Happy Birthday, Adolf Hitler

THERE WAS A TIME when the personality of Adolf Hitler dominated European consciousness; when his voice stirred millions; when he used to pass by, on solemn occasions, cheered by millions—the idol of the nation whom he had raised from the abyss to unparalleled greatness. There was a time when Germany was prosperous, strong, full of self-confidence; when her reborn people, well-fed, well-clothed, and well-housed, were happy to work together for a future in which they believed; when they lived, as they had yet never lived before, under the firm and wise rule of the Leader who loved them as no man ever had.

One can hardly believe it today. It all seems so unreal—like a wonderful story from another world. And yet, it is true. There really was such a time, and that, not long ago. Collective enthusiasm was then as general in Germany as fear and bitterness have become since. Military parades, youth demonstrations, and enormous mass gatherings were usual occurrences. One watched the Brown battalions march past one’s house, and listened to the inspiring music of the Horst Wessel Song as a matter of course. One saw portraits of the Führer wherever one went. And one greeted one’s colleagues in offices and factories, and one’s friends in the street, in trams and buses, everywhere, with one’s right arm outstretched and with the two magic words that expressed all one’s love and reverence for the godlike Leader, all one’s hopes, all one’s dreams, all one’s pride—all the joy of those splendid days: “Heil Hitler!”

The German ambassador had greeted the King of England—at that time, also Emperor of India—with those triumphant words and that gesture. England was amazed, but said nothing. Could say nothing, for there was nothing to be said. There was only a fact to be faced: the fact that Hitler ruled over eighty million people who adored him, and that, in those people, a new soul was rapidly taking birth—or rather, that the old, real, everlasting Aryan Soul was re-awakening in them. “Deutschland, erwache!”—“Germany, awake!” These words of the early poet of National Socialism had not only the honour of becoming one of the battle-cries of the Movement; not only were they written upon the standards of the Party formations, but they had rung through the hearts of the German people as a supernatural signal calling the dead to life. And Germany had awakened indeed.

And the people of the Earth were watching her—some, already, with hateful envy, and fear; many with genuine admiration; some with love; with the certitude that Hitler’s New Order was the first step towards the sort of world they had always wanted. Glorious days!

— Savitri Devi (from Gold in the Furnace)