Rampton rose to apologize for his outburst. “I should, at my age, know better. . . . It is sometimes extremely difficult to restrain oneself when one can actually hear the evidence of one’s own witnesses being misrepresented.” Judge Gray accepted his apology. He seemed ready to rise when he asked Irving, “You are going to forfeit the last word, are you?”20 I was amazed when Irving agreed. With that the trial ended.
THE AFTERMATH
Judge Charles Gray reading his judgment to a packed courtroom.
TWENTY
JUDGMENT DAY: PHONE CHAINS, PSALMS, AND SLEEPLESS SURVIVORS
After closing arguments I returned to Atlanta for two weeks. The judgment was scheduled to be handed down on Tuesday, April 11. One morning James called to inform me that the lawyers would receive the decision on Monday, twenty-four hours before it would be read in court. I asked, “Can we talk about it or do we have to keep quiet until Tuesday?” He responded, “We can’t tell anyone. Including our clients. We can’t tell you until one hour before Judge Gray reads it in court.” I was annoyed that they would know and I wouldn’t. James explained that this arrangement allowed the victor’s lawyers to prepare a “cost order,” a request that the loser immediately pay a portion of the costs. I grudgingly accepted James’s explanation, until he added that because Irving was serving as his own lawyer, he too would receive it on Monday. I did a slow burn. It seemed patently unfair. I had been an observer to so much of this saga, despite the fact that it concerned my work and my reputation. I had been compelled to sit and listen to misstatements about my beliefs. And now Irving—who had instigated this suit—would know the outcome twenty-four hours earlier than I. At the moment, it seemed more than I could bear. Suddenly, five years of pent-up frustration burst forth in one uncensored stream of anguish. A colleague, who had walked into my office, expressed admiration at my “colorful language.”
ADRENALINE AND BANDS OF ANGELS
I returned to London on Sunday, April 9. At dinner I told James and his wife, Ann, of my recurring fear that the judgment would be so restrained that Irving would claim it as a victory. James did not discount my fears. Still annoyed that the lawyers would receive the verdict early, I told James I had devised a scheme. “I’ll ask, ‘How’s the weather?’ Depending on the verdict, you can answer either bright and sunny or overcast or dark and stormy.” James’s dismissive laughter made it clear my plan was a nonstarter.
On Monday a steady stream of reporters and camera crews arrived at my hotel. Aware that the judgment was already in my solicitors’ hands, they asked if I had any “inkling” of the outcome. I told them I did not and admitted that it was excruciatingly difficult to remain in the dark when both my lawyers and Irving knew the verdict. Wary of predicting victory, I carefully monitored my words. Even though I could not speak as freely as I wished, it felt liberating not to have to depend on others to speak on my behalf. Though I tried to appear relaxed, the reporter from my “hometown” paper, the Atlanta Journal Constitution, saw things differently:
Over coffee the day before the verdict, Lipstadt—described . . . by the Times of London as a “striking redhead”—was charged up in a way people often are when they find themselves in a favorable limelight. In Britain, as in the United States, she has been widely portrayed as the defender of good against David Irving’s bumbling prince of darkness. In the sitting room at her elegant London hotel—Lipstadt’s home away from home during the trial—a waitress brought her a small porcelain coffee pot. “Are you nervous?” the waitress asked politely as she set the pot and cup on the table before Lipstadt. “Adrenaline, adrenaline,” said Lipstadt, who apparently decided that was all the stimulant she needed and asked for decaf. Each morning during the trial the uniformed doorman wished Lipstadt good luck as she headed off to court. When she returned at night, he asked her how it went. “The concierge told me to be optimistic because there is plenty of time to be pessimistic afterwards,” she said, clearly proud of the quasi-family she acquired at the hotel. Lipstadt seems up to the fight, and believes the cause is worth the struggle.1
Douglas Davis, Jewish Telegraphic Agency correspondent, asked me what I had been doing since the end of the trial. “I returned to Atlanta to prepare for Passover. I have twenty people coming for Seder.” Astonished, he said: “You did WHAT?!” Other guests in the hotel lounge looked up, intrigued to know what I had done that evoked such a response. Davis found it difficult to fathom that, on the eve of the judgment, I was preparing for Passover. The answer to Davis’s next query—“Has the trial changed your life?”—seemed obvious. I had been preparing for Passover for years and no one had ever thought that remotely interesting, much less newsworthy.
During the interviews, a number of reporters commented on my “dignity” during the trial. Since I had done nothing but remain silent, I was, at first, perplexed by their reaction. Then I realized that my silence was a dramatic contrast to Irving’s behavior. The Reuters reporter recalled how Irving had told her his “domestic staff” included “very attractive girls with very nice breasts.”2 Two months later, she was still “stupefied” by the encounter. The London correspondent for Israel’s Haaretz described how, when he visited Irving together with his colleague, Tom Segev, Irving told his daughter Jessica, the one to whom he had sung “I am a Baby Aryan,” that Segev’s baldness was a decidedly Jewish attribute.3 Compared to that it was hard not to appear dignified.
By early evening the media madhouse subsided. Ken Stern arrived from Brooklyn. We shared a bottle of wine and a light dinner, which I prepared in my tiny kitchen, and speculated on the judgment. A lawyer who had argued before the Supreme Court, Ken shared my worries about a tentative and ambiguous judgment. Given Judge Gray’s questions on the final day, neither of us knew what to expect. Our conversation was repeatedly interrupted by phone calls from France, Germany, Poland, Israel, the United States, Canada, Mexico, and Australia. I learned that the morning minyan at my synagogue would recite Psalm 51—“God, You are right in your sentence and just in Your judgment.” Other friends had arranged an international phone chain and email distribution list to spread the word. My cousin, Lady Amelie Jakobovits, known throughout the British Jewish community as “Lady J,” called from Poland, where she was accompanying a group of two hundred teenagers on a tour of Jewish sites. “Deborah,” she said, “the young people are praying on your behalf.”
Around 11 P.M., Ben Meed, president of the American Gathering of Jewish Holocaust Survivors and a survivor of the Warsaw Ghetto, called. A compact white-haired man, Ben’s life was the world of Holocaust survivors. “Deborah,” he said, “tonight you can sleep soundly because none of us will be sleeping.” He did not have to identify the “us.” There is a Jewish aphorism: “Things which come from the heart enter the heart.” And so it was. I found the notion of survivors unable to sleep as they awaited news of the verdict hard to fathom. After a prolonged silence at my end, Ben, afraid that our connection had been cut, said, “Are you there?” I assured him I was and bid him goodnight. I sat at my desk looking out on the London streets, overwhelmed by it all. The adrenaline was gone.
The first night of Passover is called the “Night of Watching” because Jewish tradition posits that God watched over the Israelites as they fled Egypt. On Seder night Jews do not recite bedtime prayers requesting that God keep them safe throughout the night because, tradition has it, God is already on guard. I doubted Ben had this in mind when he told me that survivors would not be sleeping but, when I did go to sleep, I imagined myself surrounded by a band of resolute angels, whose lives had been shaped by the Holocaust and its attendant horrors.
NO MORE WAITING
I arose early the next morning. My workout was determined and deliberate. I avoided chitchat with the other early-morning exercisers. As I walked through the lobby in my sweaty T-shirt and shorts, the hotel staff quietly wished me luck. The bellman gave me a thumbs-up. The concierge showed me that all his fingers were crossed. I carefully timed my preparation so I would
arrive at the Mishcon offices precisely at 9:30. I did not wish to arrive early and have to nervously wait in the reception room. I did not wish to be late and delay hearing the news. I fumed as my taxi got stuck in Piccadilly’s perennial traffic jam. At 9:30, I was still a few blocks from the office. I called Anthony: “It’s nine-thirty. Well?” Laughing, he said, “We won. . . . Big.” When I shrieked, the taxi driver hit the brakes. My papers went flying everywhere. I assured the driver all was fine. Anthony continued, “We won on everything except the Goebbels diaries in Moscow.” Ignoring the fact that the glass was essentially totally full, I expressed dismay that we lost on Moscow. Anthony reassured me, “It doesn’t matter. Wait until you see what the judge has to say about everything else.” By then the taxi had reached the office, and I ran off without paying. Embarrassed, I returned and gave the driver ten pounds for a five-pound ride.
Too excited to wait for the elevator, I ran up the stairs. This moment British reserve was thrown out the window. Anthony, James, and I exchanged hugs. Laura Tyler arrived, grinning from ear to ear. We did a little victory dance. Over the preceding months, despite being a paralegal, Laura had assumed tasks usually assigned to lawyers. At strategy sessions she contributed as if she were a full partner in this team, which, in fact, she was. Her work had earned her just desserts. Mishcon had invited her to join the firm upon completion of the law course she would begin in the fall. Michaela, Anthony’s secretary, warmly congratulated me and told me she was coming to hear the verdict. I was glad. She had been a stalwart worker throughout this process. James handed me the 355-page judgment. He had already highlighted significant sections of it. “Sit and read. You’ll be pleased.”
Judge Gray began his findings by praising Irving as a “military historian” and describing him as “able and intelligent (emphasis added).” After that it was all downhill for him. Our criticisms of his work were “almost invariably well founded.” Irving had “significantly misrepresented what the evidence, objectively examined, reveals.” Judge Gray’s choice of words to describe Irving’s writings about the Holocaust were unambiguous: “perverts,” “distorts,” “misleading,” “unjustified,” “travesty,” and “unreal.” I lifted my arms in victory, looking more like a prizefighter than a professor.
But there was work to do. We had scheduled a press conference for after the judgment. A few days earlier I had drafted a statement to read. I had written it in anticipation of victory, but my fears about an evenhanded judgment compelled me to keep it decidedly reserved. I edited it to reflect the sweeping nature of our victory. I quoted Judge Gray’s findings: Irving’s “falsification of the historical record was deliberate and . . . motivated by a desire to present events in a manner consistent with his own ideological beliefs even if that involved distortion and manipulation of historical evidence.”4 Never had I enjoyed editing so much. I was still scribbling when James announced that the taxi was waiting.
Photographers and demonstrators were crowded behind police barricades in front of the Law Courts. I asked, “Why all the press?” Anthony, sounding somewhat incredulous at my question, replied, “Deborah, they’re here for us.” Emerging from the taxi, I grabbed James by the arm and ran toward the building. Aware that I was still under embargo and could not yet broadcast the news, I tried to squelch the satisfied grin on my face and waved at the photographers.
Today’s session had been moved to the largest courtroom in the Law Courts. It was packed. Reporters and spectators were standing three and four deep along the walls of the courtroom. As I walked to my seat, people whispered, “Good luck.” Someone reassuringly patted me on the shoulder. Once I reached the front table, I turned to scan the room. Ninette Perahia, who had included me in a family supper during the first week of the trial and whose husband, Murray, had provided a musical interlude, was there as was her son, who had clearly ditched school to attend. Behind them a high school teacher, who had regularly attended the trial, held up both hands to show me her fingers were crossed. In the balcony Sir Martin Gilbert, Winston Churchill’s official biographer, raised his fingers in a Churchillian V. I returned the gesture. The two gestures, though ostensibly identical, conveyed vastly different sentiments. His meant “good luck,” while mine said “victory.” It was hard not to give Richard Rampton a bear hug. Instead I took his hand in mine and quietly whispered, “Thank you, so very much.” I exchanged smiles with Heather, who had promised me many months earlier as I sat despondent in Birkenau, that this trial would be about proving David Irving is a liar. I wanted to remind her of that moment, but it did not seem necessary.
AN UNAMBIGUOUS JUDGMENT
Judge Gray entered and began to read his findings. His flat, unexpressive monotone was in striking contrast to the power of the words. I heard someone whisper, “Sounds like he’s reading a grocery list.” Referring to Evans’s “meticulous” report, he declared that “Evans justified each and every one of the criticisms on which the Defendants have chosen to rely.” One reporter caught my eye and mouthed the words “Well done.” I saw Julie McCarthy slip out of the courtroom and assumed she was going to broadcast to National Public Radio’s Morning Edition, which would soon begin. I was glad to know that my friends and family would awaken to this news.
Regarding Irving’s claim that during the 1924 Putsch Hitler sought to maintain order, Judge Gray declared Irving had “embroider[ed] the incident” in order to depict Hitler as “behav[ing] responsibly.”5 He criticized Irving’s reliance on Kurt Daluege’s summary of Jewish criminal statistics. Daluege’s “enthusiastic membership” in the Nazi Party and his role in the shootings on the Eastern Front, should have made Irving “doubt any pronouncement of his affecting the Jews.”6
Irving’s rendition of Hitler’s role in Kristallnacht was “at odds with the documentary evidence.”7 His claim that “Hitler bore no responsibility” for starting the pogrom and that, upon learning of it, intervened to halt the violence, “seriously misrepresents the available contemporaneous evidence” and was “based upon misrepresentation, misconstruction, and omission of the documentary evidence.” Irving’s account of the trials of the culprits who participated in Kristallnacht “fails lamentably” to reveal what a “whitewash it was.”8
Regarding Himmler’s November 30, 1941, diary entry about his meeting with Hitler, there was “no evidence” that Hitler “summoned” Himmler to his headquarters or “obliged” him to telephone Heydrich ordering Jews not to be liquidated.”9
Irving “perverted” General Bruns’s account of the shooting of Jews in Riga. Bruns did not say that instructions had come from Hitler that the shootings were to stop, as Irving had claimed. Bruns had said that he had received orders that there should be no more shootings “on that scale” and those that did occur were to be carried out “more discreetly.” In other words, Judge Gray observed, “the shooting was to continue.”10
Irving’s contention that Hitler did not know or approve of the “wholesale shooting of Jews in the East” and was not complicit in the gassing of Jews in death camps had “a distinct air of unreality.”11 Judge Gray was convinced that the shootings were coordinated and sanctioned by the leaders of the Third Reich. “Irving was misrepresenting the historical evidence when he told audiences in Australia, Canada, and the US . . . that the shooting of the Jews in the east was arbitrary, unauthorized, and undertaken by individual groups or commanders.”12
Irving “materially pervert[ed] the evidence” of the Hitler-Horthy meeting.13 Irving’s claim that Nuremberg judge Francis Biddle thought Marie Vaillant-Couturier a “‘bloody liar’ is a travesty of the evidence.”14 Regarding Dresden, Judge Gray found that Irving’s comments about the authenticity of TB-47 were “reprehensible.”15 Irving had charged that Miller, the Dresden resident who participated in the burning of the bodies and who concluded that the death toll was approximately thirty thousand, was “fantasizing.” Judge Gray dismissed this as “absurd.”16 He concluded that Irving’s treatment of the historical evidence “fell far short of
the standard to be expected of a conscientious historian” and that his estimate of “100,000 and more deaths [in Dresden] . . . lacked any evidential basis and were such as no responsible historian would have made.”17
Judge Gray believed the “cumulative effect of the documentary evidence for the genocidal operation” of the gas chambers at “Auschwitz [to be] considerable” and “mutually corroborative.” He found it “striking” that the eyewitness and documentary evidence were so “consistent.” The Leuchter Report was insufficient reason for “dismissing or even doubting” the existence of homicidal gas chambers at Auschwitz. Judge Gray concluded that “no objective, fair-minded historian would have serious cause to doubt” the existence of gas chambers at Auschwitz that were used on a substantial scale to kill Jews.18
Judge Gray declared it “incontrovertible that Irving qualifies as a Holocaust denier.” He had denied the existence of gas chambers at Auschwitz frequently and “in the most offensive terms,” including in his telephone-booth-cum-gas-chamber anecdote, comments about Senator Edward Kennedy’s car, dismissal of eyewitnesses as liars, ASSHOLS, and the question to Mrs. Altman about earning money from her tattoo.19
Irving had “repeatedly crossed the divide between legitimate criticism and prejudiced vilification of the Jewish race and people.” His comments confirmed he was an “antisemite” and a “racist.” His statements about minorities “provide ample evidence of racism.” The ditty he composed for his daughter—“I am a Baby Aryan”—was “undeniably racism,” while some of his other statements—his reference to “one of them” reading “our news to us”—were racism of a more “insidious kind.” Irving’s appearances at gatherings such as the Halle rally demonstrated his “willingness to participate in a meeting at which a motley collection of militant neo-Nazis were also present.” The “regularity” of his contacts with the National Alliance confirmed his “sympathetic attitude towards an organization whose tenets would be abhorrent to most people.”20
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