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Never mind the politically correct assertions toward the ending. Rather clumsy conclusion, I think. -W.

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Ours is an odd world, and so odd is the way that all compasses but one’s innermost-star are rendered increasingly useless.

But if you can navigate the restless unnameable ranges without losing your sense of direction, no riddle is without resolve and the most precious treasures await you.

Challenge all and you will evolve in dimension. Take nothing existent for granted and you will lay a foundation fit to endure. Read between all lines and seize eternally the mystery.

I encountered this documentary film, “U.F.O. Secrets of The Third Reich” by accident this afternoon. At times, the film veers off into the deep end of occult history (I’ve come to expect it with certain subjects). But as a source of uncommon and, well, fascinating information, I believe it is worthy of review. -W.


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The Hacienda Dignidad Saga As Told By Ernst Zündel
From Ingrid Rimland
irimland@mail.bellsouth.net
4-29-4

Good Morning from the Zündelsite:

…I spent all afternoon typing to bring you this tale, partly to catch up with myself. It is a story out of Ernst’s youth that will bring a smile to your face. To us it is a whimsical tale – maybe not all that funny to our foes, who spook easily?

Have you ever heard of Hacienda Dignidad? My Spanish is a bit rusty, but I believe the name translates into “Ranch of Honor.” Hacienda Dignidad is a mysterious place, deep in the Chilean mountains. Allegedly, it is a trading post for Nazi UFOs.

The only time I heard of Hacienda Dignidad before I met Ernst Zündel was about ten, fifteen years ago when I read about a raid some Jews had engaged in to wipe out the place, but someone or something repulsed them. I don’t recall the details – I didn’t pay that much attention at the time.

Here is the story, as I asked Ernst to put it on paper for me so I could submit it to the Rense web page for reflection. I asked Jeff once if he knew anything about Hacienda Dignidad, and he said he did not, but would be interested.

Well, here it is. Enjoy!

(Small apology: I am not sure I have all the names, terms, and spellings right – Ernst’s prison pencil stub wore out!)

Note – The following was very recently hand-written by political prisoner Ernst Zündel while being held in solitary confinement in Canada. I very much appreciate his efforts in making this little-known story available to all who may be interested. My thanks also to Ingrid for typing it for this online presentation. – JR
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The Hacienda Dignidad Saga
By Ernst Zündel

Remember, I am writing this totally from my faulty memory without any access to any notes I may still have in my files, at least in fragments. This is the rough story – by no means complete. I don’t know what Jeff needs it for – if it is just curiosity or if he and his friends are engaged in a more serious project because, of course, the Hacienda Dignidad myth is only a small piece of a puzzle that is much larger, much more mysterious, encompassing people all over the globe for at least 60, maybe even 70 or 75 years.

When I was young, I stumbled upon it because of my interest in space exploration and space journeys to the near planets – to the Moon, to Mars, Venus and, beyond, to Orion and Sirius. It did not take long for me to make all kinds of interesting contacts in Canada, America, Germany, Austria, Spain and, especially, South America and, strange as it may seem, Japan of all places.

My first encounter with Japanese interests in space came in 1967 when I met the CEO of what was then a sizeable conglomerate of Japanese corporations worth well over US$250 million, all involved in the most diverse business fields. That man, let’s call him the Chairman, was a Japanese Naval Attaché in Germany during World War II. He was ultimately taken to Japan by German submarine in late 1943 with a secret cargo apparently involving jet planes. The Germans were far ahead of the Japanese, even the British and the US in that field, having had operational jets, several different kinds, by different manufacturers and designers since 1938. If you go and look at my UFO book, you will find the story of just such a submarine which carried nothing but mercury, which the Japanese apparently needed in war production.

Incidentally, I corresponded with some of the crew of Captain Schäfer’s sub which landed in Argentina long after Germany’s surrender in Europe – there is also the story of a German sub using an uninhabited island in the Falklands/Antarctic/South Atlantic region. That island could still not be visited in the 1970s because it seems the Germans used a mine barrier at the lagoon entrance to prevent the Allied ships from landing there.

Anyway, the Chairman was thrilled to meet me, and I was wined and dined, had a Japanese driver/translator assigned to me, who was dressed formally, including gray gloves at all times. He did a lot of bowing. Wherever he guided me, I was showered with gifts from shops located on the most famous shopping streets in Tokyo. He took me to large art supply stores near the university of Tokyo and to the National gallery of Japan, where I was introduced as though I were a V.I.P., receiving fine collections in gift boxes of rice paper, seals and sealing wax – a very big deal in Japan! Evidently the Chairman thought that I was someone special because, as he said in his accented German, ” Herr Zündel, Sie sind der erste Deutsche, der denkt wie meine Kameraden in Deutschland im Kriege.” [You are the first German who thinks as my comrades did in the war.] Clearly the poor guy had only encountered brainwashed post-war German quislings!

The Chairman was the one who told me over a slow meal of many courses that Japan was at war with America. He pointed to an attaché case and said, “This time we will defeat them with this (meaning commerce) and not with tanks, ships, or planes.” He said in parting that Japan would never forgive the Americans for dropping the atomic bomb and for making Japan lose face before other Asians, especially the Koreans and Chinese. That was a big deal with him, as were the humiliations and executions by hanging of Japanese leaders via the Tokyo war crimes trials and tribunals. He was far less forgiving than the Germans!

I don’t know if this Chairman’s hand was involved in what followed, but in the middle 70s I was contacted by a man who claimed to be a Japanese reporter/writer. He was very interested in my UFO books, ordered several of them, kept calling me for details and basically pestering me because, by then, I was phasing out this rather frivolous line of books. My UFO booklets were in those days only used by me to generate interest for more serious interviews on the post World War II lies of the “death camps” like Auschwitz, a concentration camp that was, in fact, a war production center. I was beginning to concentrate on far more serious topics involving Holocaust revisionism. I had met Thies Christophersen, had read the first essays by Dr. Faurisson. I had obtained, printed, and distributed Richard Harwood’s booklet, Did Six Million Really Die?, which had been first published, I believe, in 1974. I kept ordering boxes of this title from England, increasingly getting harassed by Canadian Customs because of the amount of copies I imported. I had bought my old Carlton Street house in the summer of 1975, and since the gallery, front entrance and basement had already been dug out, and paintings were hanging on all walls, meetings by people like Dr. Austin App and others were held at the gallery. I would imagine that it must have been in ’78 or ’79 when this reporter finally made arrangements to come over from Japan to interview me at length.

Money seemed no object with this Japanese reporter, who arrived with a photographer/sound man with state of the art tape recorders in tow. They parked their stretch limousine, chauffeur and all, in a no parking, no stopping zone outside my house. The bored white driver would sit there for hours, pulling away once in a while because Toronto police told him to move on. Meanwhile, we talked and looked through my UFO/Nazi Secret Weapon/Antarctica file, only interrupted by lunch, tape changes, coffee breaks. Later on, we went out to the CN Tower where I was treated to one of the most expensive dinners in my life.

The two came back the next day, and this time they seemed quite interested in talking to one of my male secretaries, Sepp. We used to horse around a lot, talking of olden times, and I used to call him my “Adjutant”, for Sepp had an illustrious past. He had served as an aide de camp and interpreter for Field Marshall Kesselring in Italy during the latter part of the war. We were young and brazen then. We thought we would supply some visual aids for our Japanese guests, so for the occasion we dressed Sepp up in a spiffy Nazi uniform of an officer of the communications section – visor’s officer’s cap, the works! The photographer just loved that man and his uniform! I could see why – it would lend authenticity to the story being told for a magazine or television special.

Then my Japanese guests left, loaded with UFO- as well as anti-Holocaust literature, which was of course discussed at great length, once the UFO stuff was out of the way, which did not interest me all that much any more. They said they would be in touch, and mentioned that if they could raise the funds, they might be tempted to go and visit some of the places in Europe and Latin America. Especially submarine bases and underground installations left over from World War II really interested them. They were like children with a new toy.

In the months that followed, I helped them gain entry to some circles and installations, such as the former German submarine base and bunkers in Bergen, Norway, which operated undamaged until after surrender in May 11th, 1945 – not May 8th! The Norwegians used those facilities, along with the most modern German subs, into the 1970s. My guests also visited the Hydrographic Institute in Hamburg and looked into the thousands of air photos taken over Antarctica and its German bases, established by the Ritscher Expedition under the protection of Hermann Goering, with Rudolf Hess as the liaison for the project. They went to Camp Dora in the Harz Mountains and to the bunker complexes in the Alpine Redoubt, which figured large in the Allied propaganda in ’44 and ’45. They sent me many postcards from those places. Unfortunately, the 1985 arson claimed all of those files.

In the wake of those visits, UFO orders for books, spotter charts and investigator passes began to pour in from Japan. We even sold frisbees resembling UFOs. The first articles appeared, and true to his word, the writer/reporter had included the 206 Carlton Street address, and we did a brisk business for a while with Japan in that period. In fact, a lot of my subsequent Holocaust trials were partially paid for by UFO trinkets and donations by fervent supporters who believed in those Nazi UFO stories. In fact, some believe them deeply to this day.

Then one day, I received a call from our Japanese writer. He was in the US, in Los Angeles. Could he drop by? He wanted to make me a proposal about a research trip.

Sure, said I. Come on up.

He arrived within a week and suggested that I accompany him to Latin America, together with another Japanese tape recorder man and photographer, using my trusty German aide – minus Nazi uniform, I insisted! – on the trail of the Nazi UFOs. The expedition was to last from 4 to 7 weeks.

I was still a hands-on graphic artist at that time. I ran a lucrative graphic arts studio, along with my publishing house, and I had important contracts with some of Canada’s largest corporations. There was no way I could stay away that long without losing my business. So we made a compromise. I would not go, but I would lend him my German Attaché.

Of course, Sepp liked the idea of researching Hacienda Dignidad, somehow connected to Nazi UFOs, because he could get a free first class trip out of this deal and see his friends in Chile and Argentina, where he also had family. He was happy to go along. I was excited for him, even paid him his salary, bonuses, insurance, the works – for which the Japanese researchers reimbursed me generously. For me, it was a good deal, because my trusted Adjutant would be in fact my eyes and ears and report back to me. The Japanese had no problems with that. Everybody was satisfied.

Sepp took off for Los Angeles where he would meet the rest of the team. The first stop was a special effects studio in Hollywood, which mightily impressed my World War II staff officer turned volunteer. That educational experience behind them, the team flew off into the wild blue yonder and landed in Santiago, Chile to meet up with my co-author of my first German UFO book, titled “Unbekanntes Flugobject? Letzte Geheimwaffe des Dritten Reiches.” The man’s last name was Mattern.

Mr. Mattern was a German who had emigrated to Chile in the 1920s as a professional photographer. In time, he became the official photographer for all the presidents and most of the military big wigs in Chile in the early 1930s and thereafter. He was in and out of the Presidential Palace, the military academies, the Parliament – he simply knew everybody! Chile’s military was thoroughly Prussian, having adopted Prussian drills, ethos, code of honor, WWII German uniforms, helmets – even the goose steps! – which, by the way, they have kept to this day. Just recently, a young Revisionist sent Ingrid a video of such a parade. The Chilean army under Pinochet was like an extension of the World War II German Army in looks, behavior and feel as well as in outward appearance. Exclusively German marching bands and German marches were, and are, still played to this day by that time warp Chilean army!

Mr. Mattern was to be in charge of the Chilean part of the trip, especially since he had once personally visited the area upon which the Japanese seemed to be totally fixated – the fabled shangri-la called Hacienda Dignidad in a remote interior mountain range. As the story went, during his one and only visit to Hacienda Dignidad, Mr. Mattern was picked up at the train station or air field – I can’t recall which – by someone and driven to the Hacienda, and when his visit was over, he was driven back to his point of arrival in the South Central part of Chile. I believe the town was called Parral.

[Ingrid’s comment here: I am not sure what role “Mr. Richter”, below, plays in this story. Something seems to be missing, but I am retyping it as the story came to me.]

Mattern was, by then, already a man well into his 80s, but his correspondence was absolutely lucid. He assured the Japanese team plus Sepp that they would be met at the airport by a representative of Mr. Richter who would then take them to the Hacienda for a reception and interview with Mr. Richter personally. Security and secrecy were given as the reasons for this somewhat out of the ordinary arrangement.

The meeting with Mr. Mattern was cordial at his upper middle class home. The meals were served in the finest china, rare wines, candle light, very civilized. The team was on its way, being briefed by Mr. Mattern what he had observed during his visit many years ago, such as the brand new Mercedes Benz ambulances which were used by German emergency services, Mercedes Diesel mini-buses, sheet metal workshops with the latest German metal bending machines, punch presses, all of them equipped with the most modern tools and machines. Mattern spoke of extensive vehicle repair facilities, motor reconditioning shops, modern communal kitchens and learning/meeting facilities, a state of the art hospital with a surgery and an outpatient clinic for Indians in the area and a maternity ward where local people, mostly Indios or Mestizos, were treated by the medical staff of the Hacienda Dignidad, completely free of charge.

The nurses, said Mattern, wore typical German nurses’ uniforms with Red Cross and Christian insignia on their gowns and habits. There was also a dairy farm, he recalled, as well sheep, flocks of chickens, geese etc. In fact, it seemed that the Hacienda was based on what in National Socialist Germany’s time would have been called a “Musterbetrieb” – an ideal, self-contained community, run like a perfectly integrated prototype enterprise. Mattern also saw a neat little Christian chapel. He said he was taken for long rides on magnificent horses along well-kept trails, accompanied by Richter, who would stop and talk to Indio laborers, male and female, in Spanish.

Although their outings would often last several hours, said Mattern, they never seemed to come to a fence or the edge of the property. It was rolling hills and dales, fields of potatoes, wheat, rye, and corn. Every once in a while he would hear the sounds in the distance – the whine of jet engines or turbines being accelerated, and then the sounds would die down again, and silence would prevail. Only a few times, he told his guests, did he think that he saw strange aerial activity going on by even stranger craft. He was never told what it was, and it was clear to him that the host was unwilling or perhaps under orders not to expand on those strange noises and those odd goings-on.

During his stay, there were communal suppers and lectures on different topics by different people, said Mattern. There were German and Austrian folk dance performances and even some by Indian dancers accompanied by rather primitive local instruments. He was not allowed to take any pictures or make any drawings and notes. Camera, note pad, pens were politely taken from him and returned at the end of the visit. Some of these Mattern recollections, by no means all, found their way into the initial German books and my subsequent far more mickeymouse English language books on UFOs, titled UFOs: Nazi Secret Weapons.

This, then, was a little preview of what the Japanese investigative reporter, the sound man photographer, and my own secretary/translator hoped to find at the mysterious Hacienda. Remember, this was long before faxes, satellite phones, much less cell phones, the Internet and e-mail came onto the scene. Letters to and from Chile would normally take 9-12 days one-way, which is still good and fast by today’s standards.

The team left Santiago, the capital, full of anticipation and arrived in Parral, hoping to be met by Mr. Richter or by one of his staff members, as Mr. Mattern said he was assured via his usually well-connected channels.

The team arrived. Parral is a regional, administrative center with military and federal police bases as well as airports and rail center.

No Mr. Richter. No one else either! Now what?

Mr. Mattern, back in Santiago, could not get any explanations from his highly placed sources either, which shocked him visibly. All his inquiries hit dead ends.

My man on the scene spoke five languages. As a German military officer on Field Marshall Kesselring’s staff, Sepp had served as a liaison to Benito Mussolini’s government, and as such he had participated in all the high level meetings, including the ones concerning Mussolini’s liberation by German commando leader Otto Skorzeny at the Gran Sasso. But that’s a different story for a different time.

Anyway, Sepp was a resourceful man because of his background and training. He decided to do the logical thing – he went to see the postmaster of the town and asked for the address of the Hacienda Dignidad.

There he was met with evasive answers. Security considerations. Obscure laws. Shrugs. Blank stares. I should also mention that Chile was then under martial law since Allende had been overthrown. Martial law can bring out very strange behavior.

When he could not shake loose the address, Sepp went to see the mayor, Japanese crew in tow. At city hall, he was at first cordially received by the staff and was shown into the mayor’s spacious office. There, behind the mayor’s desk were several large maps of the area – one of the town, another of the whole region with oddly colored patches towards areas heading to the foothills of the mountains. While they chatted with the mayor, asking for Mr. Richter and the way to the Hacienda Dignidad, it became quickly clear that security did not permit the city official from giving them the information they sought either.

By now it was past lunch. After a meal, the team decided to rent a car – a Volkswagen Beetle, what else? – and do their exploration without Mr. Richter.

Sepp had memorized the map at the mayor’s office. At the car rental place they obtained a similar scale map of the region, matched with what he had seen shaded in. A decision was made to head out into the general direction of those colored/shaded areas. Sepp was certain it had to be the Hacienda’s location, going by the description of the landscape Mattern had given them in his briefings. Sepp was confident that he could find the Hacienda by asking local people in the foothills.

By now it had begun to rain, and as they were climbing steadily, it was getting colder and darker. Quickly, they left civilization behind. Telegraph poles and electric wires ended. Farmers’ fields gave way to bushland, poor soil, and the odd Indio shack made of corrugated metal roofs, old leftover wooden pallets, crates etc. with run-down or broken down cars strewn in the fields. The road got progressively worse, and the asphalted surface had long given way to potholes and gravel, which made for a bouncy ride as they wound their way ever higher into the foothills.

It was a miserable afternoon drive. The Japanese wanted to turn back. Sepp wanted to press on, and since he was the driver and navigator, German stubbornness won out. With his cold and grumbling passengers getting more weary by the minute, things were heading for a crisis, when suddenly the rain stopped just as they came to an area of clearly man-planted, 25-year-old conifer trees on either side of the road. They could see a light flicker in some hut on a hillside in the distance.

They hit upon a paved road, and soon they found themselves on a driveway with a cut lawn on each side. They could see a white stucco gate, Latin American style, with a high wrought iron fence on either side, and then a long, heavy wire security fence, metal links with barbed wire continuing on into a distant, man-planted forest. They were, in fact, in a turn-around, circular driveway area, and there was even an electric bell.

By the street lamp they could see some metallic reflections in some high birch trees inside the fence behind the large gate, which had a smaller gate for pedestrians on the side of it. This road carried on behind the gate into a well-kept landscaped area, dotted by majestic 25-35 year old coniferous, German-type blue spruce, or Norwegian pine trees familiar to people in Central Europe, the Black Forest and the Alpine regions. There was a winding path up to the blinking light shack a few hundred meters up a steep bank.

It began to drizzle again. The Japanese were lightly clad, shivering and uncomfortable, sitting huddled in the car. Sepp had a waterproof ski jacket and offered to investigate the light, while the others waited. He decided to take a shortcut and climb straight up the hill. It was slippery and rough going – when, suddenly, a car horn sounded, and as he turned around and looked down, he saw several men in non-descript rain coats surrounding the Volkswagen Beetle.

Hastily, he slid down the hillside to get there faster, getting himself wet and muddy by the rain-covered high vegetation. The men had started questioning the Japanese who did not speak Spanish and were clearly at a loss as to what to do next. One of the strange men, to Sepp’s surprise, wore a forage cap used by German mountain troops in World War II, the famous Gebirgsjäger of Oberst Dietl in Narvik, Murmansh and later the Caucasus when they climbed the highest mountain, Mount Elberus, and planted the Swastika flag on the peak, creating a worldwide sensation at the time. The German spread-eagle insignia and the Edelweiß had been neatly removed from the cap, but one could still see the outline in the sun-bleached material. This man was muscular, bronzed, blue-eyed and blond. More yet, he spoke heavily accented Spanish with a clear Bavarian twang, familiar to my south Tyrolian born Sepple! Sepp knew he was in the right place. He knew that was no local Indio or Chilean.

Sepp addressed him in German; however, the man refused steadfastly to answer in German. In Spanish, he asked the team what they wanted, denied knowing a Dr. Richter, and requested that they hand him their passports, airline tickets, cameras and tape recorders. He then motioned them inside the gate which opened electrically, although no wires or high poles were visible anywhere. He motioned them to drive down the driveway, while the rest of the “reception committee” followed them in their own, four-wheel drive military type vehicle.

After 300-400 meters, they came to a series of typically German type buildings – sturdy masonry with baked-tile roofs, stone and stucco Alpine style architecture. They were told to park their car. Politely, they were assisted with their luggage. They entered a large office/reception type room, tastefully decorated, again Alpine type, and were asked to make themselves comfortable. It was a building with all modern amenities, electric lights, flush toilets, wash basins, typewriters, office desks, office lamps, clothes racks etc. It had the feel of a military officers’ quarters.

By now, it was pitch dark outside.

They were given sandwiches, hot herbal tea, some dessert, and then the interrogations began – at first, separately in different rooms by different people, some of whom spoke English with the Japanese. With Sepp they insisted on speaking Spanish, an odd situation. They could not be persuaded to speak German – even though they were clearly Germans.

No one answered any questions as to where they were, what the place was called. No one claimed to know a Mr. Richter. No one admitted that this was indeed Hacienda Dignidad.

The interrogations lasted several hours, and about 10 p.m. they were all brought together again. They were told that they had penetrated a restricted military area without authorization, and that this was a serious offense – that a military police escort was on its way from Parral to pick them up, and that it would be up to the military to decide what to do with them once they got there. Their passports, cameras, tape recorders, films, and luggage would be turned over to the military. It was suggested that they could get some rest in a room that had some bunk beds and blankets, and they were warned not to try anything foolish. They could use the rest room but not leave the building for any reason.

The Japanese seemed pretty upset by all this and wondered what they had gotten into. Their ardor had considerably cooled by then, and they felt it was wiser not to press their luck and instead beat it back to Parral, get their passports back and get out of the jam they were in! They were satisfied that out in nowhere, cut off from civilization, there obviously were people living with all the accountrements of civilization, European no less, who had video surveillance cameras, electricity, flush toilets, heating systems, paved roads, tall metal wire fences, automatic electric door openers as well as a facility where there were multilingual people working in shifts, people connected somehow with the military or at least the federales, the police, who had the power to take people’s passports.

Everybody was tired, and soon all were asleep, only to be wakened in the early morning hours by truck motors howling, doors being slammed, loud voices in Spanish. They were introduced to the head of their military escort – a whole convoy of trucks and jeeps! After a short breakfast, they headed out into more rain and fog, making visibility difficult. Even so, they could make out numerous European type buildings in the distance which looked like part of a community with neatly cut lawns, garden flowers, and all asphalt roads everywhere they looked!

The trip back to Parral was slow and rocky. The team was taken to an army or federal police compound where they were herded into a large room and, once again, separately interrogated. They were told what they already knew – that they had entered a restricted military area without authorization, for which they could be jailed for a substantial period, but seeing that they were foreigners, and that their press credentials and stories checked out, they were only going to lose their undeveloped film, same with the tape recordings. They were told to take their rental car, drive it all the way to Santiago, check at the federales’ posts along the way, have their expulsion orders stamped at each place – and be out of the country in 72 hours! Pronto!

The Japanese did as they were told – they left Chile in a hurry. All were glad they got off easy. They were given their passports and cameras and tape recorders back and went on to points in Brazil and Argentina for other interviews on the trail of the mysterious Nazi UFOs. And our Sepp told us this story as he remembered it.

A decade later, I was invited to Princeton University for a lengthy series of Nazi UFO-related interviews, which were aired on prime time Japanese TV in a remarkable if sensationalized UFO special with superb computer animations of realistic Nazi UFOs.

Mr. Mattern never did find out what had happened to Mr. Richter – or to Hacienda Dignidad for that matter. He died within a year, but as I said, he was well into his eighties by that time. Sepp passed away a few years later.

From other sources, such as El Mercurio, a left-leaning mass circulation Chilean newspaper, as well as from the German weekly, Der Stern, and the German news magazine, Der Spiegel, the following story emerges:

Hacienda Dignidad is a colony totally self-sufficient in everything, technologically equipped with the very latest amenities. The community has its own schools, teachers, hospital, medical staff, technical people. It is claimed that mysterious testing of some sort is being carried on at the Hacienda for the Chilean military. Even Chilean senators and parliamentarians find all their efforts blocked, usually by courts, the police, and the military. The German Embassy reports that numerous Germans receive their World War II army, air force, and other pension checks, which are sent to a collective address in the town of Parral, where they are deposited into a joint account.

The El Mercurio newspaper reported already in the late ’40s and ’50s that one of their reporters, in fact, did penetrate the Hacienda terrain via back roads through the mountains, using pack horses, and that he did observe strange flying craft taking off and landing in some remote area of a valley away from the actual community – which is what Mattern reported seeing during his one and only visit in the 1950s or 1960s – I don’t remember now exactly just when his visit took place.

The latest report about Hacienda Dignidad I read in the late 1990s in Der Spiegel. There was talk that the community was run by an autocratic leader. It was described almost like a semi-religious cult, but that there were married couples with children there. After his visit to what he certainly believed had been Hacienda Dignidad or a similar enterprise in the remote foothills of the Chilean mountains, Mattern was of the view that this place was a supply base for fresh fruit and vegetables picked up by “flying saucers”. He also felt that the colony served as a rest/recuperation and medical facility for German-staffed UFO bases further to the South like Tierra del Fuego and even Antarctica proper.

The story of the El Mercurio reporter, except for Mattern the only other human being claimed to have visited Hacienda Dignidad, is in one of my booklets in excerpted form. It was a bestseller in its time and is still widely quoted, as is the hastily organized Admiral Byrd Expedition to the mysterious continent of Antarctica in 1947.

The most extensive photographic documentary is to be found in an exhaustive article in one of the National Geographic Magazines, replete with maps and flight paths of the Byrd overflights, leaving out the far more sensational revelations supposedly contained in Byrd’s private diary, which was forbidden to be published by U.S. authorities – or so it is alleged. Its content was leaked by Admiral Byrd’s son, who himself came to a rather bizarre and mysterious end.

Ernst Zündel

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“Peaceful Primitives”?
We’ve deluded ourselves into believing in the myth of the noble and peaceful primitive
Mark Steyn

Nicholas Wade’s Before The Dawn is one of those books full of eye-catching details. For example, did you know the Inuit have the largest brains of any modern humans? Something to do with the cold climate. Presumably, if this global warming hooey ever takes off, their brains will be shrinking with the ice caps.

But the passage that really stopped me short was this:

“Both Keeley and LeBlanc believe that for a variety of reasons anthropologists and their fellow archaeologists have seriously underreported the prevalence of warfare among primitive societies. . . . ‘I realized that archaeologists of the postwar period had artificially “pacified the past” and shared a pervasive bias against the possibility of prehistoric warfare,’ says Keeley.”

That’s Lawrence Keeley, a professor at the University of Illinois. And the phrase that stuck was that bit about artificially pacifying the past. We’ve grown used to the biases of popular culture. If a British officer meets a native — African, Indian, whatever — in any movie, play or novel of the last 30 years, the Englishman will be a sneering supercilious sadist and the native will be a dignified man of peace in perfect harmony with his environment in whose tribal language there is not even a word for “war” or “killing” or “weapons of mass destruction.” A few years ago, I asked Tim Rice, who’d just written the lyrics for Disney’s Aladdin and The Lion King, why he wasn’t doing Pocahontas. “Well, the minute they mentioned it,” he said, “I knew the Brits would be the bad guys. I felt it was my patriotic duty to decline.” Sure enough, when the film came out, John Smith and his men were the bringers of environmental devastation to the New World. “They prowl the earth like ravenous wolves,” warns the medicine man, whereas Chief Powhatan wants everyone to be “guided to a place of peace.” Fortunately, Captain Smith comes to learn from Pocahontas how to “paint with all the colours of the wind.”

In reality, Pocahontas’s fellow Algonquin Indians were preyed on by the Iroquois, “who took captives home to torture them before death,” observes Nicholas Wade en passant. The Iroquois? Surely not. Only a year or two back, the ethnic grievance lobby managed to persuade Congress to pass a resolution that the United States Constitution was modelled on the principles of the Iroquois Confederation — which would have been news to the dead white males who wrote it. With Disney movies, one assumes it’s just the modishness of showbiz ignoramuses and whatever multiculti theorists they’ve put on the payroll as consultants. But professor Keeley and Steven LeBlanc of Harvard disclose almost as an aside that, in fact, their scientific colleagues were equally invested in the notion of the noble primitive living in peace with nature and his fellow man, even though no such creature appears to have existed. “Most archaeologists,” says LeBlanc, “ignored the fortifications around Mayan cities and viewed the Mayan elite as peaceful priests. But over the last 20 years Mayan records have been deciphered. Contrary to archaeologists’ wishful thinking, they show the allegedly peaceful elite was heavily into war, conquest and the sanguinary sacrifice of beaten opponents…. The large number of copper and bronze axes found in Late Neolithic and Bronze Age burials were held to be not battle axes but a form of money.”

And on, and on. Do you remember that fabulously preserved 5,000-year-old man [“Ötzi”] they found in a glacier in 1991? He had one of those copper axes the experts assured us were an early unit of currency. Unfortunately for this theory, he had it hafted in a manner that suggested he wasn’t asking, “Can you break a twenty?” “He also had with him,” notes professor Keeley, “a dagger, a bow, and some arrows; presumably these were his small change.” Nonetheless, anthropologists concluded that he was a shepherd who had fallen asleep and frozen peacefully to death in a snowstorm. Then the X-ray results came back and showed he had an arrowhead in him [sound familiar?].

Not for the first time, the experts turn out to be playing what children call “Opposite Land.” There’s more truth in Cole Porter’s couplet from Find Me A Primitive Man:

I don’t mean the kind that belongs to a club, but the kind that has a club that belongs to him.

Although Porter was the kind that belongs to a club, the second line accurately conveys his own taste. He’d have been very annoyed if Mister Primitive had turned out to be some mellow colours-of-your-windiness hippy-dippy type.

Lawrence Keeley calculates that 87 per cent of primitive societies were at war more than once per year, and some 65 per cent of them were fighting continuously. “Had the same casualty rate been suffered by the population of the twentieth century,” writes Wade, “its war deaths would have totaled two billion people.” Two billion! In other words, we’re the aberration: after 50,000 years of continuous human slaughter — we’re the nancy-boy peacenik crowd. “The common impression that primitive peoples, by comparison, were peaceful and their occasional fighting of no serious consequence is incorrect. Warfare between pre-state societies was incessant, merciless, and conducted with the general purpose, often achieved, of annihilating the opponent.”

Why then, against all the evidence, do we venerate the primitive to the point of pretending a bunch of torturing marauders devised the separation of powers in the U.S. Constitution? We do it for the same reason we indulge behaviour like that at Caledonia, Ont. We want to believe that the yard, the cul-de-sac, the morning commute, the mall are merely the bland veneer of our lives, and that underneath we are still that noble primitive living in harmony with the great spirits of the forest and the mountain. The reality is that “civilization” — [that is, Judeo-Christian civilization] — worked very hard to stamp out the primitive within us…

I was interested to read Wade’s book after a month in which men raised in suburban Ontario were charged with a terrorist plot that included plans to behead the Prime Minister, and the actual heads of three decapitated police officers were found in the Tijuana River. The Mexican drug gangs weren’t Muslim last time I checked, but evidently decapitation isn’t just for jihadists [real or imagined] anymore: if you want to get ahead, get a head. A couple of years back, I came across a column in The East African by Charles Onyango-Obbo musing on the return of cannibalism to the Dark Continent. Ugandan-backed rebels in the Congo (four million dead but, as they haven’t found a way to pin it on Bush, nobody cares) had been making victims’ relatives eat the body parts of their loved ones. You’ll recall that, when Samuel Doe was toppled as Liberia’s leader, he was served a last meal of his own ears. His killers kept his genitals for themselves, under the belief that if you eat a man’s reproductive organ you acquire his powers. I wonder sometimes if we’re not heading toward a long night of re-primitivization. In his shrewd book Civilization And Its Enemies, Lee Harris writes:

“Forgetfulness occurs when those who have been long inured to civilized order can no longer remember a time in which they had to wonder whether their crops would grow to maturity without being stolen or their children sold into slavery by a victorious foe. . . . That, before 9/11, was what had happened to us. The very concept of the enemy had been banished from our moral and political vocabulary.” [Consider, however, the manner in which our instinct for battle has ultimately been turned against our vital interests…]

It’s worse than Harris thinks. We’re not merely “forgetful.” We’ve constructed a fantasy past in which primitive societies lived in peace and security with nary a fear that their crops would be stolen or their children enslaved. War has been the natural condition of mankind for thousands of years, and our civilization is a very fragile exception to that. What does it say about us that so many of our elites believe exactly the opposite — that we are a monstrous, violent deviation from our primitive pacifist ancestors? It’s never a good idea to put reality up for grabs. You can bet your highest-denomination axe on that.
——————————————————
Primitive as Authentic
By Spengler
http://www.atimes.com/atimes

Two billion war deaths would have occurred in the 20th century if modern societies suffered the same casualty rate as primitive peoples, according to anthropologist Lawrence H Keeley, who calculates that two-thirds of them were at war continuously, typically losing half of a percent of its population to war each year. [1]

This and other noteworthy prehistoric facts can be found in Nicholas Wade’s Before the Dawn, a survey of genetic, linguistic and archeological research on early man. [2] Primitive peoples, it appears, were warlike and short-lived, not at all the cuddly children of nature depicted by popular culture and politically-correct academic studies. The author writes on science for the New York Times and too often wades in where angels fear to tread. [3] A complete evaluation is beyond my capacity, but there is no gainsaying his representation of prehistoric violence.

That raises the question: Why, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, does popular culture portray primitives as peace-loving folk living in harmony with nature, as opposed to rapacious and brutal civilization? Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel, which attributes civilization to mere geographical accident, made a best-seller out of a mendacious apology for the failure of primitive societies. Wade reports research that refutes Diamond on a dozen counts, but his book will never reach the vast audience that takes comfort in Diamond’s pulp science.

Why is it that the modern public revels in a demonstrably false portrait of primitive life? Hollywood grinds out stories of wise and worthy native Americans, African tribesmen, Brazilian rainforest people and Australian Aborigines, not because Hollywood studio executives hired the wrong sort of anthropologist, but because an uninformed public pays for them, the same public whose middle-brow contingent reads Jared Diamond.

Nonetheless the overwhelming consensus in popular culture holds that primitive peoples enjoy [note: present tense] a quality – call it authenticity – that moderns lack, and that by rolling in their muck, some of this authenticity will stick to us.

{snip}

Native Americans, Eskimos, New Guinea Highlanders as well as African tribes slaughtered one another with skill and vigor, frequently winning their first encounters with modern armed forces. “Even in the harshest possible environments [such as northwestern Alaska] where it was struggle enough just to stay alive, primitive societies still pursued the more overriding goal of killing one another,” Wade notes.

A quarter of the language groups in New Guinea, home to 1,200 of the world’s 6,000 languages, were exterminated by warfare during every preceding century, according to one estimate Wade cites. In primitive warfare “casualty rates were enormous, not the least because they did not take prisoners. That policy was compatible with their usual strategic goal: to exterminate the opponent’s society. Captured warriors were killed on the spot, except in the case of the Iroquois, who took captives home to torture them before death, and certain tribes in Colombia, who liked to fatten prisoners before eating them.”

{snip}

However badly civilized peoples may have behaved, [the 150 million or so who died in WWII] seems modest compared with the 2 billion or so who would have died if the casualty rates of primitive peoples had applied to the West.

Notes
1. Lawrence H Keeley, War Before Civilization, Oxford University Press, 1996.
2. Before the Dawn, by Nicholas Wade. Penguin: New York 2006.
3. Most irritating is Wade’s repetititon of the standard academic anthropologist’s attempt to explain away religion as a natural phenomenon.

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More concerning the Solutrean Hypothesis in this Discovery Channel program. The acting is (predictably) a little hokey, and the conclusion seems more than a little sentimental (I cannot conceive of such immediate trust being extended to foreign invaders on first contact), but this is all beside the point. The Solutrean Hypothesis will continue to cause waves, I suspect. But I look forward to following the data, wherever it may lead, and whatever truths it may unveil. In the end, I think a few more books will need re-writing… -W.









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