Today
Britain is going to the polls, and that
sanctimonious, lying, salon-Socialist
pratt, Tony Blair, will be re-elected with
most of his Cabinet of
freaks.
|
May
3, 2005 (Tuesday)
Rochelle
(Illinois) THIS is on the edge of a vast
Illinois prairie; beyond the hotel the road just
heads off across a flat plain. Shades of North
by Northwest: all that is lacking is the
sinister crop-duster plane. Across the road is a
Truck Stop, with hundreds of hibernating,
driverless semis, throbbing all night. Just had a
steak there, surrounded by steroidal truck drivers
and their molls. Food there is splendid, real steaks, real eggs,
real potatoes (but no real butter, "No sir, we whip
our own butter," says the waitress assigned to me;
she is so unattractive that I don't even venture a
suitably lame comeback.) That Texas idiot phones with another harrassing
call at 9:36 pm. When I mention police to him, he
hangs up. Reverse search finds that (972) 841-1016
is a cell phone based in Grandprari, Texas, and the
registered carrier is Cellco Partnership Dba
Verizon Wireless - Texas. The next time, I will
take it a stage further. May
4, 2005 (Wednesday)
Rochelle
- Bement (Illinois) ONE Judith L Rakowsky reviews the latest
Lipstadt book for The Boston Globe today. I
write to O., who (among others) has emailed this
literary Erguss to me during the morning:
"Yes, every reviewer that I have seen so far has
been Jewish; what a surprise. But I do not intend
to provide Lipstadt with further free publicity.
Her book will vanish. Mine won't." Other emails have reported heaps of her earlier
books lying unsold and remaindered and unwanted,
around bookstore floors. Judith has dutifully
written however that this latest book is "a
gripping account of the 10-week trial, a taut
page-turner". She is evidently easily gripped and
tautened. "She tightly weaves complex material through a
nimble narrative." Even Judith is obliged to admit
that by narrating the "story" in strict chronology,
Lipstadt's book "carries the potential for bogging
down the tale in pretrial tedium." (Remember the
first official reviewer who, spitting out the
Sahara sand, described the book as "having dry
patches in parts"?) Like that famous old Curate's
Egg, in other words. But, as they say on Television, wait -- there is
more:. The review adds one more name to Lipstadt's
unsightly galère of financial backers
-- not just Stephen Spielberg, Edgar
Bronfman, et al., but also a Mr
Wexner: But
it is that preparation phase that drives home
how monumental was the trial team's task. It
clearly needed money for expert analysis and
raised most of the $1.5 million through
businessman Leslie Wexner, head of the
Limited clothing chain. Now, I can't swear to it, but that sounds like
another Jew. Talk about networking! As for "the
$1.5 million" -- unless she has got the decimal
point wrong -- why is she shyly concealing the true
amount of money her gang poured into the London
courtroom -- around thirteen million dollars all
told (perhaps she is not aware of that), none of
which they got back. Who lost? The
courtroom drama quenches the American reader's
thirst for the idiosyncratic details -- the
wigs, robes, and Byzantine procedure. Lipstadt
even writes about the luncheon conversations of
the trial team, down to the vintage wine from
the law-firm cellar and the crustless
sandwiches. But, Wait, there is More! "The epic legal
battle," continues a still gripped, tautened Judith
Rakowsky, "was truly a lopsided duel of evidence.
Irving, in his rambling turns as inquisitor and
witness, tried to argue against Nazi documents that
showed Hitler had read progress reports of mobile
killing squads targeting Jews, and of meticulous
building plans and permits for gas chambers and
crematoria at Auschwitz." There are of course no "building plans and
permits for gas chambers" at Auschwitz or anywhere
else, and I challenged Lipstadt back in 1994 at
DeKalb Community College, Atlanta, to produce them:
I offered her $1,000 (I waved the wad of cash at
her from the back of the auditorium) if she could
produce one such blueprint, or tell us Real
Historians where one was. But
while the main contest was clear cut, Lipstadt's
team had a greater challenge in showing that
Irving was not a bumbling scholar prone to
sloppy translations and miscalculations but an
ideologue intent on obfuscation and distortion.
That's how the kitchen sink of evidence came in
against Irving, including a ditty he sang to his
infant daughter: ''I am a baby Aryan / Not
Jewish or Sectarian / I have no plans to marry /
An ape or Rastafarian." I am still not sure what the legal relevance of
this nonsense-rhyme was to these proceedings, as
she did not accuse me of racism in the book for
which I sued her, and it was accordingly not
pleaded. The poem was a restrained and private
response, confined to my private diary, to a
sneering caption beneath a photo published by a
London smearsheet a few days before, of B. with
myself and Jessica - THE PERFECT
ARYAN FAMILY".  I phone B. at length in London. Has been up
today, sounds better. Needs to pay another cheque
to cover school fees. Getting tight again
already! I send this request to my lawyer in Kiel,
Germany, to get a move on: Ich möchte nicht zu sehr
drücken, aber kann ich davon ausgehen, dass
Sie die von mir verlangten Schritte wegen
zeitiger Rückgabe sämtlicher Rechte an
den vergriffenen Werken schon eingeleitet haben?
Die Zeit vergeht, und es ist ja eine Zeitfrage,
eine Fristfrage. I find my cell phone in the car, its screen
bleating about "missed calls". Over lunch at the
Truck Stop I read the Chicago Sun-Times. It
buries on page 80 a muted story about Hollinger
International (its publisher), settling a lawsuit
against its former directors for having thieved
$50m of the company's money. The names seem
familiar, including the Sun Times' own
publisher David Radler. The thieving gang's all here -- Henry
Kissinger, Shmuel Meitar, Robert Strauss, Alfred
Taubman, George Weidenfeld (Lord Weidenfeld,
who published several of my own books). There is
also a Leslie Wexner among those obliged to
pay back the stolen funds. Now where have I just
read that name before? Oh yes, he was one of the gang of crooks who
financed Lipstadt's defence, pouring funds into the
English ancient High Court until the courtroom was
heavy with banknotes -- stolen banknotes, as it now
turns out. "Neutral" witnesses, paid off with
half-million dollar "fees"! The donors we know about include the American
Jewish Congress -- now agonizing over the
mysterious sluicing of millions of dollars of
Holocaust money by its own boss to a secret Swiss
bank account -- Stephen Spielberg (above reproach),
Edgar Bronfman (not), Anthony Julius (who
acted "pro bono" for Lipstadt after billing the
Princess Diana Memorial Fund $2million for his
first year's work setting it up), Marc Rich,
a billion-dollar American tax fraudster now forced
to live out of reach of extradition, and Trevor
Chinn, a
British tax fraudster also forced into exile to
avoid imprisonment; and now Leslie Wexner
too. Now that Professor Deborah Lipstadt -- whose
personal integrity is naturally above and beyond
reproach -- must realize that she financed her
defence with money stolen from US and UK taxpayers
and Hollinger shareholders, I wonder if she will do
the decent thing, and insist on paying it back? 
I SET out at two, and drive quietly for hours
across a dead flat Illinois prairie; the satellite
navigation takes me through some idyllic little
farming communities which I would not otherwise
have seen. What a magnificent country this is.
May
5, 2005 (Thursday)
Bement
(Illinois) ONE more day of this little 15,000 mile highway
journey left. I wake up, swaying slightly. Today
Britain is going to the polls, and that
sanctimonious, lying, salon-Socialist pratt,
Tony Blair, will be re-elected with most of
his Cabinet of freaks, according to the media. The ineluctable decline of Great Britain, which
began invisibly on May 10, 1940 and has proceeded
for sixty-five years, will now continue:
unemployment, mass Black or colored immigration and
mass White emigration -- both of them denied or
downplayed by Whitehall; the pollution of all that
England's culture once had to offer, the ruination
of the inner cities, the rise of gang and gun law,
the proliferation of "recreational" narcotics, the
despoliation of the country's wealth by foreign
oligarchs, and the dispatch of our sons and
grandsons into financially ruinous overseas wars
fought at the behest of foreign warmongers who have
somehow (Bribery? Threats? Blackmail?) entrapped
the leaders of both our main political parties. The Rake's Progress, personified by an entire
nation. Will nobody save us, and put it all back
together again? [Previous
Radical's Diary] |
David Irving