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My life as a Holocaust Revisionist

I will not attempt a Blog here in the full sense of that concept, but rather a personal journal where I will record some of the stories that thought turns to in those rare moments of clarity when I am not interfering with it.

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Location: Baja Norte, Mexico

Smith was raised in South Central Los Angeles in the 1930s and 40s. Smith is a combat veteran (Korea, 7th Cavalry, where he was twice wounded), has been a deputy sheriff (Los Angeles County), a bull fighter (Mexico), a merchant seaman, and was in Saigon during the Tet offensive of 1968 as a freelance writer. He has been described by the Los Angeles Times as an "anarchist libertarian," and by the Anti-Defamation League of B'nai B'rith as one of the most dangerous "extremists" in America. He has been married to a Mexican woman for 30 years, there are two children, and now two grandchildren. Smith argues that the German WMD (gas-chamber) question should be examined in the routine manner that all other historical questions are examined. He argues that the Holocaust is not a "Jewish" story, but a story of Jews and Germans together--forever. Those who want to challenge the concept of the "unique monstrosity" of the Germans should be free to do so. He believes it is morally wrong, and a betrayal of the Western ideal of intellectual freedom, to imprison writers and publishers who question publicly what privately they have come to doubt.

Monday, September 19, 2005

The monster wasn't pretty, but ...

I was in our bedroom this evening working out with bar bells and watching a rather soapy bio of Mary Shelly on the Film and Arts channel. I was reminded of the strenuous and truly dramatic life she led, until most everyone died, including four children if I counted right. My own mother bore four children, three of which died before reaching the age of one year. Our youngest daughter is 19 and is to give birth next month. I’ve got my fingers crossed.

About 1937 my father took me to the Avalon theater in South Central Los Angeles to see Frankenstein. I would have been seven years old. I had no idea what I was going to see. We didn’t have a car so we walked the mile or so to the theater. It was dark. I still recall two or three scenes, most clearly the one where Boris Karloff is raging among the flames on the roof or parapet of the place where he dies. I think a flaming beam falls on his neck.

I haven’t read Shelly’s book. I’m not going to read it now. But I was struck by the narration in the bio about how the “creature” behaved as badly as he did for lack of real human relationship, for lack of love. His desire was to enter into the world into which he was “born,” but he was too ugly. He thought so, and others thought so. He was a human being, but he was an ugly one. He longed for love, and he was hurt by the lack of it. That’s human. One thing led to another and it was over for him.

As I listened to the narration of the Mary Shelly bio, thought turned to the book I’m writing, Adolf Hitler and Me: Reading Mein Kampf > http://www.adolfhitlerandme.com/ <. Thought was reminded that there are no monsters in the real world. Some of us commit monstrous acts. The irony is that while some of us who commit monstrous acts are bad guys, others of us who commit monstrous acts are good guys. It’s as if the gods are playing with us.

Mary Shelly thought it monstrous for ordinary people to not see Frankenstein’s monster for the “person” he was. Not seeing Adolf Hitler for the “person” he was, but as a monster, has morally justified a long and bloody trail of monstrous acts. I’m not suggesting that Adolf was a nice guy, only that he was human—all too human perhaps.

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