The Eternal Hitler

by Douglas Mercer

FOR ALL but a few historical figures, historians have a basic handle on who they were, what they did, and what they were about. Julius Caesar? Was he for the people, or was he against them? That’s a decent question but the alternatives are soon exhausted. But no one really questions what he did. No one is really fascinated by Julius Caesar; indeed he is a familiar type. And spanning the historical spectrum, does anyone really want to read yet another book by that bag of bones court historian Doris Goodwin, or that Jew Michael Beschloss, about that cripple FDR? No, not unless one wants to be bored to tears.

That is, the overwhelming rule is that eventually, if not soon, the study of historical figures becomes exhausted.

On the other hand there are three historical figures, and only three, who continually evince a deepening mystery, the fascination for whom only grows by study and knowledge. Indeed, the more one examines these three the deeper the mystery is, as if one were to become hungrier and hungrier the more one eats. With these three, the well really is bottomless and in fact becomes more unfathomable the more one seeks the deepest levels. There is no end to the fascination. Not only does it never end, it grows.

* * *

The first is Jesus of Nazareth. Every amateur historian, every half baked theologian, and even a few somewhat reputable intellectuals have taken their shots at him, for good or for ill. Was he a Jewish rebel and revolutionary? Was he a racial Jew? Was the figure we know as Jesus really Paul of Tarsus in disguise? Did he even consider himself “the messiah”? Did he even exist at all, or was he but an amalgam of many pseudo messiahs? Or is he just the most prominent fictional character of all time? The books on him pile up, and will continue to pile up, due both to his great historical consequence and the absence of actual historical evidence concerning him. This makes him a blank screen upon which everyone can cast their fantasies or neuroses or preoccupations, as the case may be.

The second such figure is William Shakespeare. There has always been a black hole at the center of Shakespeare studies, for it seems incomprehensible that a genius of such enormous magnitude should have left so few real traces of himself in the record. Added to this is that there has always been perceived to be an eerie quality about his work, given his nearly computer-like comprehensiveness, such as the fact that he listed not most but every single flower in the English countryside in his work. That and the fact that he seemed to create an entire language, our language, out of the whole cloth of his fertile brain and forged a new conception of the human. And then there are the questions: Did Kit Marlow write the plays? Did Queen Elizabeth? What was going on with the 46th Psalm? How did the author get his hands on that top secret document about that exploration of Bermuda? No one knows, of course, and as Matthew Arnold said: Others abide our question, but we ask and ask and Shakespeare only smiles.

The third, and most fascinating of all, is Adolf Hitler. There are gaps in his record, but unlike the other two there is no dearth of documentary evidence about him, which makes the mystery surrounding him even more mysterious.

Who was this man who shook the world? Who was this man who continues to shake it?

* * *

The Hitler industry, though vast and copious, is really just getting going. It’s as if from the very beginning they had so much catching up to do that they are only now taking a deep breath — and are ready to start. Of the making of books about Adolf Hitler there will be no end, but they will never plumb his noble depths. The books have been piling up for some time now and show no sign of slowing up.

But what do they know of him? What do they know of this man who shook the world, and not for seven days, but for a century and counting? Not much, it turns out. You see, they are a looking at this great man from the wrong end of the telescope. They mistake good for evil, and evil for good — which is the most fundamental mistake of all.

Salvador Dali made a painting called The Enigma of Hitler. But for all of its effects, the nincompoop-cum-charlatan might as well have called it The Paucity of My Talent. Jew Karl Krause went super laconic on us when he said that when he thinks about Adolf Hitler, nothing occurs to him. Obviously he wasn’t thinking very hard, for when one really begins to think one begins to think about Adolf Hitler.

Norm MacDonald told the joke about the hackneyed old question of “If you could go back in a time machine to be standing in front of Hitler with a gun so you could kill him, would you do it?” Norm said he’s not so sure he would, that he was afraid that he might be mesmerized by his eyes.

Perhaps, even from a hackneyed hack, there’s a bit of truth there.

You see, it’s never a question of us not being finished with Hitler; it’s that he’s not finished with us.

* * *

Of the making of books about Adolf Hitler there is no end, there will be no end, and there can be no end. The more they probe, the more he will turn and hide from their censorious gaze. He is an inexhaustible subject because he is timeless and eternal — and their dirty lenses allow but limited vision in space and time. In November 2021 the book Hitler’s American Gamble came out, a book about his decision to declare war on America; Hitler’s Inner Circle is due form Pen and Sword Publishers on February 6, 2022 — a book about the pantheon resident at the Berghof. And of course a few more came in between, and an inordinate number before, and an infinite number to come. Because of the making of books about Adolf Hitler there will be no end.

One reasonably fair-minded scholar lamented the inhibitions that hem in Hitler studies. He said that for “reputable” historians, Hitler might as well be ringed by a cast iron fence all along which are signs that read: WARNING: HIGH VOLTAGE; DON’T TOUCH.

This is so because somewhere in the back of their black hearts these historians know that, despite all the coals they heap on their subject’s head, there is a reason for the eternal fascination. And it has nothing to do with the macabre. Part of is that, despite the infinitely layered propaganda which surrounds him, Hitler continues to give off the aura of the healthy and the whole. Somewhere beneath their brainwashing, many people detect, if only for a moment, something wholesome in the man, something admirable, and something which they know our current crop of “leaders” sorely lack: a great and abiding concern for his people. This resonates with them, and the historians who have made Hitler their life’s work will go to any length to make sure this feeling is buried many fathoms deep. And yet these well-paid scribblers all eventually learn that, as they circle ever-closer to their subject, the truth has a way of shining through. I would give a Roosevelt dime, or even two, for their secret thoughts.

There are two standard options on the menu for these books: One is unconstrained interpolations to remind the reader not to get too wrapped up in the excitement, that we are dealing with pure evil here. They make these cavils like clockwork. Or, from the relatively straight writers, we get an overarching warning — an editorial caveat at the beginning is in order, and one at the end, caveats that hammer us in the face with the idea that what we are dealing with here is not just evil, but maximum evil.

Here is some froth from the waves that never stop coming:

A look at the connections between German and American race scientists in the 1920s and 1930s (Hitler’s American Model); a novel about young Hitler (The Castle in the Forest); a look at the Austrian capital when Hitler was there (Hitler’s Vienna); an exploration of various theories of Hitler’s evil (Explaining Hitler); a discussion of the American ambassadors to Germany in the 1920 and 1930s (Watching Darkness Fall); a detailed look at the beginning of Hitler’s government (Hitler’s First Hundred Days); a lavishly illustrated overview of Hitler’s residences and his control over their architecture and interior design (Hitler at Home); an assessment of culture under Hitler (Culture in the Third Reich); a comparison of Hitler’s eastern conquests with White America’s western conquests (Hitler’s Ostkrieg and the Indian Wars); a look at the fervent supporters of Adolf Hitler (Hitler’s True Believers); a history of supporters of Hitler in America (Hitler’s American Friends); an examination of the relationship between German aristocrats and National Socialists (Nazis and Nobles); a history of National Socialist racial theory and how it affected a broad range of disciplines in the Third Reich (The Law of the Blood); short biographies of National Socialist spouses (Nazi Wives); a take on the National Socialist world-view (The Nazi Conscience); a history of the archeological aspects of the Ahnenerbe (Digging for Hitler): an all-encompassing study of the Ahnenerbe (The Master Plan); yet another all-encompassing study of the Ahnenerbe (Himmler’s Crusade); an examination of race law under Hitler (The Nazi Ancestral Pass); a chronicle of the days after Hitler’s death (Eight Days in May); a look at racial hygiene under Hitler (Cleansing the Fatherland); a surprisingly even-keeled take on National Socialist race policy (Nazi Symbiosis); a book which asks a question the answer to which is self-evident (Why Did Hitler Hate the Jews?); another look at Hitler’s world-view (The Nazi Ethic); a history of Americans in Germany in the 1930s (Hitlerland); an examination of the dissemination of German racial theory to other countries (Racial Science in Hitler’s New Europe); a discussion of so-called conspiracies involving Hitler’s Germany (The Hitler Conspiracies); a detailed look of the Beer Hall Putsch trial (The Trial of Adolf Hitler); a look at Hitler’s obsession with and involvement in culture in Germany (Hitler and the Power of Aesthetics); a chronicle of the world’s most famous bug-out (Escaping from Hitler’s Bunker).

* * *

John Updike famously said that biographies are just novels with footnotes and indexes. That’s very true; when life gets translated into words, so much is lost because when it comes to life against the word, there is no contest. And this is infinitely true of the biographies of Hitler. Despite the volume of material about him, he is still their blank screen on which they project their fears and phobias. For the moment.

At any given point, there’s always a “king of the hill,” the one who has written the “standard” Hitler biography, though they come labeled with an expiration date — and no sooner do they see print than dozens begin gunning for it. They are, in order:

Allan Bullock, Hitler: a Study in Tyranny (1952).

Joachim Fest, Hitler (1973). Interestingly, Fest was a journalist who had an uncanny knack for the finely-crafted phrase and who parlayed his personal relationship with Albert Speer to steal the historians’ thunder. He is one of the chief peddlers of the “Hitler was a non-person” piffle.

The German historian Joachim Fest understood something of this dangerous emptiness when he spoke of Hitler as being an unperson, a nihilist bereft of any coherent sense of self.

This is nonsense squared.

Then came the ultimate establishment stooge, Ian Kershaw, with his blockbuster twin set: Hitler: Hubris (1998) and Hitler: Nemesis (2000).

Currently there is no newly-minted king, though from the prevailing winds we deduce that Volcker Ulrich (Hitler: Ascent in 2017 and Hitler: Downfall in 2021) and Brendan Simms (Hitler: a Global Biography in 2019) seem to be jockeying for the crown.

One thing you can be sure of is that in a score of years there will be new claimants, and each and every one of them will know nothing more than their predecessors. It is — currently — academic death to simply turn that telescope around the right way.

They are not done yet with Hitler, nor can they ever be. In fact they haven’t even started. There will be new ones and then still more new ones, but the problem is none can part the curtain of their own making. The truth within is too bright. To them, it will always be open season on this man, but their books are just wild potshots which come with a dust jacket. But still, for all their research, they know nothing of he who shook the world like no other man, who shakes it still, and who will shake it finally in the end.

In the end, their lying mouths will be shut.

High Voltage Ahead.

* * *

One question about Adolf Hitler with which so-called serious historians have grappled with with apparently anxious hearts is this: Should we treat Adolf Hitler as a human being? Should we discuss the teas, and the dog? All that down time at the Berghof? And what about that baby picture? Should we publish it? Hitler as a cuddly little tyke! Why, the thought of it sends them into palpitations. Which is why, for the longest time, the “party line” among Hitler biographers was that Hitler was a non-person, a black hole, a non-entity. They echoed the snide Karl Kraus and his bit about nothing occurring to him.

But when I think of Adolf Hitler, it occurs to me that we can win.

For a very long time, historians comforted themselves with the Hitler as a non-person fantasy (or strategy). That Hitler was an uninteresting person and a cipher. Then came some scholars who gingerly and timidly tip-toed over the line and said that National Socialism had a “conscience ” and an “ethic”; that is, they had an internally coherent, well thought out, and logical world-view, albeit, the tip-toers told us, an evil one. These scholars were naturally met with howls of execration.

The sickness of these scholars began at the very beginning, when the “high-toned” swell Hugh Trevor-Roper was plucked out of his well-deserved obscurity writing obscure histories of the English Church and hired to slander the Chancellor in his much too famous The Last Days of Hitler (1947).

In November 1945, Trevor-Roper was ordered by Dick White, then head of counter-intelligence in the British sector of Berlin, to investigate the circumstances of Adolf Hitler’s death, and to rebut the Soviet propaganda that Hitler was alive and living in the West.

That is, the establishment sicced Trevor-Roper on the great and noble man. But what this author really did, and his real purpose, was not to show that Hitler hadn’t survived, but to convince us that he was “demonic.”

The fellow travelers who followed him in that sorry queue got their cues from him and hit their unremarkable marks. They had no intention of touching that forbidden fence; they could read that warning in bold letters; they knew where their bread was buttered.

The truth is that the maniacal Hitler of popular demonology is a World War II propaganda fiction, and the principal purpose of the fiction’s incessant repetition more than fifty years after the war is to stigmatize any nationalist movement, National Socialist or otherwise.

In this way, with the advent of Trevor-Roper, a false memory of Hitler became the linchpin of the propaganda of the West. If you had a penny for every time you heard the dire warning of “what happened in the 1930s” — or of the alleged “discrediting” of the notion of race, or of the “evil” “nonsense” of eugenics — you’d be a rich man today. And the prohibition of Whites pursuing their self-interest is the result of all this. They now even claim that it is necessary to import more and more foreigners so as to ensure that no recrudescence of “Nazism” will ever occur.

It can happen again.

It is not too much to say that the entire world-view, such as it is, of postwar liberal democracy is the simplistic mantra: We’re not Hitler.

Indeed they are not.

And soon millions more will understand why that’s a bad thing. Which is why, for as long as they last, they will never be done with this man.

* * *

You read a 500-page book on Hitler’s obsession with culture. The great man fought tooth and nail to keep the opera open all through the war, even though Goebbels and Speer said it was draining money from the war effort. He said if we don’t have opera, what is the use of victory; that we have to let the people know what they are fighting for. He finally relented in January, 1945 and let them close.

In that 500-page book you learn that Hitler was deeply interested in art, he drew and redrew his plans for the European Culture Center in Linz; he pored over the list of artworks for exhibitions; he had opinions on who should do the solos in the operas in provincial towns; he wanted to know who was on the violin at the Berlin Philharmonic; he made and broke composers and musicians; he walked through art galleries and gave specific instructions on where the paintings were to be hung and how to hang them. He was a patron to sculptors and gave them fat stipends so they could live to create art for him. The book makes it seem like what he really was was the cultural impresario for the German people, that he had his fingers on the pulse of every aspect of art, and if a green dog appeared in a painting in a gallery in Austria he knew about it and had it taken down as “oppositional.” If there was a balustrade in an opera house in Hamburg that wasn’t quite up to snuff, he would stay up all night and work at one of his endless drawings and get it right and have it rectified quickly. If a building was to go up, he would get the architect in his office, do more drawings, hand them to him, and expect it to be done his way, which it always was. In reading this 500-page opus you get the distinct impression that all Hitler ever did was obsess over art, intervene in cultural matters, draw, attend opera, and design cities that would outshine Rome and Athens at their heights.

Then you read a 1000-page biography of Hitler, often a twin-set blockbuster, which is incredibly detailed and granular — and it only glancingly refers to Hitler’s involvement in art; if you didn’t know better you’d think he hardly touched cultural matters at all.

And then they tell you with a straight face that Hitler never gave up his bohemian lifestyle, slept until the crack of noon, and was lazy and shiftless.

* * *

Jew George Steiner drew the ire of other Jews by giving Adolf Hitler his due in his novel The Portage to San Cristobal of A.H.

The book was controversial mainly because the author allows Hitler to defend himself when he is put on trial in the jungle by his captors.

For Jews, there is no defense of Hitler, particularly if the man himself is making it. Indeed it’s unlikely that any “big-name” non-Jew would have had the guts to write Portage or could have had it published. The Jew who wrote it had unending coals heaped on his head; a non-Jew would have met with professional death.

The plot is that Hitler escapes to South America along the rat line and is living in the jungle. The Israelis hunt him down and find him and put him on trial. At the end of the book, Hitler waives defense counsel and give a long speech explaining himself.

First he says that National Socialist racial policy was just an imitation of Jewish racial policy. That is, the Jews know the world is in a race war and he was just following suit.

“My racism is a parody of yours, a hungry imitation.”

Then he says that the monotheistic Jewish God enslaves mankind and leads them with missionary zeal to “heal” the world.

He says that the “virus of utopia” had to be stopped.

Then he denies that what he did was anything out of the ordinary, that “Stalin had perfected genocide when I was still a nameless scribbler in Munich.”

So far so good. But then Steiner has Hitler say that the fall of the Third Reich allowed Israel to be created and God had appointed him as the Jewish messiah “whose infamous deeds were allowed by God in order to bring His people home.”

Safe to say this last is pure fantasy.

But on the whole, you can see why Jews were up in arms about this book. It points out that the Germans under Hitler were just joining in the same struggle that the Jews have always been engaged in; that what the Great Man did was simply a recognition of the race struggle which Jews have always recognized.

Having themselves unmasked like that, Jews cannot abide.

And the book perfectly shows how the Jews’ attempt to “repair the world” is revolutionary in nature, and that it has to be stopped.

More than anything, Steiner drew fire for giving Hitler his due, and if it was giving the “devil” his due, it was still some of what was due, though by no means all. And worst of all for Jews is that he gave Hitler a voice, he stood him up straight, and gave him that voice, that voice that everyone knows, the voice that thrilled the millions, that voice that inspired a nation and a people. It is the voice that they most fear and it is a voice that will never die.

That’s the reason that the New York Times called the book “obscene.”

High Voltage Ahead.

* * *

In 1941, Ernest Pope got the ball rolling on Hitler slanders in his disgusting and prurient book Munich Playground. Pope presents himself as a good old-fashioned American with American values who as a journalist had lived in Munich and rubbed shoulders with National Socialist leaders. Indeed, to hear Pope tell it, whenever Goebbels was raising a stein in a beer cellar, he was just a few feet away, watching it all and scribbling furiously. And whenever Adolf Hitler was in his private box at the opera, Pope had one eye glaring through the peephole and was making copious mental notes.

The book is replete with putative Dionysian scenes, like Hitler allegedly watching his favorite nude girl do a “blitz-tease” and arch her back in Lohar’s Merry Widow, while a debauched Adolf salivates and hungrily takes her in with his binoculars.

In this stained and stinking book the insinuation of orgies is never far off.

He calls Hitler “an Austrian post card peddler” and “house painter.” They make things up and expect that no one will ever fact-check them.

The tack is to demean and degrade Hitler, thus softening up the public for the total onslaught on his character.

In Munich the Nazi Chancellor relaxes and indulges his pet appetites and hobbies.

This Pope is a dishonest fellow and he never quite specifies what these appetites and hobbies are, though from the suggestiveness of his descriptions you guess they must be perverse orgies.

He made women give him the blitz tease inside the Reich.

See, I didn’t make that one up.

He did.

At one point he says that at parties, after Hitler leaves, the many women with whom he was talking leave just after.

He wants us to fill in the blank with our minds.

And at the beginning of the book he hits on a theme that was a favorite of anti-Hitler propaganda (at that point):

The drama of the present European tragedy would be incomplete if the roles of certain Nazi clowns were censored.

Hitler as clown, Hitler as buffoon, Hitler as travesty: If there is one idea that circulated in the 1930s, this was it. The irony is that there has never been a more deadly serious and seriously deadly movement in the history of mankind, which is precisely why they wanted to paint it as ridiculous. Hitler as over the top, Hitler as histrionic, Hitler as the play actor.

This notion of Hitler as clown was solidified when the tramp and clown Charlie Chaplin, with the permission and applause of Jew Hollywood, played “the dictator.” Chaplin and his Jew overlords wanted to ridicule this great man in the public’s mind, wanted to “cut him down to size” and present him as an overbearing and foolish bumbler.

So we can see that the propaganda against Hitler started even before the war, as the Jewish International began to get into gear. They never did get their stories straight, but who cares, the goyim will believe anything. After the war, the criminal dissemination of false information didn’t stop, it increased. And it shows no signs of tapering even three quarters of a century later. When you read anything negative about Hitler, take it with more than a pinch of salt — don’t take it at all. If they want you to believe it, it’s a lie.

Chaplin, Pope, and then Trevor-Roper ignited the fuse but it didn’t stop there. Once the National Socialists were defeated, all sorts of rumors dressed up as facts, all sorts of libels masquerading as information, began to filter through the media/government complex. But never forget that this is exactly what the enemy wants you to believe, and there is no better reason to disbelieve it than that.

Perhaps you’ve heard some of these gems:

Hitler was a pervert; Hitler was missing a testicle; Hitler was asexual; Hitler was a homosexual; Hitler was having sex with Geli Raubal; Hitler had Geli Raubal killed; Hitler got round-the-clock injections of this or that during the war; Hitler had Parkinsons; Hitler was insane; Hitler had dementia; Hitler was a methamphetamine addict; Hitler was Jewish; Hitler liked to see films of people being hung to death on meat hooks while he laughed; Hitler literally chewed rugs when angry; Hitler would invite German actresses into the Reich Chancellery and get naked and writhe on the floor while they kicked him; on and on and on the lies and contradictions multiply.

And then, for the Jew master class in mendacity, they told the lie of lies, the biggest lie of all.

That in the bunker, when he saw that all was lost, Adolf Hitler said he never loved Germany.

That, of course, is something they most definitely want you to believe, but the very opposite was exactly true.

* * *

Albert Speer warned Gitta Sereny that in the future people should be careful not simply to write Hitler off as a “rug chewer.” Countless movies and television shows have ignored this advice. The mad Hitler, the crazy Hitler, the insanely furious Hitler, all are a staple of these movies and shows, the popular equivalent to the historians’ continual editorial warning about how he was evil.

But what Speer was trying to get at was that people would be making a big mistake simply to consign Hitler to their simplistic realm of the madman. But even Speer is guilty of same thing. His accounts of times at the Berghof portray them as fraught with tension and backbiting and bureaucratic infighting . When Speer’s books came out, this mendacious rendering drew the extreme ire of Anni Brandt and Speer’s wife, both of whom accurately remember the days there as living in a paradise. Margarete Speer chastised her husband for his self-interested tales by saying: “Albert, I have so little left and now you have robbed me of my past!”

But the past can never be taken from us, because it is the harbinger of the future. Hitler will outlast them all because what he built was real, and had real and lasting value. In his noble race-soul he grasped and intuited that the White race was under attack, that a flood of race-filth was set to begin to move into the White world, and that for once and for all time he need to defeat the Jewish International that was promulgating our race’s debasement. He shook the world and when the befuddled masses of the “Allies” fought him, it was a close thing. Had things been just slightly different, he might have won. He might have done what he set out to do, to secure the living space of the German people for all time, to future-proof it. He shook the world, and many say he came up short — but never forget that when he shook it, he left it weaker than it was. Everyone can now see just how rickety it is.

One of his most devoted followers, Leon Degrelle, wrote a book called Hitler for a Thousand Years. But when it comes to it, a thousand years will barely scratch the surface.

The Semites’ “utopia” doesn’t stand a chance.

* * *

One movie took Speer’s exhortation to heart, took it seriously, and portrayed Hitler not as a buffoon or a clown or as a raving lunatic, but as a compelling figure. You could say they took him deadly serious.

The movie Look Who’s Back plays a dangerous game. We’ve all seen the endless succession of Hitlers in movies, scenes where he flies into a rage, where he is out of control (again), where he is nothing short of evil personified. Indeed one of these rug-chewing performances has become so iconic that it has become a meme, where words are dubbed over it for various contemporary circumstances where something went horribly awry. But Look Who’s Back takes the opposite tack. They show the solid Hitler, the intelligent Hitler, the eloquent Hitler, the charming Hitler, the Hitler to whom everyone flocks as a friend and a champion. That is, they show the real Hitler.

By showing the real Hitler, the makers of the movie naturally drew the ire and fire of organized Jewry. Showing Hitler as he really was, as admirable, simply will not do.

Of course the movie is at pains to work in a few negative scenes, like when they have Hitler shoot a dog, or they have Hitler say of the old woman who berates him that he “should have let that old hag have it.” And at the end of the movie, after Hitler’s triumphant procession through the adoring crowds in his Mercedes, they show contemporary scenes of “far right extremists” This is just to cover themselves. They are saying: We’re the good guys too, we know it can happen again.

But here’s the real point of the movie: Its makers believe that there is a tendency in modern Germany for people to look back on the 1930s and say “I never would have fallen for that.” The filmmakers hope that for everyone, for at least one brief moment, they will be caught up in the portrayal of Hitler and be approving. And then they want everyone to “catch themselves” liking Hitler — and be mortified and say: “Oh, I see. I could have fallen for it too.”

That is, it can happen again.

Indeed that’s true: It can happen again.

But as Hitler says in the film, he doesn’t want history to repeat itself — no, this time he’ll do it right.

That’s the dangerous game they are playing. Because for everyone who catches himself approving of Hitler and feeling shame, there may be another who catches himself liking Hitler and feeling awake for the first time in his life; saying: Oh, I see why they follow him. I see the sense in it now.

That is why the movie drew the ire and the fire of Jews. They know that high voltage is ahead.

* * *

At nearly the very end of Look Who’s Back there is a fantasy scene where the man who has finally taken the returned Hitler seriously — that is, he finally knows that it is really Hitler himself come back — takes him to a rooftop to shoot him. A few seconds after he does shoot him, Hitler appears at his back, and the look on the shooter’s face seems to say: My god, look who’s back. And then Hitler explains to his would-be murderer his enduring appeal. He asks him if he has never asked himself why it is that people follow him. He says that people follow him because at their core they are just like him, that they have the same values. He says that you can never be rid of him. He says that I am a part of you — I am a part of you all.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Others abide our question, we ask and ask, but Hitler will only smile on our future. Which is why it’s never a question of whether or not we are finished with Hitler, no, never; it’s a question of him never being finished with us.

That is, it’s never a question of looking who’s back — because the truth is, he never left us.

The virus of their utopia will meet its end.

High Voltage Ahead.

* * *

Source: Author