Jew World Order

[Start excerpt]

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 books, 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.

This 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 [America] 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! (…)

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 would imagine that it must have been in ’78 or ’79 when a 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, and 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. He and I 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.

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 1995 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. Many 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”.

The trip to Chile

My contact there was a man by the name of Mattern, 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!

Only a few times, Mattern told his guests, did he think that he saw strange aerial activity going on [in Hacienda Dignidad] by even stranger craft. He was never told what was 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.

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.

Sepp had memorized the map at the mayor’s office. 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 a 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, (…) 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 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 und 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!