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He was no lone individual. He was a good example of how the average Berliner conducted their life. When we took power I grabbed this fellow by the collar — Rudy was his name — I took him to a Party office and forced him to join other bright men of his ilk. At the time he was angry and not a little fearful. He was to become a leading comrade. In charge of foreign labor. What does he do now? Some Government position. He was one of the fellows who organized the Berlin airlift with the Americans and took a little on the side. What is his position? That's right. He's a representative on the International Monetary Fund. Of course.


He was in Brazil some months ago arranging for some capital to be lent to these savages. My hosts. Of course. What a comfortable life he must be having. Back there. Free to travel the world. I imagine he has a large house near the center of action in Berlin entertaining all and sundry. All his friends from all levels of society. Artists. Gangsters. Friends from august bodies. Like Dr. Muller I suppose. Both of them. They climb. All the way to the top again. These self-servers who said they wouldn't forget me. A contact here or there. Dismissive. Erratic. This does not constitute the debt they should have repaid. Keep him quiet. Make sure of that. I can hear them. Talking not so quietly in small gatherings. Arrange their business affairs so that the Heimanns of their past will not come back to haunt them. To ruin matters. What little they have done to look after me. Yes. They make sure that their own roost is very comfortable and safe.


Safe. I've never known the meaning of the word. Since being on this continent I've had to be on the lookout. For those who would parade me in front of their citizens as if I was a mediaeval bear to be held on a string. Not a month has passed without some rumor, intelligence or information about groups of long noses being grouped together in a hunting party to capture me. This word — safe. I never sought the safe way out. Now I am forced to live in this sea of shit in a house that would make my parents feel ashamed. What have I been able to give my family? What have these self-servers done to help them? I took up my historical responsibilities and I followed them to the letter. What responsibility do these fellows feel?



Ernst Rohm


In our fight in 1934 when we got rid of Rohm we didn't go far enough. When we hung those up on meat hooks with piano wire — we did not go far enough. To see Muller hanging from piano wire would give me small pleasure at this moment. No doubt his tongue would hang out and his pen would still be in his hand writing the last report. I loathed them then and I can barely speak of them now. I am left here amongst this bile that represents humanity in this part of the world and am expected to keep my lips tight and remember nothing. Fools. It is my memory which serves me. I serve my memory. It is memories which make my present clear.


If only we had been given more time I would have personally carried these types myself to the chamber. I would have thrown them in. Papers and all. To hear their screams. I can still see their faces — so vividly — as if they were talking to me here. How servile they were. When the orders were issued you could hear their little feet scuffle along the floor prepared to do anyone's bidding. These were not men. Just meat. Their voices pristinely explaining to me the urgency of our tasks. This task that went to their pockets but not to their hearts. These men who hid behind the United States flag and now worship everything foreign. Where have they placed their historical responsibility? In a memoir perhaps. To liven up their twilight years as they dodder around their gardens pretending they are elder statesman.


One hears from here that now these old soldiers defend the interests of Israel against the Arabs. Defending the Jewish homeland. I couldn't believe my ears. Jumping up and down like schoolgirls cheering what's left of the Jewish filth on. In those days I wanted them out of Germany. Out of Europe. It was not my intention to hold their hands and walk them through their resettlement. Palestine just seemed like a perfect rubbish heap for them. It mattered not to me then how it would affect the local inhabitants. I knew it would cause the British some anxiety. That it could do so did not give me any sleepless nights. I thought that since the Jew is an idealist he would see the Garden of Eden in Palestine but even they would find it impossible to settle. In fact I imagined that many would die when they tried to settle it.


There would have been no more fitting image — the city Jew — having stolen European culture tries to steal the desert and dies from lack of resources. That's what they took from us — our resources — tried to turn them into their own. This they always expected us to accept. Well we finished off that illusion. Yes. We finally put an end to that. Yet these old soldiers now defend their right to exist. Some even train them. Who would believe it possible? How long did we train our men to know the basis of our culture? How often did we try to impart to them that this filth contaminates every nation that they poured breath into. It was their nature. This was their historical fate. They knew only how to steal the wealth and culture of others. In this they were experts. They carried this disease with them. Any society that tolerated them was doomed to having their core eaten away. It was not their nature to develop a nation. They attacked it at every opportunity. Their historic aim since the crusades was to destroy the best in European culture and science and use it to their own benefit.



Jews Berlin


I still see them now. Stamp collectors and moneylenders. Walking the streets in groups wearing those badly fitting suits with magician's hats babbling on amongst each other. They smelled like they had been in with the hens. Yet they scorned us. They made a parody of our State. This I taught to my men. Over and over. It was drummed into those who thought that the Jew was not so bad to live with. One of my best students. A clerk from Hamburg. He was put in charge of a youth group visiting France. They were staying at a hotel in Paris. One of the best. These young men had to know the world was at their grasp. It was their destiny. That the people of the rest of Europe were inferiors. They were made to understand that and act accordingly. If they did so we gave them no trouble. Many of the countries we occupied had no complaints. We paid our bills. That's more than you can say for the Americans.


In this hotel the manager was on speaking terms with this man from Hamburg. Evidently one of the youth was taking advantage of his particular occupation over the French. He went about the hotel taking fixtures from the wall. Slashing at paintings with his knife and ripping the furniture. He had made a habit of kicking a particular chair every time he walked into the hotel. The manager had put up with this for a number of weeks. He had had enough and went to see my man. He told him the story adding that he very much enjoyed them staying and it was his pleasure to have them as guests. But could this particular boy be dealt with. My man grouped all the lads into a line and asked the manager to point at the boy who had been causing all this mischief. He did so at which my man leapt at the boy and beat him into a pulp. All the other boys stood to attention including the manager. He got off the boy and yelled at him — do you know why you have been punished. Yes said the boy — because I have made a nuisance of myself around this hotel. No it is not for that that I have given you a beating. It's because you didn't take a knife out and kill the French dog. That's how my lessons were taught. I thought that a lesson taught like this could never be forgotten.




Christopher Barnet

Christopher Barnet

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