by David Cole
May 04, 2017
In the forty-year battle between Ernst Zundel and the Jews, I think we can finally declare a winner. Hold on to your hats, folks, because the end result is a real shocker. In Harry Caray voice: “Jews win! Jews win!”
ERNST ZUNDEL IN YOUNGER DAYS
Zundel, for those of you who don’t know, is a 78-year-old Holocaust denier and Hitler-lover. And when I say Hitler-lover, I’m not using the term the way leftists do when referring to anyone slightly to the right of the Weather Underground. The living room of Zundel’s former home in Pigeon Forge, Tenn., is adorned with a painting of Hitler and Zundel hugging like father and son. Now, that’s Hitler-lovin’!
Zundel sincerely believes Der Führer got a bum rap. How could this dog-loving, nonsmoking vegetarian have killed anyone? Zundel has made it his life’s goal to rehabilitate Hitler’s image. It’s a fool’s quest. In a rational world, there would never have been a reason for Ernst Zundel to be the topic of a column in The Washington Post by one of the nation’s finest constitutional scholars. Indeed, the very suggestion of such a thing would be laughable. But it happened, and if Zundel’s legal travails are important enough to be examined by the WaPo’s Prof. Eugene Volokh, they’re certainly important enough for this column.
But before we get to today’s paper, let’s take a look at yesterday’s news.
German-born Ernst Zundel immigrated to Canada when he was a teenager. A graphic artist by profession, the adult Zundel spent several decades buzzing around Ontario as a mostly ignored political gadfly, battling “negative stereotypes and discrimination” against German immigrants (in other words, he was an SJW). In the 1970s, it was revealed that this SJW was actually an SSJW when a local reporter exposed Zundel’s true passion—publishing pamphlets that praised Hitler and denied the Holocaust.
So, what to do with a guy churning out dime-store Hitler porn, back in the days when there was no internet to allow the neighborhood kook to spread his ideas beyond his own little mailing list? In a sane country, such a man would be ignored. But when it comes to free speech, Canada is about as sane as its favorite immigrant, Vince Li. Canada, egged on incessantly by Canadian Jewish organizations, decided that the best way to deal with the Zundel menace was to give it international publicity, and to give Zundel an unheard-of gift: the ability to grill Holocaust historians and survivors on the witness stand, forcing them, under oath, to cop to errors, omissions, and exaggerations.
Take a moment to wrap your head around that. Canadian authorities and Jewish groups thought Zundel was such a menace, they gave him a one-of-a-kind opportunity to spread his theories and humiliate his opponents.
Twice in the 1980s, the Canucks put Zundel on trial for spreading “false news.” This, as much as anything else, is what put Holocaust denial on the map. As I wrote in my book, in a section titled “Blame Canada,”
The Zundel team was able to grill Holocaust historian Raul Hilberg, who was forced to admit, under cross-examination, that there had never been a plan for what he called the policy of the extermination of the Jews. He was forced to admit that he had never physically studied the remains of the “gas chambers” at Auschwitz or Majdanek. He admitted that Holocaust revisionism aids historians by challenging their beliefs and bringing about the discovery of new information, and, most startlingly, he admitted the existence of a reliable Nazi document stating that Hitler had decided to put off any decision about the “final solution” until after the war.
Auschwitz survivor Arnold Friedman was forced to confess that he had never seen any gas chambers at Auschwitz, and that the stories he wrote about were based on rumors that others had told him. And famed Auschwitz survivor and escapee Rudolf Vrba admitted on the stand that his account of what he saw at Auschwitz was actually “an artistic picture,” not factual evidence. His “eyewitness testimony” regarding the gas chamber? “It’s what I heard it might look like.”
Zundel was convicted, but his conviction was overturned on appeal. So guess what? The damn puckheads put him on trial again! Both Zundel trials were breathlessly covered by the Canadian and international press. In the end, Zundel won out. His second conviction was overturned by the Canadian Supreme Court (and the “false news” law was declared unconstitutional). Zundel was not only free but also an international celebrity. A hated one, to be sure. But a celeb all the same.
Following Zundel’s courtroom victory, Canadian Jewish organizations continued to press the government to find some other way to shut him up. As Zundel had landed only immigrant status in Canada (his attempts to become a citizen had been repeatedly shot down over the years), he decided to throw in the towel and move to the States to live with his equally nutty wife, Ingrid, an American citizen. During this time, the German government, egged on by (wait for it) Jewish organizations, issued a warrant for Zundel’s arrest. The charge? Denial material he posted on his website…while in Tennessee. The German legal theory was that since the internet “brought” Zundel’s words into German “territory,” and since Holocaust denial is illegal in Germany, Zundel had committed a crime on German soil no differently than if he’d strangled a guy in Munich.
Of course, free-speech advocates the world over rose up in outrage over such a draconian affront to speech rights. Oh wait, no. Free-speech advocates the world over pursed their lips like Don Knotts and ran away. Well done, free-speech advocates the world over. Well done.
After three years of living peacefully in the U.S., Zundel was dragged from his home in 2003, accused of violating his visa (a charge later questioned by a district court judge in Knoxville). U.S. authorities shipped him back to Toronto, where the Canadians promptly tossed him into a 6-by-8-foot isolation cell…for two years. Post-9/11 laws had given the Canadian government new powers to indefinitely detain people without charge; no need for a trial this time! In 2005, I arranged an interview with The Hamilton Spectator’s Bill Dunphy (a longtime Zundel foe), who straight-out stated that Zundel’s appalling treatment resulted from “political pressure” from “groups that are opposed to Zundel and his ideology” (i.e., Jewish organizations). Dunphy admitted that these groups “demanded” Zundel be locked away, and the government acquiesced.
And as Zundel languished in a tomblike cell for denying a past genocide, former Rwandan ruling-party strongman Leon Mugesera, an actual perpetrator of a present-day genocide, was not only allowed to walk free, he even got a teaching job at a prestigious Quebec university (because, from Jim Carrey to Tom Green, Canadians have always loved absurdity).
After two years of what can pretty much only be described as torture (his cell lights were never dimmed, he was allowed no hot food, he was deprived of medicine), Zundel was shipped to Germany, where he was immediately declared a security risk and put in yet another cell without bail as a “flight risk.” See the logic there? Bring a guy against his will into your country, declare that you don’t want him there, and then imprison him because you’re afraid he’ll leave.
There’s that big-brained Deutsche brilliance Hitler was always going on about.
Zundel was sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for the stuff he legally posted while legally residing in the U.S. The sentence was cheered by (here we go again) Jewish organizations, and, as before, free-speech advocates the world over remained silent.
Zundel was released in 2010, a tired, sickly, broken man. Yay, we got ’im!
So why was Zundel in The Washington Post last week? Well, leave it to the exceptionally fair-minded UCLA law professor Eugene Volokh (who I’ve previously interviewed for this column on an unrelated matter) to dare to examine the legality of Zundel’s latest nad-kick. Zundel, now 78, had sought to return to the U.S. to join his 80-year-old wife (she can’t join him in Germany, because her ideas traveled to Germany and committed crimes too). Volokh’s column deserves to be read in full. The short version is, Homeland Security denied the request, stating:
A foreign conviction can be the basis for a finding of inadmissibility only where the conviction is “for conduct which is deemed criminal by United States standards.”
Volokh points out what should be obvious (but, of course, isn’t) to any rational American:
But as best I can tell from press accounts, Zundel’s speech that formed the basis of his German conviction would not have been “deemed criminal by United States standards.” Denying the Holocaust and expressing anti-Semitic sentiments is just not a crime under American law. Indeed, it can’t be made a crime, given the First Amendment.
Volokh concludes that the ruling “appears to have been a violation of American immigration law.”
ERNST AND INGRID LONG AGO
Ingrid (now 80) lives in America and Ernst (now 78) is forced to live in Germany.
Germany would arrest Ingrid if she joined her beloved husband in Germany,
and America refuses to let Ernst into America. The petty vindictiveness
of Germany and America forces this loving couple into a cruel separation.
Now, here’s where I’m gonna lose a few readers. One might be tempted to think that the repeated involvement of Jewish organizations, in multiple countries, in the persecution of Ernst Zundel indicates the presence of some vast international conspiracy…the “Jewish octopus” of anti-Semitic lore. But no, I’m actually suggesting the opposite. Jewish advocates were able to get their way regarding Zundel because no one on earth gives a shit about him. When Jews whined, “Give us Zundel,” it was a very cheap and painless bone to throw them to shut them up. Bully Jews picked on a nobody, and politicians, who never give a damn about nobodies anyway, happily threw him under the bus to stop the kvetching.
But, my Jewish brider, look what the war on Zundel wrought. Holocaust denial was put on the map, and Zundel became an international figure of note. Was it worth it, going after this rotund little bald man? Is it still worth it? Yes, it’s a victory in that Zundel is finished. He’ll probably die soon, and Jews can dance on his grave. Satisfied? But in a broader sense, it was a terrible defeat, in terms of what Zundel’s bullies were hoping to accomplish versus what they actually did. In attempting to silence Holocaust denial, Jewish groups gave it a megaphone. Worse still, in trying to squash a man who spreads Jewish conspiracy theories, Jews acted just like the vengeful, world-controlling puppeteers Zundel portrays them as. In trying to suppress Zundel’s crude stereotypes, Jews ended up personifying them.
This is Jewry’s “Appointment in Samarra,” the old fable in which a man, seeking to flee the Reaper, ends up riding straight toward him. The moral of the tale is that sometimes, in our blind desire to avoid an unpleasant fate, we end up bringing it about ourselves.
Such is the sad, bitter legacy of Ernst Zundel.
Wetbacks in Reverse? Ernst Zundel banned forever from Land of the Free
“Give us your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”
[ Note: After 14 years of legal wrangling at the cost of millions of dollars to both sides, the US government has ruled on discretionary grounds by an unelected bureaucrat named Ron Rosenberg, Chief, Administrative Appeals Office of the US Department of Homeland Security, that Ernst Zündel is banned from joining his family in the US.
According to this ruling, a dissident contesting a disputed historical claim such as the “Auschwitz gassing” is now a “…criminal of moral turpitude.” Can it get any more Kafkaesque?
More will be said about this latest Zundel development at a later time. For now, here is the latest installment of the ever-expanding Global Zundel-Saga… Ingrid Zundel ]
Ernst Zündel, in his own words:
Ernst and Ingrid Zundel: Wetbacks in Reverse?
Within hours of my illegal arrest in February 2003, fourteen years ago, I had been given an expulsion order with stiff penalties, should I dare to set foot in America ever again in the future. Should I be so brazen as to attempt a re-entry and be caught, I was to be arrested “forthwith”, detained, tried, and found guilty – and put in prison to face a 20-year sentence as an illegal “re-offender.”
Not only that, I risked a $250,000 fine for being such a fire-breathing dissident insisting on free speech on a forbidden topic – all this still in handcuffs, without being allowed to at least see an immigration judge to explain that I was not an “illegal” – I had been in the immigration “pipeline” to be admitted to legal residence as a relative to an American citizen wife.
I had been given a social security number, a health check, two FBI checks that cleared me of any wrong-doing, inoculations, a work permit, a travel permit – the works! Not that any of this mattered at this point in the more than decades-long legal nightmare that followed. I was convicted despite all airtight evidence that I was not a “visa overstay” as had been falsely claimed.
Once I had served my time of seven years in six prisons in three countries on two continents for having asked “Did Six Million Really Die” – and after having successfully passed my probation hurdle of an additional three years – I was left, more or less, to my own devices.
My passport had been given back to me. It allowed me to travel to Russia, Spain, Italy, France, Austria, Poland, Belgium, Switzerland and elsewhere, visiting friends and loyal supporters, always wondering when the next trap would fall shut on me – what other judicial injustice was waiting.
I also tried to see Ingrid at least twice a year, always in some dishevelled Third World country. When traveling to Belize, the Dominican Republic, Mexico etc. to meet Ingrid – who cannot travel to Europe because we know for certain there were at least two Interpol arrest warrants out for her as well because of her Zundelsite/Internet work – I usually had to overfly Canada and the USA.
On this latest trip on March 15, as I wistfully looked down on the plane at the outboard display, crossing Greenland, Island, Quebec, New York State – and moseying along the Eastern seaboard and then inland, almost reaching Tennessee – I wondered what would happen to me if the plane was, in fact, forced to make an emergency landing in the United States or Canada.
There was this possibility. This threat was looming against me in the background. What if something happened mechanically to the plane and I was forced to step onto the so-called “free-est country in the world” – and be re-arrested?
Thus, when I boarded the Condor flight on the 15th of March to Cancun where Ingrid was waiting for me, I was keenly aware that I was entering a danger zone. This was a daylight flight – unlike other Condor flights I had been on where I could at least sleep through the night. These long, non-stop international flights are hard on my body and psyche. By the time yet another new Zündel drama unfolded, I hadn’t slept for almost 30 hours.
As I looked out of the airplane window, I saw a shadowy, bluish fog of sorts that seemed to come out of a small crack of one of these jumbo-jet wings that kept us afloat. I watched it for a while, unease on my mind. It didn’t go away – it just curled into itself and dissolved.
Suddenly, there was a crackled message from the Captain in the cockpit announcing that we were experiencing difficulty with the plane’s fuel gauges, which seemed to be malfunctioning. This meant, the Captain informed us in a terse voice, that we would have to make an unscheduled emergency landing “… at the nearest US airport.”
Here was what I had always feared!
This “nearest airport” turned out to be an airstrip in St. Louis, MO, not exactly a home base for large passenger jets. As we descended, I could see the tarmac, old and run-down, with grass growing out of its crevices! With white knuckles, we all held onto our seats. After one of the roughest landings I have ever experienced, we rolled to a stop and were asked to deplane, using a rickety ladder, flanked by several dozen US firefighters in full gear – all of them huge, nice, friendly men next to their flashing fire trucks. Clearly we had landed in the backwoods somewhere of the USA – and here I was, being asked to step down onto the hallowed soil of “the free-est country in the world” – risking yet another 20 years in gaol!
I knew that the Captain had no choice but to alert US Homeland Security and the border police of my illegal entry status. I rang for the flight attendant to let her know about my predicament – that my very presence in the US might cause an “international incident,” as they like to say in legalese. She looked at me, incredulous. Who was that placid senior citizen who looked as normal and as harmless as can be?
She scurried to inform the folks in the cockpit.
Next, the Captain came to see me, wanting to know what, exactly, I had done. I told him I was being punished for spreading historical truth – I had published a booklet with a politically incorrect question mark the Global Noisy Lobby didn’t like. He was shaking his head, looking doubtful. He, too, was left speechless, not knowing what next to do with this senior citizen passenger, almost 80 years of age, who sat there, smiling blithely, expecting to be handcuffed so as not to threaten the almighty USA!
I was the last to deplane. I was flanked by two huge black border guards, armed to the teeth. Off we marched, with me giving the thumbs-up sign to some 250+ co-passengers who stepped aside to let us through, bewildered and aghast. Everybody stared at me as though I had come from the moon.
This emergency landing clearly overwhelmed the airport personnel, and we had to wait for hours in a rundown, seedy reception area out of the 1950s. The two guards stayed by my side as though glued to my hips, and there was enough time to have a little friendly chat in the meantime. This was not the first time that I had entertained my captors with my woes as well as some hilarious highlights of my intrepid dissident past – and by the time it was my turn to have my passport checked, the three of us had now become fast friends.
Next, we were told US authorities were going to admit us “legally” into the US – as visitors! Fat chance for me, I thought! All the while, I feared, I might be sent back to the Vaterland. I crossed my fingers and toes in hopes that would not happen. But luck was on my side. I, too, was bureaucratically “paroled” into Missouri, USA – a minor miracle!
At first it looked like the fuel line problem could be easily repaired, and that we could fly on to Cancun. However, the mechanical problems were too difficult for the local mechanics to fix, and it was decided to order a replacement plane from Germany. That would take another 12 – 13 hours – with me getting ever more groggy from lack of sleep, lack of food and drink, and a simmering, low-level anxiety that sat in the pit of my heart.
Meanwhile, our passports were scanned; finger prints and iris scans were made of each passenger; and of course, thanks to Internet bio information about me that had been surreptitiously studied by the American authorities as well as several passengers, I took on ever more the trappings of an heroic global dissident celebrity.
I began to be treated not just with curiosity but with an open, smiling reverence by black and white alike. I will always remember a few of them with great fondness – for instance, a tall, handsome Mexican-American veteran, with decades of experience in the US military, as well as a picture-book tall, blue-eyed Aryan from the Midwest, coming from a family of nine children.
All of them were super-correct in their treatment of me – very helpful and accommodating. I told them that I felt homesick for my beloved little art gallery in the Tennessee Mountains – and being so near to where Ingrid and I had our place.
Those uniformed, battle-hardened men seemed visibly moved. There sat a real live, officially criminalized White Supremacist-Holocaust-denying-Hate-monger among otherwise perfectly normal people, looking and talking exactly like them! “A criminal of moral turpitude” is how the US government documents described me!
Once again, I was the last one to be checked before having been granted “parole”, and promptly taken to a room for secondary screening. This procedure took several more hours of interviews by security people, and in the end, I was patted down and thoroughly searched, all my belongings, my money, my address book seized – and I was taken to a holding cell, windowless, brightly illuminated – the kind that I had already experienced in my decades-long travails while battling one of the world’s most vicious political lobbies.
The personnel who checked me into this cell seemed ashamed of what they were ordered to do – and fell all over themselves letting me know that they did not approve of this travesty – and were simply following Homeland Security orders.
I was given some small pillows, two bright yellow FEMA blankets to avoid hypothermia, and my two black, uniformed police or border guards, still armed to the teeth, told me that this was going to be my home until the replacement plane from Germany had arrived.
Soon additional, ever-so-friendly American guards came with three bottles of water, some potato chips and a hearty ham sandwich. No Muslim terrorist, this one, expecting special dietary favors!
It was long after midnight. I slept a little, in spite of the bright lights. There was a video camera on the ceiling, the usual surveillance equipment.
The hours passed slowly. After a while, two officers came to see me for an update. They told me that the plane from Germany was experiencing strong headwinds and would again be several hours later than expected.
The night shift changed to the day shift, and familiar faces – officers I had talked with before in the waiting room – came to take over. Obviously, they too had checked up on me on the Net. They brought me a tooth brush and toothpaste, and a little later, to my utter surprise, a piping hot pizza and a delicious California salad, along with more water and even a Coca Cola – crowning this “hatemonger” prison fare feast with a piece of delicious blueberry pie.
To my relief, there was no attempt to send me back to Germany – and once the plane arrived, we were all processed one more time and allowed to board the replacement Condor plane. It was about 8:30 pm, March 16, by the time we took off to Cancun!
I did not have a telephone number for Ingrid, since no phone had been as yet installed in our little home in Mexico. I cleared the Mexican customs, got all the proper stamps, took an airport taxi and arrived at the door of my very relieved American citizen lady – who greeted me with “Am I happy to see you!”
We had lots to tell each other long after midnight – wrapped in two bright yellow FEMA blankets I had asked to have as souvenirs, which the guards had allowed me to keep.
For a background summary of Ernst Zundel’s political outreach, please read Mark Weber’s excellent essay as published by the Institute for Historical Review: