Censorship in East and West
This document is part of the The Revisionist periodical.
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As reported in The Revisionist No. 2/2003 (pp. 183-196), Ernst Zündel was arrested and deported from the U.S. to Canada in February 2002 for allegedly overstaying his visitor visa waiver. In Canada, he is being held in a maximum security prison under inhuman circumstances and being subjected to Kafkaesque secret hearings, the purpose of which is to try to categorize him as a security threat to Canada. The ultimate goal of the Canadian authorities is to deport Zündel back to his native Germany, where political trials and a long prison-term await him.
In the meantime, his wife Ingrid has launched an advertisement campaign in an attempt to gain public attention for the massive breach of human rights being perpetrated against her husband. A one-page ad appeared on June 12, 2003, in the Washington Times, a smaller, less well-known competitor of the Washington Post. A second ad was published in September 2003 in the Washington Times (Sept. 7) and in the Russian newspaper Zavtra. This time, however, the Washington Times decided to heavily censor the ad by removing any revisionist argument and viewpoint and by totally omitting the call for help in an Open Letter to Vladimir Putin, the president of Russia.
The following text is a reprint of the ad as it was published in the Russian newspaper Zavtra. We have underlined those passages that the Washington Times omitted. It is a lesson on censorship. Once the media in Russia were well-known for their massive censorship. As the saying went, there was no Pravda (truth) in the Isvestiya (news), and no Isvestiya in the Pravda. Today, however, this cold war reality has turned upside down. Today, there is not much left of the truth in the news spread by U.S. mainstream media, and even the little bit of truth that does get published is objected to by many pressure groups, as the letter to the editor reproduced after this article shows.
Following this is a short report by the Director of the Canadian Association for Free Expression (CAFE), Paul Fromm, who is attending the show trial against dissident Ernst Zündel and does everything possible to help him. It speaks for itself.
An American Refusenik Story
"There are a thousand hacking at the branches to one who is striking at its roots." (Henry David Thoreau, 1817-1862)
Herewith I alert the Russian people and, specifically, the Russian leadership to one of the most dictatorial events that happened in America. It is an intensely personal story.
For three years, I was happily married to a kind, gentle man with politically incorrect views – until, in broad daylight on American soil, my husband was brutally kidnapped by agents of the American government
The claim is that my husband was "deported" because he "overstayed his visa." We have the evidence to prove this allegation is untrue.
he has been targeted for assassination – twice by parcel bomb, once by arson, and once by a young woman posing as a journalist who was put on an airplane
Because of his insistence to check out the ‘Holocaust’ claims, Ernst Zundel has made powerful political enemies in various Western countries. Follow what happened recently:
ERNST ZUNDEL – PRISON MEMOIRS,
FEBRUARY 5 to FEBRUARY 19, 2003
I lived for more than 40 years in Canada. After my marriage to Ingrid, I had applied for my papers so I could live with her in Tennessee. My application had been accepted . I had been fingerprinted, given a work permit, a social security number, a medical. I was waiting for an interview with Immigration officials which I understood to be the last step before being granted permanent resident status. Since our first interview had to be canceled due to a time schedule conflict, our attorney requested a new date. We have in our possession a return receipt that our request to be re-scheduled had been received by INS.
We waited for that interview in the belief that we had done everything we knew how to do, We had purchased an art gallery and planned to open it in weeks. One of my handymen was helping me frame some of my water colors, oils and line drawings which I intended to hang that very afternoon. All this came to an abrupt end when a virtual posse of police cruisers and paddy wagons materialized in our driveway at about 11:00 a.m., February 5, 2003.
I was dressed in my work outfit, blue jeans, mountain hiking boots, colorful carpenter’s suspenders and casual flannel shirt. I inquired what brought them there as they surrounded me menacingly. They told me to put my hands on the hood of a truck in the driveway. They said that they were Immigration Service Enforcement Officers who had come to take me into custody because I had failed to keep a court date.
There was no "court date" that we knew of. We were waiting to be notified of our re-scheduled interview. I was stunned – as was Ingrid. The five officers had no arrest warrant. I asked to call my attorney. The request was denied. Ingrid, too, was told no call to our attorney was allowed. I asked Ingrid to get my jacket, passport and medication, since I was not permitted to go back into the house. Ingrid was later told that this was deemed to have been a "civil" arrest . There was nothing "civil" about this arrest!
Within minutes, I was in handcuffs and leg irons in a prison van, escorted in a police convoy down our mountain road, past our art gallery, into our little town where Ingrid and I did our shopping, and onto highway I-40 to the Knoxville Immigration Office, where I was processed, finger printed, and photographed. A Polaroid photo was taken of me against the wall of some garage, part of a hollow block-type building. This photo was then trimmed and later on stapled onto a document. I was given some documents to sign, which were lying on the desk of one of the bureaucrats when I came in. They had yellow post-it notes, and one clearly said in someone’s handwriting, "Add today’s date here". One Immigration officer, not directly involved in my case, had his wall decorated with a 2 × 4-foot large Israeli flag. Needless to say, I found this somewhat of an odd wall decoration in a U.S. Immigration Office!
I was then put again into a prison van in handcuffs and leg irons and driven for approximately 1¼ to 1½ hours through heavy traffic from Knoxville to a nearby jail, a cold, unfriendly place. The processing there took over four hours. I was kept in an ice-cold, all-concrete holding cell – even the seats and floors were concrete – until well after midnight. The medication I had brought with me to jail was disallowed. As a result, my blood pressure began to act up. I was told by the nurses, to whom I was taken – still in handcuffs and leg irons – that it was dangerously high.
I was housed in a two-man cell, in 24-hour lockup, only allowed a brief shower after two to three days and a short call to Ingrid – I don’t remember when. My cell-mate was an engineer in chemistry, a manic depressive who hallucinated, talked to unseen people all day and jumped up and down and out of bed all night long, hollering orders to persons unseen, thinking he was in charge of the CIA and talking loudly to "the President" on his make-believe telephone. He smelled awful, obviously not having showered in weeks. He annoyed the guards repeatedly in the middle of the night by using the in-cell intercom. Finally, the guards came, six or seven of them, and told me to get off my top bunk, grab my mattress and sheets and get out of the cell. I stood in the hallway where I heard hollering, screaming, and punching. I saw blood squirting against the wall as my crazy cell-mate was dragged on one leg across the floor into a different area of the prison. I saw him a few days later. He was bruised, all black and blue over his eyes and head as guards led him past me from the doctor’s office.
I was put into a two-man cell with a gentle, soft-spoken 65-year-old barber who had tried to shoot his mother. He was kind and helpful to me. I was now briefly with the general population, half Black, Mexican and Indian, the rest being Whites, mainly from the Smoky Mountain area. Most were hardened criminals, murderers, bank robbers, car thieves. Almost all were repeat offenders. Many had 25 to 30 year sentences. There was anger, frustration and rage in that place that was palpable.
Guards were unfriendly, cold, abrupt. One guard woke me up in the middle of the night by poking me into the ribs with a flashlight because I had left a book on the window sill.
Come Sunday, I heard dogs barking. We were all ordered into our cells while black-uniformed SWAT teams with dogs went systematically from cell to cell, threw us on the floor face down, hand-cuffed, arms twisted behind our backs. They dragged us outside the cells like sacks of potatoes while helmeted, visored, New World Order-type cops hollered commands at us. They searched our pockets, beds and plastic bins. The dogs, dripping saliva from their snapping jaws, were mainly Dobermans and German Shepherds and were kept on chain leashes two feet away from our bodies and faces. Young, pretty women in skin-tight uniforms and tightly-fitting flak jackets, all black in color, kept climbing over the men who were curled up, face down, shaking, frightened out of their wits. Some had tears streaming down their faces. The women filmed these hapless prisoners with mini-camcorders close up, laughing and joking, having themselves a ball. Why were those videos taken?
I was there on two weekends, and this terrorizing of the prisoners happened on both weekends. I was lucky to miss it the second time because my American attorney, whom Ingrid had in the meantime engaged, had come to see me and I was in the visitor meeting area of the prison. He had found out by the grapevine that I was going to be deported from the USA to Germany where I was born, even though I lived in Canada
This lawyer filed a request with the District Court that I be permitted to see a judge to tell him what happened – a request that was denied the same day. We challenged that decision the very next day in the Cincinnati Sixth Circuit Court where a law suit is still pending. According to procedural court rules, I should not have been taken out of that prison and deported without having seen a judge – yet that is exactly what happened a few nights later, February 17, 2003 – a national holiday in America, "President’s Day".
I was awakened by pounding on my cell door at 2:30 a.m. and told to get ready. By 4:30 a.m., the guards came to get me for "processing out". I was given a shower, ice cold, and changed back into my civilian clothing. Because of the holiday, the guards could not let me have my medication and the U.S. $400 I had brought with me to prison. To this day, that money has not been returned.
I was taken to the Knoxville Airport without a single cent in my pocket and without my medication. We boarded a plane to Atlanta, Georgia shortly after 7:00 a.m., landing there after 9:00 a.m. I was not told where we were going, but I saw a sign at the airline counter: Buffalo, New York. I realized they were shipping me to Canada, not to Germany.
I had had no opportunity to let Ingrid know where I was and what was happening to me.
We arrived in Buffalo, New York at 11:30 a.m. in a bad snowstorm. There I was told I was banned from the United States for 20 years, which meant Ingrid would be 87, and I would be 84 years old before I might have my first chance to see her again. I was taken across the Canadian border and kept in a locked room at Canadian Immigration offices at the Peace Bridge. There was lots of gesticulation and loud talking. The end result was that I was taken back across the U.S. border, still in a snowstorm. We seemed to slide and slither for hours until I finally spotted a sign saying "Attica, New York, Maximum Security Prison". Luckily, the vehicle turned into Batavia and we finally arrived there at dusk.
That prison was way out in a wind-blown farming area. It was a flat-roofed facility, surrounded by high barbed-wire fences and search lights with a small guard hut and a barrier, reminiscent of the Dr. Zhivago film. A huge six-foot guard, dressed in a Russian-type fur hat and a dark green greatcoat, came to check papers and cargo. It was a seemingly new, very clean, well-organized facility. Unfortunately, I was only there for not quite two days before I was taken back to Canada, this time for good.
I was deported via the Peace Bridge at Fort Erie on February 19, 2003. I was interrogated for about seven or eight hours off and on. I was allowed to call Ingrid, my lawyer and, within two hours, some Scottish friends from Hamilton, Ontario. They came to bring me some much-needed money.
I was "arrested" again – I thought I had already been arrested! – and taken to Thorold, the Niagara Region Detention Center where, a few weeks later, I was "arrested" for the third time, this time right in my cell.
I have been labeled a "security risk" for Canada by ministerial decree – NOT for what I have done in 42 years of responsibly living in that country, but for what somebody else in the future "might" do by reading what I have discovered about the murky business called the ‘Holocaust’.
I came to Canada in 1958 – a nineteen-year-old kid in search of a productive life. I will be judged at age 64 by secret hearings where neither I nor my attorneys will know what is being said about me, much less who the witnesses are. No way can I defend myself – except by raising public awareness.
Since my husband’s arrest, six months have gone by. He is still in maximum detention. He is not allowed a chair, a pillow, or a pen. Yet there are no criminal charges.
With this ad, I am pleading for public awareness.
If somebody smashes my window, I can go to the police and complain – and can expect that someone will investigate. If somebody smashes my life, is there no recourse because my husband holds politically incorrect views
In my young years, I lived under four dictators – Stalin and Hitler in Europe, Peron and Stroessner in South America. When I came to America, I thought that I had entered paradise, where there was justice, where there was law and order. I’d like to think that this is still America where dissident views have a place.
I will ask the members of my Congress and my Senate to take swift, concrete steps to have my husband be returned to me, replete with his politically incorrect views. I ask that men of principle and courage stand up
Letter to the Editor, The Washington Times, Sept. 10, 2003:
While paid advertisements may be the financial lifeblood for many newspapers, I would have hoped that The Washington Times would have displayed more selectivity when confronted by an advertisement from a Holocaust denier [page A7, Sunday]. Convicted of that crime in Germany and guilty of spreading his message of hate throughout the world, Ernst Zundel is not misunderstood and a victim, but instead an advocate of religious and racial hatred. He supports the extermination of not only Jews, but blacks and any other members of so-called inferior races.
It is disappointing that this modern exponent of Hitlerian hatred and mass murder would be allowed to use the pages of this newspaper to convey his message. Certainly, this full-page advertisement places your newspaper, or at least the individual who decided to run the advertisement, in a different and certainly not a favorable light.
When I brought a much smaller advertisement, an advertisement for a Holocaust denial book, to the attention of your rival newspaper, the individual in charge of that section ceased to run any further advertisements from that Holocaust denial source and an apology was forthcoming from the head of that newspaper.
Ernst Zundel does nor deserve any space in your newspaper. To have printed this travesty was a disgrace to your reputation of journalistic integrity.
It is amazing how so many lies can be packed into such a short letter to the editor. In the context of his own society, "Holocaust denial" is not "a crime", but the prosecution of such "deniers" would be of crime; Zündel’s message is the message of love for his German people and his fatherland, which people like Mr. Marans might hate, but that does not make Zündel’s views hate. Most outrageous is the claim that Zündel "supports the extermination of not only Jews, but blacks and any other members of so-called inferior races." This is one of the most evil lies I have ever heard about Ernst Zündel. If the Washington Times would objectively follow Mr. Marans demand to not publish anything from persons spreading hateful messages, Mr. Maran would be the first censorship victim. For he does not know what he is doing…
Additional information about this document
|Title:||Censorship in East and West, The Zündel Ad Campaign|
|Sources:||The Revisionist 1(4) (2003), pp. 449-453|
|First posted on CODOH:||June 27, 2012, 7 p.m.|