12-24 hour shifts, grey from fatigue and inhuman workloads (without payment all in Shifa for the last 4 months), they care, triage, try to understand the incomprehensible chaos of bodies, sizes, limbs, walking, not walking, breathing, not breathing, bleeding, not bleeding humans. HUMANS!

    Now, once more treated like animals by ìthe most moral army in the worldî (sic!).

    My respect for the wounded is endless, in their contained determination in the midst of pain, agony and shock; my admiration for the staff and volunteers is endless, my closeness to the Palestinian ìsumudî gives me strength, although in glimpses I just want to scream, hold someone tight, cry, smell the skin and hair of the warm child, covered in blood, protect ourselves in an endless embrace ñ but we cannot afford that, nor can they.

    Ashy grey faces ñ Oh NO! Not one more load of tens of maimed and bleeding, we still have lakes of blood on the floor in the ER, piles of dripping, blood-soaked bandages to clear out ñ oh ñ the cleaners, everywhere, swiftly shovelling the blood and discarded tissues, hair, clothes,cannulas ñ the leftovers from death ñ all taken away Ö to be prepared again, to be repeated all over.

    More then 100 cases came to Shifa in the last 24 hrs. Enough for a large well trained hospital with everything, but here ñ almost nothing: no electricity, water, disposables, drugs, OR-tables, instruments, monitors ñ all rusted and as if taken from museums of yesterdayís hospitals. But they do not complain, these heroes. They get on with it, like warriors, head on, enormously resolute.

    And as I write these words to you, alone, on a bed, my tears flow, the warm but useless tears of pain and grief, of anger and fear. This is not happening! An then, just now, the orchestra of the Israeli war-machine starts its gruesome symphony again, just now: salvos of artillery from the navy boats just down on the shores, the roaring F16, the sickening drones (Arabic ëZennanisí, the hummers), and the cluttering Apaches. So much made in and paid by the US.

    Volunteers tend to the wounded of Gaza.

    I invite you ñ spend one night ñ just one night ñ with us in Shifa. Disguised as a cleaner, maybe. I am convinced, 100%, it would change history.

    Nobody with a heart AND power could ever walk away from a night in Shifa without being determined to end the slaughter of the Palestinian people.
    But the heartless and merciless have done their calculations and planned another ìdahyiaî onslaught on Gaza.

    The rivers of blood will keep running the coming night. I can hear they have tuned their instruments of death.

    Please. Do what you can. This, THIS cannot continue.

    Mads Gilbert MD PhD?.
    Professor and Clinical Head
    Clinic of Emergency Medicine
    University Hospital of North Norway

  • Republican Party Animal: The Travails of a Jewish Holocaust Skeptic/By David Cole

    Republican Party Animal: The Travails of a Jewish Holocaust Skeptic/ By David Cole

    Photo and caption as they appear in David Coleís book.  ìJewpiter the Clownî Because who wouldnít trust this guy as a Holocaust historian?


    The ìBad Boy of Holocaust Historyî blows the lid off Hollywoodís secret right-wing underground

    (Comments below  by Ingrid Zundel)

    This controversial title is available on Amazon.   I read it a few days ago and discussed small parts of it with Ernst.  He hasnít read it yet, and I am curious as to his response after he has read it.  For now, he only said:  ìSince David has done us the favor and outed himself, we can afford to seize the opportunityÖî

    I assume that most supporters on my list who receive my Power Letter are familiar with the story of a young Jew named David Cole who played a brilliant role in early revisionism.  Ernst had befriended him and had taken him protectively under his wings because there were people in the nascent ìRevisionist Movement for Truth in Historyî who instinctively disliked and distrusted David Cole Ö because he was a Jew. 

    Ernst felt that David was a genuinely idealistic youngster, barely twenty years of age when they met, enamored with his role as a fiery ìfree speech advocateî who had started doing useful work in turning over Auschwitzís shards of history. 

    Ernst and I had barely met in 1994, and I was still a novice and learning ìwho was who and what was what.î  Ernst told me of his young Jewish friend of his who had been introduced to an alternative view of history by a young Irish revisionist scholar by the name of David McCalden.  The latter had been instrumental in founding and promoting the California-based Institute for Historical Review. 

    One incident, particularly, impressed Ernst as to David Coleís sincerity and courage, as David Cole told the story.  There had been an altercation between McCalden and Irv Rubin, then the head of an American-based terrorist group called the Jewish Defense League where McCalden was viciously beaten and thrown through a plate glass window ñ and David, still a teenager and slight of build, had heroically come to McCaldenís aid. 

    It was a vivid, touching story, totally believable, as Ernst recounted it to me  ñ and as David retold it to me in every small detail when I got to meet him a decade or so later.  Imagine!  A little Jewish kid fighting for a besieged revisionist leader!  What a courageous deed!

    Well, that was then, and now is now.  As David tells it in Republican Party Animal, here is what really happened:

    The first time I had to face the possibility of my interest in revisionism becoming public was in 1989.  McCalden told me he was going to a debate at a Beverly Hills temple.  Irv Rubin, lovable and murderous head of the Jewish Defense league (JDL) was going to debate a Jewish leader who didnít approve of killing people.  Iíd seen Rubin on TV slapping around anti-Semites (the guy was built like a golem).  It sounded like a fun evening.

    Sitting in the rear of the temple where some of my childhood friends had been bar-mizvahíd, I anxiously awaited the invigorating back-and-forth.  I saw McCalden enter the temple, quietly, from the lobby.  Within five seconds, a half-dozen JDL guys piled on him.  They dragged him into the lobby and put his head through a glass-plate window.  He was tossed onto the sidewalk.  Of course, I immediately stood up and said, ìThat was uncalled for!  This is a house of God!î  WellÖactually, no.  I just sat there in a meek, cowardly silence.  The debate went on as planned, but after Rubin told the crowd that the guy he just beat up was a ìNazi,î he won over the audience for the rest of the night.

    The next day, McCalden called me.  He asked if I saw the fracas.  I didnít call him back.

    Then I saw reports on the incident in two local papers.  ìNeo-Nazi David McCalden burst into a local temple during services and attempted to rip up the Torah, while shouting ëHeil Hitler!í  Security escorted him out.î 

    Until I read this second version about two week ago, I still believed the first.  I called Ernst and asked him if he had ever heard this version.  He said it was all news to him. 

    David further illustrates his early interaction with McCalden:

    I read that McCalden was a militant atheist, an Irish nationalist, and a Holocaust revisionist (the term denier had not yet been coined, so revisionists were called revisionists, even by their foes.)  McCalden had co-founded the largest revisionist publishing house in North America, the Institute for Historical Review, in Orange County, California.

    I found McCaldenís ideological mix fascinating, Atheist, Irish nationalist, Holocaust revisionist.  Racist?  Maybe, but he had a non-white wife.  And there were rumors that he was a closeted gay.  It was a mix Iíd yet to encounter as I profiled ideologues.  I wrote to him.  I asked for some info, some literature.  Instead, I got a personal visit.  But he didnít come to proselytize, he came to fight. 

    He thought I was a îJewish infiltratorî trying to cozy up to him for nefarious purposes.  He already had that suspicion when he drove to my house, and when he saw the mezuzah on my door, he went totally apeshit.   I tried to convince him that I was not working with or for anybody.  I just wanted to know what motivated a guy like him.

    I must have been convincing, because he believed me.  He gave me some literature and took off.  And I read it.  Incredibly amateur stuff.  I took everything and put it aside.  I had no interest in revisiting it. 

    A little sidebar here, McCalden was an intellectual and a truly gifted writer, but it is possible that the revisionist material at that time was still amateurish.  Remember, revisionism still barely existed.  Only in 1985 and then 1988, after the two Great Holocaust trials, alternately known as the ìErnst Zundel False News Trialsî galvanized the movement, was there solid, documented evidence available globally that not all was as claimed in the traditional Holocaust version.  David Cole acknowledges this as he describes his progression as a revisionist activist below: 

    I went back to see McCalden, but just my luck, the poor bastard had upped and died of AIDS after giving it to his wife as well.  I guess those gay rumors must have had merit, not that thereís anything wrong with that (well, to be fair, I think the whole ìgiving AIDS to your wifeî thing was pretty wrong.)

    McCaldenís social circle consisted of his Holocaust revisionist buddies and his atheist buddies (there was a fair amount of crossover).  The atheist guys were a pretty decent bunch ñ not racist at all.  Plus, I used to self-identify as an atheist in my youth, (I donít anymore), I fit in very well with them. 

    One of the atheist guys, the man entrusted with dealing with McCaldenís massive collection of books and files (maybe three thousand books, and at least a hundred huge file boxes of papers), decided they should go to someone a bit more rational than some of the well-known names in the revisionist field. (Ö) So, overnight, I inherited one of the largest libraries of Holocaust books in L.A.  And lots and lots of correspondence ñ almost twenty years worth.  

    I read through the revisionist literature.  It provided no answers, but it left me with several questions.  The problem was, mainstream historians would never address revisionist concerns and the revisionists, for the most part, were sloppy and (mostly) ideologically motivated.

    I also happened to enter the Holocaust history field at just the right time.  Several things were in play.  The freedom of travel and research in Poland, not possible during the Cold War years.  And the amazingly inept, self-defeating criminal trials of Holocaust denier (yes, denier, not revisionist) Ernst Zundel in Canada, throughout the ë80s, which made a lot of people who would have otherwise ignored revisionism think twice about the reliability of the Auschwitz story.

    Blame Canada! (Ö)

    Hereís what I want to say:  As yet, no doctorate in revisionism exists.  I donít know just how one earns oneís laurels as a ìrevisionistî ñ but there exists even today not one sole human being on the face of the earth who has done as much as Ernst Zundel responsibly revising history.  He and his trials have brought an entire alternative view of history under one hood and given it visibility and authenticity. 

    I asked Ernst to write me a synopsis of his interaction with David:

    In the early 1980s, Canada was still an Anglo-Saxon country adhering to the ìmajesty of lawî.  There was still respectful decorum observed in the courtrooms.  It was true that I was under siege politically from many quarters even then.  For one, the post-war Germans, always willing to demonstrate subservient compliance to please the Allied Powers still ruling Germany, refused to extend my passport, and I was effectively ìgroundedî in Canada, not being able to travel anywhere.  I was in a Siberian Gulag-type situation, besieged by government-initiated criminal prosecutions for what was called ìfalse newsî. 

    I was beaten, spat at, the target of arson and pipe and parcel bombs by terrorists of all stripes, including terror acts initiated by Irv Rubin and his hoodlums ñ yet I had become increasingly effective with my worldwide information outreach ñ its main message being that the guilt heaped on the German people for crimes alleged to have happened might not be warranted.  I pleaded for a neutral global debate ñ all facts, such as they were, on the table!

    I was sending my monthly newsletter to 43 countries in German and in English.  I was broadcasting in both languages via shortwave radio stations from America, various stations in Africa, the Middle East, via Christian missionary shortwave stations in Israelís South Lebanon-occupied area, and also broadcast eventually from Radio Moscowís Kˆnigsberg/Kaliningrad AM station which could be heard all over Western and Eastern countries, loud and clear, without the usual distortions and customary poor reception of shortwave. 

    Simultaneously, my supporters and I were rapidly expanding our Public Access outreach on 145 to 160 US TV stations with the help of thousands of volunteers.  The Zundel media juggernaut was awesome to behold.  This unnerved my detractors to the point that they set up a ìflying squadî of Simon Wiesenthal/ADL-like pressure groups who were burning up the telephones to enforce the traditional Holocaust version across the USA by putting pressure on newspaper editors, station managers, advertisers etc.

    Thatís when David Cole entered the picture.

    I had heard from the people at the IHR that a young Jew frequently visited them and borrowed and watched every videotape of the Zundel/Samisdat Publishers productions.   Since I could not leave Canada for visits to the US or Europe to lecture, David came to Canada, and we became fast friends.  I presented him to the public via lectures, press conferences and private gatherings, making him also available to various political intelligence organizations with whom I had developed friendly working relationships. 

    Thus, these police and intelligence officials could get first-hand information on what I did, said, and wrote.  I always shared our venues with my police and intelligence contacts.  I sought out attorney generals, justice ministry officials, and even parliamentarians from various provinces.  There was nothing clandestine about my political outreach.  This was my standard operating procedure for decades in every country I operated.  It paid good dividends for an alternative view of history the public was entitled to hear. 

    I followed the same procedure with David Cole.  When he came to Canada, I toured the country with him.  He spoke in packed hotel ballrooms full of cheering crowds of not only Zundel supporters but also the public in general.

    I am told that in his recently released book David portrays our outreach in a less than flattering manner.  That is his view now, but David Cole knows perfectly well that in his very young years he fully and enthusiastically participated in this outreach campaign for Truth in History.  He truly gave it his all.  He was young, good-looking, eloquent, well-mannered ñ no gutter language then!  We were on a roll, and he helped to legitimize the image we tried to project ñ that we were not some low-brow idiots who ran around with swastikas and hated Jews and Blacks.  It was a pleasure to work with him in private and in public at the time. 

    The legal struggle around the Zundel outreach even then was fierce, but I won numerous important court cases in Canada and Germany.  I had been banned from the mail ñ and in an epic public tribunal hearing I won my mailing privileges back.  I could once again flood the world with my historical information material. 

    I also won a court case in Germany against the infamous Paragraph 130.  The state had to give me my bank account back.  I used that money to go into information overdrive.  At the same time, my German attorney, J¸rgen Rieger, won an astonishing victory against the German Federal Authorities who were forced by court order to issue me a new passport ñ ìforthwith!î

    David Cole and I kept in close touch throughout the 1990s.  After my Supreme Court victory in 1992 he told me he was going to Auschwitz and other camps in Poland to make interviews for documentaries for use in the U.S.  As fate would have it, David was filming in Auschwitz exactly when I was issued my brand new German passport.  I immediately contacted him via phone at the Auschwitz Holiday Inn and flew to Europe at once, meeting him the next day on-site to make interviews with him there in the actual locations ñ a sensational opportunity! 

    I took my own cameraman along, and David brought his own ìcamera woman.î  By the time I arrived, David had been there already several days interviewing Polish Auschwitz officials and touring the camps with them.  I decided to let David be my ìtour guide.î  Two documentaries resulted ñ one in English and one in German.  They are still worth their weight in gold.

    Ernst Zundel and David Cole at Auschwitz

     While still in Europe, I organized several talks and press conferences and meeting with German intelligence officers in Munich and elsewhere. 

    David was a sensation, lionized by the Germans and even the police and mainstream media when he told them of the many irregularities in the official Holocaust tale.  My enemies were shell-shocked by it all!  This was in 1989; right after the Berlin Wall fell.

    Since I could now travel again, I roamed the world to my heartís content.  I met David several times in the US ñ where by that time, he himself was under assault quite literally by terrorist and arsonist thugs, and where eventually a US$20,000 fatwa/reward had been offered by the Jewish Defense Leagueís Irv Rubin for David Coleís head ñ ìdead or alive.î 

    JDLís leader Irv Rubin

    Under such dire terrorist threat, David Cole issued his famous ìrecantationî.  During his travails, I kept in constant touch, privately ñ by telephone, fax, and in clandestine meetings in California, where he was always accompanied by huge, black bodyguards.  It looked like the terrorists had won.  I myself became the target of abuse and derision all over again because I had worked so closely with this young, brilliant Jew. 

    It did not take long, and my life took several turns for the worse.  I was arrested and expelled from the US to the Gulag in Canada in isolation, treated by the Canadian spy services as a ìdanger to the security of Canada.î  I battled deportation for two years, wearing an orange, Guantanamo style uniform, handcuffs and leg irons. 

    In my second year of detention, my wife Ingrid told me that David Cole, revisionist Bradley Smith, and some Mexican friend were going to make a documentary about my life.  I got permission from prison authorities to be filmed by them ñ a big surprise to me! ñ but when the so-called ìfilm crewî arrived, it all fizzled out because they were a sorry bunch of incompetent, lying crooks.   The whole unsavory episode is part of Davidís book.  I havenít read it yet, but Ingrid has told me enough for me to form an opinion. 

    How do I feel about this mix of literary brilliance, pornographic sleaze ñ and truths, half-truths, and brazen, bald-faced lies that leave me simply speechless?  I understand he is a serious alcoholic.  God only knows what inner devils plague David Cole these days. 

    As for myself, I feel detached.  I am sad for so much talent laid to waste by booze and lack of sexual restraint.  I also feel betrayed, because some twenty years ago I thought in all sincerity that David was my friend.  But this betrayal does not touch my inner core about what happened then and what is being said today. 

    How does David Cole view his erstwhile friend and mentor today?

    Ernst Z¸ndel was a German who immigrated to Canada in 1958.  Zundel loves Hitler.  I mean, he really loves Hitler. But, and this is the point I have a hell of a time communicating to people, he loves Hitler because heís certain, he knows, that sweetie-pie Adolf was framed.  That mustached little munchkin couldnít hurt a fly.  Zundel really, sincerely, believes that.  Heís nuts, but heís not dangerous.

    With gritted teeth, let me put it this way and leave it at that:  Cole certainly is right to say Ernst is not, and never has been, ìdangerousî Ö but would three, possibly four Western governments have conspired to the tune of millions and millions of taxpayers dollars to run down, kidnap and furiously try to silence a ìnutî? 

    David knows better ñ thatís all that I can say!  Whatever else you might think about David, he is a very bright man.  He even sheepishly admits he knows what happened to Ernst Zundel as he expands his version in the following few paragraphs:

     Z¸ndelís name would not be known if he hadnít been subjected to two criminal prosecutions by the Canadian government. 

    In Europe, if youíre arrested for being a Holocaust revisionist, you canít mount a defense of ìbut Iím right.î  You canít use ìtruthî as your defense.  You canít argue your beliefs in court.  Essentially, you can only beg for mercy, plead guilty, or plead insanity.

    But every time the Canadians put Z¸ndel on trial, they put no restrictions on his defense.  He was allowed to plead ìnot guilty because Iím right.î  And so, throughout the course of his trials his legal team was allowed to grill Holocaust historians, survivors, and ìexpertsî of all kinds.

    This is one of those moments in which I fear that I lack the language skills to properly express the completely self-defeating lunacy of what the Canadians did.  Their desire was to silence Holocaust revisionism.  To do that, they gave Z¸ndel the opportunity to do something that no one else had ever had ñ the ability to grill historians under penalty of perjury. (Ö)

    In its attempt to silence revisionism, the Canadian government ended up putting it on the fÖing map.  Z¸ndel and his exceptionally able and well-funded legal team took the Canadian blunder and ran with it.  Thanks to the Canadians, it wasnít Zundel on trial, but the Holocaust. (Ö) The story was that the respected experts and the survivors had to make humiliating admissions under oath.

    The result of all this tumult was that Holocaust revisionism became ìa thing.î  In its desire to destroy revisionism, the damn Canucks had put it on the map, with daily breathless headlines in every Canadian paper, carried by wire services around the world.  And I thought that as long as revisionism was going to be ìa thingî, with or without my participation, the ìthingî could probably benefit from having a guy with no ideological fanaticism enter the field to sort the wheat from the chaff and take the wheat out of the hands of people like Zundel.

    My reaction?  Why, that sneaky little twerp!  Image the chutzpah!  And marvel at the ease with which a Jewish switcheroo is done.  David had a private plan that did not match the image he so carefully projected, and he proceeded to put it to use.  He put on his yarmulke and played the Jewish bonus to the hilt, allowing him enormous media leeway not open to serious revisionist scholars. 

    And he is right in saying that Ernst was not a bean-counting revisionist in the conventional footnoting sense.  His role was that of what he himself has called a ìradical revisionistî ñ a street-smart global populist for truth in history, arranging dozens of lectures for David, where David enlightened the masses on the discrepancies of the conventional Holocaust tale, as often as not to thundering audience applause. 

    David seemed utterly credible then.  He wrote sharp, imaginative letters, trouncing the media, pleading with dignitaries on behalf of the revisionist cause. David and Ernst gave joint media interviews.  David and Ernst toured the ruins of Auschwitz, together.   And, much to his amazement and surprise, the Jewish wunderkind called David Cole became a media star, invited to popular talk shows like 48 Hours, Montel Williams, Morton Downey Jr., and Phil Donahue, to name but a few out of many.

    It must have been in 1994, at my very first revisionist convention put on by the Institute for Historical Review where David was one of the speakers, an opportunity for me to observe him first-hand.  I came to this scene without the slightest prejudice.  I knew of Ernstís fondness for David, and I was prepared to be duly impressed.

    As part of his lecture, which was quite good, David was showing a network media clip ñ it might have been The Phil Donahue Show ñ where either the host or the audience took umbrage at Ernst and David touring the Auschwitz in tandem, and where David defends himself thusly: 

    ìZundel visited Auschwitz.  I visited Auschwitz.  We met.  What was I to do ñ kick him in the balls?î 

    And David turned to Ernst, who sat in the back of the room, put on a rueful smile, and said, ìErnst, Iím sorryÖî and Ernst replied in his gentle, grandfatherly way:  ìItís okay, David.  Itís okay.î

    Thatís not how I felt.  I felt nothing but rage at this two-faced little snit shamelessly playing both sides to reap favors from opposite camps.  At the break, I sat outside by myself in the hall on a small hotel settee, and David spotted me, plopped himself right next to me and looked at me expectantly.  I donít know if he knew who I was, but by his facial expression I could tell he wanted me to say something to him ñ maybe a compliment for that off-color comment at his lecture? 

    When it comes to smutty language, I am the biggest prude on earth, and no apologies.  I felt such an instinctive revulsion at his mendacious comment that I could not bring myself to say a single word.  Side by side, we sat there for maybe ten minutes, in silence.

     I asked Ernst later why he had been so calm with the slick liar on the stage, and Ernst said in his easy-going way:  ìWhat do you expect?  He is of the tribe.  He could not help himself.î 

    I know a useful fable to illustrate the above ñ and what followed.  A frog and a scorpion sit by a river, trying to get to the other side.  The scorpion says to the frog: 

    ìYou know I donít know how to swim.  Permit me to ride on your back?î 

    The frog looks at the scorpion and says:  ìNo way.  Why would I do that?  Youíd only sting me, and both of us would drown.î

    ìWhy would I do a foolish thing like that?î argues the scorpion.  ìThat would not be in my interest.î

    That argument makes perfect sense to the frog.  ìOk,î he says.  ìHop up!î 

    Predictably, as they both reach the middle of the wildly raging river, the scorpion readies his stinger and rams it into the spine of the frog. 

    ìWhy did you do a foolish thing like hat?î screams the frog, struggling against the treacherous current, in vain attempting to rid himself of the scorpion.  

    Whereof the scorpion replies, as both drown in the currents:  ìI could not help myself.î

    Thereís great wisdom in folklore as cultural shorthand, explaining lifeís absurdities that cause so much destruction and death.  The autobiographical story that David tells in this book is like a mirror image of the fable.

    There was great tolerance for David Cole in our ranks in the beginning.  In those early Internet years, he was accepted as ìone of usî who went along for a dangerous ride because, around us, political censorship was tightening its net ñ until, to everyoneís surprise and seemingly out of the blue, David recanted his entire involvement in an Open Letter to the JDL, sniveling and groveling, calling himself a ìself-hating Jewî,  pleading for mercy and whining that he was guilty of the ultimate disgrace ñ disloyalty to Jews. 

    We were shocked, naturally, but not really surprised.  All of us knew that this letter must have been written with Irv Rubinís pistol on Coleís head ñ who would not have caved in and sobbingly recanted, in his place?  We did not hold it against him, knowing what Irv Rubinís beefy hoodlums might have threatened to do to frighten him out of his wits.  We were just grateful for the sterling revisionist work he had done up to then ñ and no one, to my knowledge, held any serious grudges. 

    You can still watch the David Cole clips of those years on YouTube ñ how genuinely sincere they sound.  I put many of them there myself on my channel.  Millions have watched them by now.  Those clips have bought us more good will for our Cause than any of the dry, scholarly papers the IHR and more scholarly inclined revisionists put out. 

    Murky gossip insisted that David was now on the run, hiding out from an avenging female.  We did not know that he had changed his name to David Stein.  As far as we knew, he existed underground somewhere for several years, allegedly working for a smutty sitcom television show called Seinfeld, not the kind of program on which we would have wasted our time.  There was even some loose talk that he was churning out pro-Holocaust films for ADLís Abe Foxman.  Tsk.  Tsk.

    David Cole appeared briefly at a beach party in the LA area, probably in 2002.  Ernst and I had been married by then, and we attended this private barbeque party together.  To everyoneís surprise and genuine delight, there, all of a sudden, was David ñ looking relaxed and content, as slim and as wiry as ever, an overweight mulatto girl at his side.  A lady of the night?  She did look coarse and cheap, long purple fingernails and all, but nobody raised an eyebrow.  After all, werenít revisionist bending over backwards, over and over again, avoiding the label of ìracistî? That was ñ still is ñ the generally expected attitude. 

    Throughout the pages of Republican Party Animal, David slyly plants insinuations that practically all revisionists on earth are closet ideologues if not boot-stomping Nazis.  Not true.  On race, revisionists are neutral and accommodating to a fault.

    Another little sidebar here that Ernst and I still savor. 

    It happened at another IHR convention where the famed Jewish investigative journalist, John Sack, was one of the main speakers.  There, at breakfast, Sack, Ernst and I were sharing a table, finishing our scrambled eggs, when Anita Wilson, a black revisionist aficionado, well-known and heartily accepted by us all, sashayed up to our table in a revealing summer dress, bent over Ernst, spilled one of her bare breasts right over his nose, and gave that ìNazi Z¸ndelî a slobbering kiss smack on the lips.  I said to Ernst, ì Ö there goes your reputation as a fire breathing racistî and everybody laughed.  Anita plucked herself right next to Ernst, put both elbows on the table and leaned aggressively into John Sack:  ìNow, John, will you explain something to me?  Why are you Jews always in everyoneís face?!  Why donít you Jews get a life?!î  A scene right for the movies.

    Cole opens one of his chapters with the following:

    ìThere are two principles I live by when I decide I want to accomplish something successfully.  The first principle is, ìjust do the fÖing work.î (Ö)  The other principle by which I live is the old saw that ìin the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.î  I find it best to work in fields where Iím surrounded by ninety percent idiots, because I can accomplish more that way. 

    The field of Holocaust history, as I found it in 1990, and politics, as I found it in 2008, were perfect for me.  My one eye beat most of the tin-cup-holding blindies who populated those fields.

    I first realized that I was perfectly cut out for the Holocaust revisionism field when I discovered the obvious manhole in the floor of the supposed gas chamber at the Auschwitz main camp.  The manhole was typical of an underground or semi-underground air raid shelter.  If a cave-in occurred, if the doors were blocked, the manhole was an escape hatch to allow the soldiers in the shelter to make it to safety.  I was also the first person to note that the ìgas chamberî locks were from the inside, not the outside.  Ever since Poland had freed itself from the Soviet yoke, revisionists and non-revisionists had gone there to study the campsite.  And no one had ever seen the manhole, or the door lock, as obvious as they were.  No one.

    I was where I belonged.  A one-eyed king.

    If you associated with revisionists, you would never be accepted into the ìmainstreamî camp.  But, frankly, there was no choice for an honest researcher but to associate with revisionists.  Theyíd been the ones collecting evidence during the Z¸ndel trials, only a portion of which was actually used.  I could read the ìmainstreamî views in a hundred books.  I needed to mix with the revisionists and deniers in order to win their trust.  Because they were the ones with vital pieces of evidence. 

    I earned Zundelís trust because I was willing to be seen with him publicly.  To this day, there are those who say, ìbut did you have to appear with Z¸ndel in public?î  Yeah, I did.  I never said anything in support of his views, but I supported his right to be free from prosecution for simply writing a book, and I still do.  On that subject, Iíd stand with him again today. 

    Once the revisionists came to trust me, I could start to go to work.  It wouldnít be long before Iíd clash with them.  But as I said at the beginning of this chapter, I was now able to ìjust do the fÖing work.î

    By the fall of 2004, memories of [a romantic relationship gone sour] had faded, and I decided it was time to go back to L.A. and start working again.  El Segundo meant no longer having access to the trains and subways, which meant less self-sufficiency, as my well-known aversion to driving had become much stronger now that I drank.  Fortunately, fate was more than willing to step in with a solution. 

    At just about that time, political disaster had caught up with the Zundels.  I will skip the political kidnapping tale since it is known to my readers and freely dispersed and discussed on the Net.  By the fall of 2004, after Ernst was dragged in chains to Canada for an alleged ìvisa overstayî, he had already spent a horrid winter in isolation in an ice-cold cell in the Toronto West Detention Center, a notoriously brutal prison.  Throughout the two years Ernst was forced trying to survive in solitary confinement in Toronto, I had every reason to fear that he was in danger of being seriously hurt, maybe even poisoned or brutally killed in his sleep.  I was left fending for myself in Tennessee, likewise subjected to a lot of verbal abuse from invisible callers and anonymous Internet writers.  I was out of my wits with fear for Ernstís safety if not his very life.  Repeatedly I would get nasty updates about how innovatively the prison guards were trying to break Ernstís spirit ñ spitting in his food and maybe even worse, never turning off his light, forbidding him to talk to other inmates, refusing him the telephone for days at a time, strip-searching him hundreds of times, sometimes even after a telephone call to me, stealing his mail, once even calling me to tell me ìSorry to have to tell you, but your husband has died at 11 oíclock in the morningÖî  For a few minutes, I actually believed it ñ I was that terrorized.   During one telephone call, always monitored, Ernst told me quietly, referring to this non-stop harassment and abuse:  ìÖ you donít know the half of itÖî and I donít know to this day what he meant.  I can guess.

    I read in an AP wire release that Israel was planning to ask for Ernstís extradition ñ and I knew all too well what that meant.  I tried to talk to my congressman, Bill Jenkins, who refused to see me until I threatened a hunger strike in front of his door.  I tried to engage Senator Corker whose staff was insulting and rude and would not give me the time of the day.  Not one to give up, I flew Bruce Leichty, our US immigration attorney, to Washington to force Corker to familiarize himself with our case ñ no doing.  Despite thousands of dollars spent for this trip, Bruce and I were not allowed inside the senatorís office and had to talk to an underling in the cafeteria.  I tried to ambush the Canadian Consul General in Washington, who likewise did not let me come into his office but sat in the lobby with icy eyes and twitching cheeks, sweat forming on his forehead, as I relayed my woes.  He listened, did not say a single word, gave me his card and vanished.  To this very day, never a follow-up from any dignitary or representative I approached ñ for me, it was a time beyond frustration and despair.

    Supporters who will read the following might object that I was far too gullible and should have been wise to a Jew who had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned the revisionist cause and was now doing pro-traditional version Holocaust films.  It is true I am, in general, a trusting individual.  In truth, I never had any doubts to suspect that David might be deceptive and even go so far as to exploiting our desperate situation for his ends.   

    When Bradley Smith, an old-time revisionist and good buddy, called me and said that plans were being laid in Hollywood, where David Cole had important connections, to get some serious outreach going with a professional documentary about Ernstís plight, it seemed like a godsend from heaven.

    Here David tells his side of the story, introducing his readers to one of his friends:

    ìI need a car.î  Fat Frank was always very direct.  I liked that about him.  ìMy car just got booted and impounded, and itís too much of a junket to excuse what it would cost to get it back.  I need a new one.î

    With Frank, like me, it was always about playing an angle.  Frank again showed his talent for being direct.  ìIf you get me a car, Iíll drive you everywhere you ever need to be.  It will be like having a personal chauffer for life.î

    Well, Iím not about to pass that up.  But Iím also not about to spend a dime of my own money on a guy like Fat Frank.  He was a scavenger, still living the life of an illegal alien with no Social Security number who grew up in Vegas learning to get by through begging, borrowing, and stealing.  I liked him a lot, but Iíd never turn my back on him. 

    But he had a very sincere desire to make films.  He had a good eye for directing, and had already done several films that sold like hotcakes in the rapidly growing bilingual market.    And me?  What else am I going to do but make films?  I was intrigued by the idea of finally churning out a few things that had absolutely nothing to do with the Holocaust.  No more ìsafeî Holocaust films, no more revisionist Holocaust films.  It was time to move on and leave the Holocaust behind. 

    But fate said, ìnot so fast there, aÖhole!î  Because truth be told, if I wanted to get Fat Frank a car without spending my own dough, it was time to revisit the revisionist trough.

    There was and is no ìrevisionist trough.î  Unlike our political opponents, we have no sponsors with deep pockets.  Over the decades, the revisionist outreach has been held afloat with the help of thousands of little old ladies in running shoes and well-meaning old gentlemen with heart of pure gold and overflowing affection for Ernstís bitter struggle against the greatest of all odds.  These folks have chipped in, again and again ñ and do to this day.  There have been occasional bequests to help revisionists out of tight spots and push the revisionist struggle forward, such as the Leuchter Expedition during the Great Holocaust Trial í88, but in general the revisionist outreach world-wide has been financed by nickels and dimes.  For decades!  With tireless persistence!

    David explains this scenario:

    Iíd always stayed in touch with revisionist Bradley Smith, even during my days in exile in El Segundo.  I like Bradley.  Iíve known him since 1989.  Iíll know him until the day one of us dies.  We donít agree on everything, but heís a lifelong friend.  And now here I came, because Fat Frank needed a car.

    Bradley informed me that several prominent revisionists ñ Germar Rudolf, David Irving, and Ernst Z¸ndel (Ö) were facing lengthy prison sentences for their ìcrimeî of writing about history.  Z¸ndel was already in a hellish situation.  He had beaten the Canadian government every time it tried to prosecute him, but in 2001 heíd had enough, and retired to the hills of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.  He and his wife Ingrid had a house there, and Z¸ndel pretty much limited his duties to tending to his website.  Naturally, the Canadian government and its national intelligence agency, CSIS, couldnít let a miscreant like Z¸ndel get away.  Post 9/11, they had new powers to go ìfull fascistî on him (finally).  They slapped whatís known as a ìsecurity certificateî on Z¸ndel, which is Canadian-ese for ìnow we can do whatever the f..k we want to you with no charge or trial.î  The U.S. promptly shipped him back to Toronto, and Z¸ndel was stuffed into a six by ten foot cell, 24 hours a day, the lights always on, watched constantly by guards ñ with no trial, no charges, no sentence.

    At the same time, revisionist Germar Rudolf, living in Chicago and married to an American woman with whom heíd fathered a child, was facing deportation to Germany.  Indeed, he was the perfect German, so damn anal about paperwork.  Heíd paid for the best immigration lawyers to make sure everything he did was within the law.  But the Germans, anxious to imprison an author in order to prove theyíre no longer the type of fascists who imprison authors, were unhappy.  They wanted Rudolf back.

    Meanwhile, arrogant hot-head historian David Irving was facing trial in Austria for being a revisionist.  I was less interested in his case.  He goes looking for trouble.  Z¸ndel and Rudolf, like me, had tried to flee from it.  I sympathized with them a bit more.  (Ö)

    But back to Fat Frank and his car.  I went to Bradley to see if he could round up some money for a documentary publicizing the Rudolf and Z¸ndel cases.  I would work on the film anonymously, and Frank could help me edit.  Bradley came through with a nice little wad of cash from his backers. Frank got his car.  And I got yet another wonderful bit of unappreciated irony ñ I was coming to the aid of two legal immigrants (Z¸ndel and Rudolf) in order to buy a car for an illegal immigrant.

    I, too, had known Bradley for years.  When Bradley told me of the plan to make a documentary to highlight Ernstís illegal arrest and brutal treatment, I was of course all ears. But was there a screenplay, I wanted to know.  Was there at least an outline? If we made a film, where would it play?  What media would give us the time of the day?

    There are a few things you must know about Bradley. He is the worldís most enthusiastic devotee of pie-in-the-sky projects that always sound so promising ñ and always fizzle out.  Every new strategy, he always believes, is going to put revisionism on the map once and for all, but somehow, these iron-clad ideas for an ultimate revisionist victory have a way of running through his fingers.  Yet Bradley is like our perpetual Santa Claus.  You cannot even call him on the carpet for his enthusiastic dreams   because there are no goodies to be had.  Yet nobody really expects any tangible results as long as Bradley keeps needling and needling Abe Foxman and consorts and drives them right up a tree.  And because he does not have a mean bone in his body, backers always forgive him, over and over again, and manage to keep im afloat ñ though just barely. 

    So I had my doubts about Bradley.  Another harebrained scheme?  But when Bradley told me that David Cole, with whom he was in touch, who was now rubbing shoulders with influential folks in Hollywood and would be involved incognito, as well as a really cool Mexican producer chap he had already taken in tow, what choice did I have at that point? 

    I was willing to give it a shot.  I said I would fly out to LA and try to meet the trio. 

    I was having lunch in some outdoor restaurant near Hollywood when David showed up, all radiant smiles. You have to give him that ñ David knows how to schmaltz and convince a desperate ìwar widowî at the end of her rope ñ which is what I had become.  David has lots of charisma.  He succeeded in something like five minutes to make me put all my reservations aside.  I finally knew in my heart what Ernst had always told me ñ that there was ìsomething special about that kid.î  After all, he had known David for years and had worked with him productively for more than a decade.  Why would I still harbor some doubts?  I had none.

    I forgot if it was then or later that I met Frank the alleged producer as well. He looked bloated and seedy, and he wore a girlís ring in his ear. However, do you look a gift horse in the mouth?  I kept my politically incorrect bias to myself about a Mexican who seemed to be on the skids.  But I wanted to know, then and later: where was the script or even an outline of the film we were going to make?

    There was no script.  One thing at a time.  A script would come later.  For a start, letís shoot some original footage.  This we did, throughout several months, as outlined below.

    As an intro, David had given us the grand tour of the studio where the documentary was going to be polished, and now I was really impressed.  We went there after hours, and if I remember correctly, David even had the keys.  The studio looked professional.  David said he had lined up a topnotch editor who knew of Ernstís plight and was ready and willing to help at no charge.  Another hurdle taken before I even knew there was one.

    For a start, we did some filming at a Simon Wiesenthal Theme Park, and we filmed ourselves in some private venue discussing the Zundel kidnap situation ñ how terribly illegal it was. Mark Weber came to that session.  Not much came of that footage.  Sometime later ñ maybe this was another trip?  ñ we had a protest demonstration at the Canadian Consulate in Los Angeles, and Frank filmed that one also.  As it turned out, that taping was useless as well.

    There were two additional ill-fated projects where we attempted to harvest original footage.  One was Fat Franks Canada trip.  He and a lady friend were going to drive to Toronto to interview media and, if possible, Toronto West Detention staff for details of how Ernst was still being treated ñ or, better, mistreated.  Nothing much came of that effort that we could have used.   I donít know the details of how it all petered out, but I know that Ernst wasnít impressed. Fat Frank and his female companion spent an entire snowy week holed up in some hotel because these California folks could not handle Canadian snowstorms, and next to nothing in terms of useful footage was the outcome. The effort was a total failure. 

    One final attempt to get some good camera work was useful incidentally.  It provided us a respectable venue to try to spark some interest in the abduction case of free speech activist Ernst Z¸ndel.  Our trio had managed to get ìa film crewî booked for a ìfreedom of speech debateî of sorts at the University of Colorado/Boulder.  Such a prestigious venue would have been normally off-limit for us.   But we lucked out ñ the program was launched and completed, despite the timing being most awkward because finals were scheduled that week.  We had only some 50-60 people in the auditorium.  But still, a victory of sorts.    No JDL in sight.  No trouble from ADL quarters.  But the lighting was poor, and the sound system worse.  It was essential another costly, wasted effort. 

    Enter the ìhigh definitionî camera tale.  David again:

    ìDude,î Frank said one evening,î do you think we can get even more from these revisionists?  I mean, we really ought to purchase some heavy-duty equipment.  Like one of these expensive HD cameras.  I know just the model we need.î

    Up to then, we had financed our various outreach attempts on the fly.  We didnít seem to get the project off the ground, however.  There still was no script.  As far as I knew, there was not a penny of cash in the documentary kitty.  I knew we needed at least start-up money to push this project along, and Bradley was broke, and so was Fat Frank, from all I could tell ñ and I wasnít sure about David.  I gave Bradley some $300 to tide him over some credit card hump, and I gave several postdated checks to Fat Frank who was behind in his rent, as I vaguely recall, in danger of immediate eviction.  Our project was about to give up the ghost.  An extra fundraising effort was desperately needed. 

    I compiled a small special list culled from my general supporters, sending out an urgent S.O.S.   To my great joy I managed to interest a long-time supporter whom Bradley, David, and I already knew, a wealthy businessman on the West Coast, who generously pledged  $5,000.-  for our worthy cause.   

    I announced to our project trio that, at the very least, there was some start-up money I could float that we could use for the high definition camera Frank desperately needed.  So far, all I had was a pledge, but I was sure the money would be forthcoming.  He was a very wealthy man, and the amount would be peanuts for him ñ but it meant a great deal of money for us.

    I was waiting and waiting for that check.  It didnít come ñ I wondered if maybe our sponsor had forgotten?  I finally gave in and said I would buy that HD camera out of my own supporter funds and lend it to the project ñ but I did want it back, once the project was finished.  It would cost a hefty $3,500. 

    I donít know to this day if that camera was actually purchased with the personal check that I sent.  What I didnít know and only found out a year or two later is that the moment Fat Frank and David had heard of the $ 5,000 pledge, they hopped in the car, drove out to visit our wealthy businessman, and pocketed that all-important check.

    They didnít tell me they had done that.  It was project money, to be sure, but I was entitled to know, and I would not have sent them the check for the camera in addition, had I known.  More than that, as I found out years later, our wealthy mutual friend had asked David just how much it would take to really get down to business and finish that film, and David told him ñ and I kid you not ñ they could finish the film for $ 8,000, easy-pie!  Donít laugh.  It shows the amateurishness of this bedeviled project.  But our mutual wealthy friend sat down and wrote them the check for the requested amounts, and now the trio had loot in their pockets.

    I was in Tennessee.  They were in California.  I was still waiting for the pledge to come through, and I was anxious to nail down the team on just where this project was going ñ if anywhere at all.   I invited those three musketeers to come to Tennessee to sit down with me and map out some talking points and agree on a tentative timeline and budget.  Would they do that?  We needed a blueprint on paper.

    David here:

    ìI sent Bradley and Frank to Pigeon Forge to deal with Ingrid Zundel directly,î writes David.    Before their trip, I told Bradley. ìnever, NEVER let Frank be alone with Ingrid.  He WILL try to make a separate deal.  He WILL try to get money for himself.  Never let him out of your sight.î

    ìWill do, kid,î Bradley answered.  ìYou can count on me.î  He forgot those instructions the moment he left my house.î

    Actually, Bradley didnít tell me to watch out for Fat Frankís shenanigans.  What he did tell me was that David had instructed him ìnot to mention moneyî to me under any circumstances ñ which I thought was very odd.  What money?  I didnít know he had already bagged the pledge I had negotiated.  It shows you how trusting I was. 

    I received a call saying that David couldnít make it for some reason to our get-together in Tennessee, but Bradley and Frank would be there.  If my memory serves me right, those two stayed for a couple of days, and we did some additional filming around my home and in my office.  In one respect, that visit was useful I finally found out how our documentary was going to be ìstructuredî, content-wise.    It was to be a tit-for-tat format between revisionist claims of Holocaust hokum on one side and sterling ADL rebuttals on the other.  David had ADL connections, and the ADL slant was going to be our ticket into mass distribution.  That was the nifty plan.

    At that point, I dug in my heels, and things got very testy between me and the trio.  My argument was that I was not going to use supporter money to help finance a platform for the ADL just so they could spew their slime, with us underwriting the so-called ìdebate.  They had never given us the courtesy of a neutral debate venue ñ so why should we?  I said if this was the plan, they should just count me out. 

    This disagreement stretched over several months and in the end resulted in a rancorous parting, with letters flying back and forth about the costly camera I wanted back and didnít get ñ and other grievances we all had managed to store up about each other and this miserably failed attempt to help Ernst get out of his predicament.  I have a whole file folder of copies of those letters.

    My blood still boils when I think of it all. 

    And now, believe it or not, here is David, giving his version for our elucidation in light of all of the above that he himself has documented. 

    Ingrid Zundel did indeed pledge a fat wad of money to my endeavors.  And Frank indeed made a separate deal, pledging to use his Mexicanness to help spread revisionism in the (rolling ìLî) Latino community, and pledging to use his film directorness to create a ìrevisionist film festivalî in Pigeon Forge.  Both promises were, of course, pure bullshit, and discarded the moment he cashed the checks.  But with the money I got, I bought all the fancy equipment Frank told me to get.  We were now rather well-stocked.

    And elsewhere:

    We made a nice, tight little film about Zundel and Rudolf.  (Ö)  The final film was good.  So good, in fact, that not only Bradley, but Zundelís wife offered us more money. 

    That is a brazen, bald-faced lie!  I never approved of the film.  In fact, I never even saw that film until just a few weeks ago ñ now more than ten years later! 

    Some time ago, when I read on the Net that it had played in Mexico, I asked Bradley to send me a copy, and he told me that it wasnít quite ready for distribution yet. It is called El Gran Tabu ñ and I assume it is now on the Net.  A friend finally sent me a copy.  I wouldnít call it good.  I wouldnít even call it average.  You go and see for yourself and let me know what you think.   But I am putting this in black as firmly as I can that I never pledged any ìfat wad of moneyî to David to show my ìgratitude.î  In fact, I never EVER gave David one little red penny directly. 

    What else can I say?  I say this book needs to be read.  I have focused on the revisionist part ñ but that is only one-fourth of the story.  The quip of the bikini comes to mind:  What it reveals is interesting, but what it conceals is vital!  Its value lies at a deeper level.  Most of the book deals with what the title suggests ñ the last 5 years of Davidís life so far and the ìpartiesî he organized for people he names by name that will shock you, as will the color photos in the center of the book.  I wonít describe them for you.  The larger narrative in this book is of no particular interest to us but will be of interest to the Republican hotshots he gathered around himself and the sleazy atmosphere at these parties he hints at.  My guess is there will be a lawsuit or two from those quarters.

    Before I even read this book, two of our attorneys called me, telling me of its mendacious nature but stating, independently, that the book is an important document of our era, regardless.  I agree.  I even recommend it for those who can think deep and try to uncover the root of what plagues us.  Not in the sense that this account is generally truthful, or candid, or sincere.  It is dripping with smut, half-truths and outright lies that leave you speechless for its chutzpah, but if you can put up with that, it has flashes of insight worth pondering for our own good. 

    In conclusion, Iíd like to quote one of my all-time favorite titles, a book I read many years ago and reread several times because it is to beautifully wise.  It is a classic, called You Gentiles by Maurice Samuel, a prominent Jew who wrote it in the 1920s.

    We are not free to choose and to reject, to play, to construct, to refine.  We are a dedicated and enslaved people, predestined to an unchangeable relationship.  Freedom at large was not and is not a Jewish ideal.  (Ö)  Freedom to do what? (Ö)

    A century of partial tolerance gave us Jews access to your world.  In that period the great attempt was made, by advance guards of reconciliation, to bring our two worlds together.  It was a century of failure.  (Ö)

    We Jews, we, the destroyers, will remain the destroyers forever.  Nothing that you will do will meet our needs and demands.  (Ö) Beyond all temporary alliances with this or that faction lies the ultimate split in nature and destiny, the enmity between the Game and God.  But those of us who fail to understand that truth will always be found in alliance between your rebellious factions, until disillusionment comes. 

    I apologize for this articleís length ñ but it is an important account from our side for you to read in its entirety.  Best wishes, and let us not slacken.  Not ever!

    Ingrid Z¸ndel

    Ingrid Zundelís award-winning documentary ñ yours
    for a donation of your choice.

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