Review Written by Dr. G. Fredrick Toben (Adelaide Australia)
A Fictitious Account of Real-Life Mental Oppression called Political Correctness
by Dr G.Fredrick Töben
As usual, my book review divides into two sections: Form and Content, which then combine to produce the synthesis of evaluating the external and internal aspect of a person’s creative impulse, i.e., is the book a good read or not. And then there is the Preliminary Comment that attempts to set the scene somewhat where the context within which all this occurs is sketched out.
Though published in 2012, I did not know about The Holocaust Denier book’s existence until I received a copy of a Submission made to the Attorney-General on 30 April 2014 in regard to Section 18C, Racial Discrimination Act-RDA, from lawyer Trevor Poulton. The Submission itself contained the thoughts I had been expressing for just on 20 years when this RDA Section was formulated by Australia’s organised Jews to stamp out racism in Australia. That’s how the Jewish initiative was sold to the public. However, I knew from the European and Canadian legal push for such almost identical legislation, it was primarily to give the Jewish “Holocaust-Shoah” narrative much-needed legal protection from Revisionist research that had demolished its many myths, legends and outright lies.
In addition, the revelation late last year that German philosopher Martin Heidegger had made an important “anti-Semitic” remark about Jews, it became clear to me something just didn’t add up anymore. Heidegger had stated that Jews for centuries have been living by the principle of “Race”, which they however vehemently then denied to others. So, in most organisations that noisily fight against racism it will be Jews who head them – which seems to borne out in fact.
Now I was pleased to see that at long last an Anglo-Australian lawyer had stopped his proverbial fence-sitting and had come through the ranks to put a stop to this nonsense where thinking and doing are considered to be one act. To date the multi-cultural ethnics have been doing the hard slog of expounding the “evils” of monoculturalism, republicanism, et al.
The emphasis relied not on any realistic sense of what makes a cohesive society flourish but rather on focusing on minority “rights”, to protect them from “hurt feelings” whenever the eternal battle-of-the-wills within human interaction emerges. It is an infantile endeavour and does not well serve mature individuals to have their feelings legally protected by the state.
If such a matter develops and an individual feels aggrieved, then we have defamation laws that will redress such hurt feelings. Under the RDA the threshold of proof of innocence consists of “good faith”, something that falls by the wayside when “hurt feelings” are established without complainants having to produce not even a medical certificate to back up their claim. This is the sting of the RDA that in a court of law it suffices for a complainant to merely state that something offensive or critical was written or said, for example, about some aspect of “Holocaust-Shoah” and the accused is found guilty by non-Jewish judges who, all too often are awe-struck, then bend to Jewish pressure and enforce Section 18C, or alternatively by Jewish judges.
In fact, the last time under similar legislation where physical proof was offered in court was in 1988 at the Ernst Zündel Toronto, Canada, Holocaust trial, which had the devastating effect of forcing the Auschwitz museum in Poland to take down its 20 plaques whereon it stated that four million died there, to be replaced around 1993 with new plaques stating that 1.-1.5 million died there. That the overall six million deaths figure was not likewise reduced still puzzles many Revisionists, with some becoming angry at witnessing such fraudulent behaviour, while others remain philosophical because for them we are dealing with myths and legends and religion where the proof-factor is extremely low, if at all extant.
Most judges involved in this shonky business know they are enforcing a law that is deeply flawed, but their rational way out is to adopt the attitude that the Australian Parliament has enacted the law and it is their duty to enforce this law – just following orders! This was the justification used by former Justice Catherine Branson when I asked her at a function in Sydney while she was still the president of the Human Rights Commission in 2011: Where in the Human Rights legislation would I find the Truth concept because in defamation action truth is still a defence?
And it is only this year that I become aware of Trevor Poulton’s book and his effort in getting rid of Section 18C, and more. For years I had been waiting for a courageous, even angry, Anglo-Australian to get off that proverbial fence and make a stand on a principle, not to mention as yet the embracing of outright idealism. Perhaps my assessment is overdrawn but I sense that Trevor Poulton is one such person from the Anglo-Australian establishment to come out into the open to assert what many to me have stated privately – from judges, lawyers, clergy, politicians and businessmen, from police, teachers, medical practitioners and even bankers – Australia must not adopt the European legal mindset and abandon the principle of Natural Justice, i.e. giving someone a right-of-reply, and retaining the principle of truth as a defence in any legal matter. The equivalent concept in the USA is covered by the First Amendment where the concept of “moral turpitude” covers those acts that actually inflicts physically damage to person and property. Now Trevor Poulton’s book: The Holocaust Denier.
A psychedelic painting, The Unfinished, by Leon Szepetko, adorns the cover whereon a puckish gnome-like character stands on a solid base with just one foot about to slip off the edge – and symbolically you can read just about anything into it.
The 294-page paperback is printed in Charleston, NC, USA, and first published in June 2012. My copy’s print-run is dated 28 October 2013. It is a modern-day print-on-demand book, a trend that has finally come into its own especially for those who still wish to hold a book in their hands, rather than read it via a computer screen.
Print-on-demand has eliminated storage problems that led all too often to thousands of books being pulped because the market remained unresponsive to its contents. It has also led to a revitalisation of self-publishing that so many professionals frowned upon as late as the 2000s. I recall how our Adelaide Institute’s Peace Books enterprise upset individuals who hated to see our Revisionist literature hit the market albeit in a minute way – not like Germar Rudolf’s massive effort when he began his Holocaust Handbooks series in 2001, which is now part of The Barnes Review.
The local Wimmera Regional Library at Horsham, Victoria, refused to carry my books because its contents was deemed inappropriate for its readers. And who cannot recall how during the 1920s DH Lawrence self-published his Lady Chatterley’s Lover that British censors had banned on account of containing explicit sexual references. I’ll mention this again when I deal with this book’s content.
The author dedicates his book with a quote from John Lennon:
‘All I want is the truth
Just gimme some truth now’
The Contents is interesting in that it reveals this book is not divided into actual chapters but has 38 headings, of which three are printed in bold, thus dividing the story, perhaps merely hinting that there is a conventional narrative after all of beginning, middle and end: 2. Training, 16. Down to the cross-road, 24. Going about his business.
The page numbers end with 286, followed by a numberless page headed Catalysts. Here the author lists D H Lawrence’s Kangaroo; Joseph Roth’s The Spider’s Web; Coral Hull’s How do detectives make love?; Neil Overton’s The Neon Eclipse; Helen Darville The Hand that Signed the Paper, and Frederick (sic) Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
Then there are three of the front-page gnome-like figures of different sizes, as if having multiplied, in the centre of the page, followed by a heading: To those who question, with the following names and text suggesting that the author, after writing the book still has some justification, even thanks, to give to close individuals:
To Caitlin, Lin and Coral,
And to Nicky who asks, ‘Why?’
And to Sarah who asks, ‘Why not?’
And to Jim, Gary and others.
On page 291 there appears Endnotes where nine references are listed. I shall not detail them here but suffice to just mention that the 9th is Theodore Kaufman’s 1940 classic hate propaganda against Germans: Germany Must Perish.
On the final page, 294, there is a bar code, the printing date and the information that the book is printed in Charleston, NC.
On the back cover there is a brief synopsis of what the novel is all about:
Under the influence of a charismatic ethno-socialist named Kubizek, Constable Ward Price begins to question the nature and extent of the Jewish Holocaust.
He trawls through the ashes of the Third Reich in search of truth.
Unable to discriminate between places of light and dark, he finds himself locked into a world of use-by dates.
In this novel, there are no heroes, whether survivors, perpetrators, believers or deniers! And that brings me to my next section of this review where the above brief summary comes to fruition in story-form:
The first 26 pages details Constable Ward Price’s social background that reveals classical “false-consciousness” class thinking: upper middle class. I worry when I hear individuals using this kind of conceptual framework because it is exactly what Marxists found so useful when establishing themselves in Britain and the British Empire.
Sociologists delight in such analysis and focus on the lower classes in order to elicit pity, among other things, without ever detailing what is actually an “upper class”. This latter concept, however, now has morphed into popular Internet jargon of “ruling elites”. In effect, the dialectic used here is the Talmudic-Marxist death dialectic where the thesis and antithesis clash to the death and the resultant synthesis wins outright. The Hegelian dialectic rests on the win-win compromise where the opposites form a synthesis that includes elements from both the thesis and antithesis, for example: man-woman=child.
Price’s process of physical maturity occurs without any idealism. His family is well positioned to give him a fine start to a professional life, but before joining the Victorian Police Force he romps around Northern Australia and encounters his first sexual experience with an Aboriginal woman, then continues briefly to flounder into the bi-sexual neather-world, which forever attempts to become mainstream. At no stage in this narration is the concept Love mentioned, with which British Empiricism continues to struggle to this day on account of plodding along from one particular to another without ever rising above this and to develop an overarching narrative. German idealism takes the cultural veneer as a cushion against such stark naked depictions.
Ward Price would have done well to have imbued himself with Wagnerian idealism because he would have then realized that life is and always will be a battle, but that cultural endeavours make it
tolerable. He hints at this after joining the police force at Carlton Police Station – and having reached the age of 21:
‘Absorption of concise and objective orders was a deliverance from the subterranean fear and pain that had previously endowed him with an aura of grief.’
I must admit that my own university days during the early 1960s flashed back in the many details Poulton depicts of the Carlton-Parkville area of today. In fact, the only difference from my days there is his reference to mobile phones and the Internet, which were not available to us – but the various Carlton pubs were there, as well as the assorted individuals that made up its unique so-called intellectual atmosphere. Even today you can see old professors walking the streets who at one time were admired for their intellect but who have now lost all their marbles.
At pages 28-29 Ward has a significant experience that gives the book its title. Having found lodgings in a Parkville shared house he meets a drug-enthused philanderer who claims that his mother abandoned him and his Russian-born grandmother tried to gas him, and he changed his name from Cassell to Bishop, and he encouraged Ward to take a mind-expanding education. At an open-mike poetry performance at the Carlton Criterion Hotel that Constable Ward Price attends anonymously to improve his public speaking skills for Court, the narrator informs the readers:
‘A poet with a creepy voice like an obscene phone caller was standing at the mike reading poems from his prize-winning book. The poems spoke of Mozart and gas chamber music, and children of evil Nazi officers polishing pathways of broken teeth and bones with pattering ashen Aryan feet, and Himmler’s small penis too small for masturbation or girls. The poet shut his book. He breathed heavily into the mike, suffocating each word as he spoke. ‘You ask me, where do you draw the line with art? The answer is Holocaust denial.’ The room went dead silent. It was clear that none of the drunken spaced-out poets would be stupid enough to tarnish their reputations by crossing that line. Certainly Ward would never cross the line.’
At page 41 the narrator fills in Ward’s sibling relationships, especially with his older brother, Tom, a drug-dealer who had failed to fulfil his father’s expectation of him becoming a lawyer, and who had during their childhood made his siblings aware of the Holocaust, “where Jews were loaded into ovens by Germans and the fat from their bodies was cooled into blocks of soap”.
During a two-week break Ward travels to Hobart and in typical Joyceian Portrait of an Artist style, seeks out the fellow who almost ”deflowered” him at 17, but then upon again meeting up with him – and giving him a beating – realizes that pure evil thrives on repetition and stagnation because there is no change and development. For it is development in self that Price is pursuing.
Upon his return he finds that at the boarding house philosophy tutor working on her doctorate, Penelope, and her friend Bishop had fallen out, and Ward is also angry with Bishop for having gone through his computer while he was in Tasmania. And daily life goes on – until he meets a love interest Phanta to whom he confides that “The only skill I’ve learned is to ascertain the truth. It’s not a transferable skill nowadays…”.
And at page 80, because Phanta visits Ward in her Volks Wagon Beetle, the name Adolf Hitler crops up, and she informs him of the uniqueness of the car – it has character, something its creator did not have, so according to Ward! Then a couple of pages later Ward proclaims in an epiphanous rejection of self:
‘I renounce my predilection to universalise. I renounce my attachment to God’s fate…The more you seek beauty within, the uglier you appear. And the more vulnerable you become to your own complexes and needs for perfection.’
There is also an exchange of ideas re Wittgenstein’s contribution to philosophy where Penelope claims he undid Plato’s contamination of ethics with idealism. Bishop mockingly agrees, “Wittgenstein made the axiomatic ascent rung by rung, and wrong by wrong, only to kick away the ladder. The rest is silence.”
This ends the first third of the book’s narrative, and it will be interesting to see if this sterile Wittgensteinian language philosophy rubbish will be the pervasive tone for the remainder of the novel. As indicated, only sometimes does the narrative rise above the particular and contemplate solid moral values.
Section 16. Down to the Cross-roads at page 104 begins with Ward’s brother, Tom, who couldn’t get off heroin, but he, Tom, ‘thrived on notoriety which he equated with success…’, and who was dealing in drugs with Lebanese and Jews, or as Ward deems it: dealing in money and lies. And then Ward moves out of the shared house and moves in with Phanta and her daughter, Krysten!
It was during a meeting of Phanta’s family at her parents’ home that her mother asked Ward whether he was German because he looked German, which was pronounced rather sympathetically, surprising Ward because ‘everyone in the world knows what non-musical things the Germans are capable of.’ Ward explains that his father’s side is Anglo-Saxon of England, his mother’s side is from the Celts of Scotland and one of his father’s cousins is an Ashkenazi Jew from Hungary – “we like to think we have Jewish connections”. The family sit in the lounge and watch TV and it transpires that Phanta’s husband had been a soldier during the Iraq-Afghan war and a no-hoper. One night at Phanta’s place, the war and Australia’s role therein get a mention on the TV that Phanta strongly opposes, which unsettles Ward because he is not used to women having a view-point.
The Afghan news report is followed by a documentary Eros under the Swastika, about Lebensborn, here misspelled as Lebensporan, a film screened by SBSTV on 20 October 2006 with the slant, and as Poulton cites the narrator: ‘Most German bedrooms were the coldest room in the house, for cohabitation of man and woman was to serve only one purpose for the Nazis, the reproduction of Aryan children.’
Poulton’s own following next sentence is telling:
‘Attributing the collapse of moral values in Germany as a factor that led to the Jewish Holocaust, the documentary was providing an insightful look into the politically degenerate mind of the German people.’
And then Phanta gave a spirited defence of National Socialism to which Ward exploded with all the stereotypical epithets that are usually associated with this topic, with Ward, who had been raised on Hitler – the most evil man in history – the 6 Million Dead myth and a school excursion to the Elsternwick Holocaust Museum and Research Centre, screaming at her: ‘You’re an idiot’, and this caused a “fissure in their relationship”. Fortunately it mended again, when they had a holiday break at Fairhaven, and where they also met up with Ward’s old mate Bishop and Penelope. Bishop tried hard again to win over Ward who noticed Bishop was carrying a big book around with him, which he explained was ‘The Kabbala. It’s God’s blueprint for creation’. Later Phanta informs Ward that she was pregnant, something which he welcomed, although questioning of her motive.
And then to add to Constable Ward Price’s woes, during a routine speeding check he stops a red Porsche driven by a man, Erin Kubizek, who confronts him head on and exclaims: “The Holocaust never happened.”
What follows is that the motorist gets booked for speeding but that Ward and Phanta will visit Kubizek and receive an extremely compressed Revisionist argument that Ward attempts to digest by using his insightful reason and compassion – trying to grasp whether he had been hoodwinked all these years, or whether Kubizek and also Phanta, might in fact be cultural terrorists. Phanta’s brother, Jonathan, just as involved in this revisionist stuff bewails and then quotes the Jewish lesbian write, Susan Sonntag: The white race is the cancer of human history. All this goes against the grain of Ward’s White upbringing and also police training where the multicultural society is celebrated and where anything right-wing is regarded as evil Nazi stuff.
Ward remembers some of the books that Kubizek had spread out ‘like stepping stones’ on his carpet: The Hoax of the 20th Century, Protocols of the Wise Men of Zion, The Real Eichmann Trial, The Culture of Critique: An Evolutionary Analysis of Jewish Involvement in Twentieth Century Intellectual and Political Movements.
Ward receives a transfer to St Kilda Police Station and he is happy about it, and there are new challenges awaiting him in this Jewish suburb where he becomes acquainted with orthodox Jewish customs, for example that married women shave their head and wear wigs. But he’s also confronted, again but with greater insight, into the seedier sides of police duties. Also, as a father of a daughter, Alicia, he felt constrained by Phanta’s maternal needs that somehow excluded his own intimate yearnings – and so he ventured forth in search of that League of Rights bookshop in the heart of the City of Melbourne where more Revisionist books could be found. The old man in attendance related to Ward how Ernst Zündel had just been extradited from Canada to Germany on the charge of “incitement to Holocaust denial” – [sic = defaming the memory of the dead], and he bought a copy of Paul Rassinier’s Debunking the Genocide Myth.
Ward now was in absolute mental turmoil because he had been brought up to believe that ‘Jews are the greatest in every field … The politicians say that to question the Holocaust is racist and an affront to humanity. It was certainly an affront to him when Phanta had revealed her Nazi sympathies. He wanted to belt her for that one.’ Through Internet searches Ward, an officer of the law, became disturbed to find that a number of countries had banned the questioning of the official Holocaust narrative – and he found such censorship offensive.
And his time at the St Kilda Police Station continues with problems emerging not from the street work but from within the tightly-knit 40-odd police force at the station. Ward was being picked on for some obscure reason – and I must confess that as this internal conflict develops into a formal complaint that Ward’s work be supervised, I briefly had flashbacks to my own time teaching during the 1980s at Goroke when the principal found I had massive problems, and when a formal enquiry found I was incompetent and had been disobedient to the principal five times in about five minutes. That this disobedience occurred after the Principal and his henchman followed me through the courtyard at the school, with the former firing orders at me, to which I replied in the positive, i.e. I had
completed the tasks, except for the last one and to which I replied: ‘Get F d,’ because by then I
knew my time was over at the school. And so it was almost with Ward when at a police function he dropped the bully-boy with Japanese flair, which immediately improved his standing within the police station community. In fact, the novel is acutely realistic in its treatment of police culture in Melbourne, from both the workplace and street perspectives, inside and outside.
At page 177 the third part of the book begins: Going About His Business. It is around this time that Ward cements his relationship with Erin Kubizek whom he begins to see as a reference point for decision making. Kubizek explains to Ward, ‘The mystery of the universe is that evil has limited resources.’ He is being challenged to take the moral high road on historical revisionism, and feels compelled to look deeper into National Socialism. He explores various bookshops for those hard-to-get books printed before World War Two began.
At this point the narrator analogises a second hand bookshop with the decline and fall of Western civilisation:
‘Ward hauled a ladder down an aisle. Ascending the shop on the wings of the blue-winged shoveler, he conducted an aerial survey. It felt like he was flying over plateaus of knowledge and values and ideas, but it was a sombre vision. He could see Australian history built on pillars of optimism decaying there on the flat pine shelves, crumbling sections on Greek art and Roman architecture, redundant sciences in a heap on the floor, the Great Saints blocked by the suddenness of a ceiling rose, epic twentieth century wars bound in tattered jackets, philosophy and ethics slumming it in a corner.’
And with his family he visits his former friends, Penelope and Bishop, a matured man. Soon the conversation ranges to the fact that monotheism is derived from Egyptian religion and the Saviour idea from the Zoroastrians, which upset Bishop. Then Ward lets fly and states “The Jewish Holocaust is a hoax…the Jews use the Holocaust to make white people feel guilty about being white so they can push their multicultural agenda.” And so Bishop, feeling his control over Ward slipping away from him, rhetorically asks, on account of having given his child, Ariel, a Jewish name: “…so I must be Jewish”, to which Ward’s Phanta responds, “You might be a mongrel”. And that was the end of their stay at Penelope’s and Bishop’s home.
Soon after attending a shooting with several dead, Ward commits himself to being a ‘Holocaust denier‘, but also embellishes that perspective by identifying himself with National Socialism, because the door is now open to examine truly what that ideology stood for and how it is relevant today. This is as close as Ward gets to taking a “moral stance” and adopting an idealistic view of the world. The question is whether the syntheses for Ward Price is in fact to be shaped by the Jewish Talmudic/Marxist materialistic or Hegelian idealistic dialectic process.
Later Ward Price again meets up with Bishop, and he does not hold back in giving a full Revisionist account of German suffering, of suffering inflicted upon Russians by the mainly Jewish Communist leaders, of the misrepresentation of German National Socialism, and more. And predictably Bishop charges Ward with anti-Semitism, which Ward rejects, then Bishop states: ‘Next you’ll deny climate change’, and so it goes on until Bishop empties his beer glass in Ward’s face, then races out the door, jumps on his bicycle and rides past Ward, spitting him in the face.
And then much later Ward again meets up with Bishop who reveals himself to be a full-blown Holocaust believer – and Ward invokes his rally cry “Shine Germany, shine”, which infuriates Bishop who has become his nemesis. The novel climaxes, if that is an apt expression in this context, with the introduction of fellow police officers the Kruger twins (K-1 and K-2), one of whom also questions the Holocaust narrative, and a chapter titled ‘The Case of the Missing Soap’ harking back to Ward’s childhood indoctrination into the Holocaust, but I’ll leave it to the interested reader to find out what happens next and how the novel closes.
So, in conclusion, anyone who wishes to delve into the effect that Holocaust education has had on Australians, will find a delicately and refined story line that shows how difficult it is to extricate oneself from the official Holocaust narrative.
Trevor Poulton, the Anglo-Australian, is now faced with the task of jumping off the fence so as to personally embrace a belief, which is liberating for the soul, and perhaps he may come even a little closer to the conclusion reached by William Lyon Mackenzie King, Prime Minister of Canada for 18.5 years, as recorded in his Diary on 29 June 1937:
“My sizing up of the man [Hitler] as I sat and talked with him was that he is really one who truly loves his fellow-man, and his country, and would make any sacrifice for their good. He is a man of deep sincerity and a genuine patriot. As I talked with him, I could not but think of Joan of Arc. The world will yet come to see a very great man. He is distinctly a mystic…”.