Judge Gray’s critique became even more pointed when he addressed Irving’s claim that, at worst, he had made some inadvertent historical mistakes.
Irving’s treatment of the historical evidence is so perverse and egregious that it is difficult to accept that it is inadvertence on his part. . . . Mistakes and misconceptions such as these . . . are more consistent with a willingness on Irving’s part knowingly to misrepresent or manipulate or put a “spin” on the evidence so as to make it conform with his own preconceptions. . . . He has deliberately skewed the evidence to bring it in line with his political beliefs.21
When Judge Gray turned to Irving’s motivation for his Holocaust denial, I was reminded of the disturbing question he had posed on the final day of the trial. Could someone be “honestly antisemitic and an honest extremist?” Judge Gray had then seemed unable to recognize the link between antisemitism, extremism, and Holocaust denial. Now Judge Gray declared that Irving “desire[d] to present events in a manner consistent with his own ideological beliefs even if that involved distortion and manipulation of historical evidence.” My fears had obviously been in vain.22
We did not succeed in convincing Judge Gray that Irving had engaged in an unauthorized borrowing of the Goebbels diaries glass plates in Moscow. However, Judge Gray continued, what we had proven was of sufficient gravity that this did not have any “material effect on Irving’s reputation.” Then, after close to two hours of reading, Judge Gray came to the bottom line: “It follows that there must be judgment for the Defendants.”23
We had won and we had done so conclusively. As Judge Gray left the courtroom, Irving rose, turned to Rampton, stretched out his hand, and, somewhat jovially, said, “Well done. Well done,” as if he had just been bested in a rugby match. Rampton rather perfunctorily took his hand but said nothing. I don’t know if Irving intended to offer his hand to Anthony. Anthony had pointedly turned his back on him. We had cleaned the dirt off our shoes.
SWEET BEDLAM
Outside the courtroom bedlam reigned. Irving was nowhere to be seen. Friends and strangers gave me exuberant hugs. Others offered more restrained British expressions of “Well done.” Bruce Soll, who had come to London for the opening of the trial and returned for the end, managed to reach Les and Abigail Wexner in Paris. He handed me the cell phone. Their voices were filled with emotion. “We are so proud to have been part of this effort.” They had been far more than “part” of it. I tried to thank them, but could not. I gave the phone to Anthony, who briefed Abigail, a lawyer, on the outcome. Ursula called from Atlanta. She had just received a call from Peter, the concierge at the hotel she and David frequented in London. “Madam, it’s Peter. We won, madam. We won!” I managed to call my mother on my cell phone. She had already heard the news and was thrilled. “Your father would have been very proud.”
Then, from amidst the crowd a familiar face appeared. I momentarily could not identify her. When she touched me gently on my forearm and said, “Thank you,” I realized who she was. I remembered how, on that first day of the trial, she rolled up her sleeve to show me her number. Once again, she transformed a fleeting moment into a more profound one. I turned to the legal team and indicated that I was ready to leave.
As we wended our way through the building, strangers wished us well. Anthony’s wife, a journalist, warned me, “There will be camera crews waiting outside. If you say something to one, they will all want statements.” I assured her that I would be fine; after all, I had not been fazed by the paparazzi who had appeared off and on for months. As I strode through the 250-foot Gothic entry hall with a celebratory group of lawyers, experts, researchers, and friends behind me, intermittent waves of joy and relief began to cascade through my body. Feeling almost giddy with excitement, I punched the air with my fist and let out, what I thought was a sotto voce “YES!” Only when a couple of bystanders quickly pivoted in my direction and I heard Laura Tyler, who was walking about ten feet behind me, begin to laugh, did I realize that this had been anything but sotto. As I approached the exit, my mood quickly changed. The previous three months—if not five years—flashed before my eyes. I thought of all the work that had been devoted to this effort. I thought of the upheaval to my life and the research I had abandoned and students I had neglected. I thought of the survivors. I took a deep breath and, this time, very quietly said to myself, “This chapter of my life is over. This is the last time I walk out of here as the defendant.”
I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and gasped at what I saw. The media representatives who had been present when we arrived had been joined by numerous others. Photographers, reporters, and camera crews were straining at the barricades. Some had ladders to enhance their view. There was a sea of microphones and recording devices, some of which were on long poles so that they extended well over the police barricades. Three London policemen, clad in bright yellow rain slickers to protect themselves from the steady drizzle, stood by to maintain order.
Reporters were shouting, “Give us a statement.” “Say something.” “We need a quote for the afternoon news.” James reminded them that a press conference was in the offing. “But we are on deadline,” they responded. It may have been the need to engage in yet one more act of verbal restraint that prompted me to take the next step. It may have been a desire to give the press “something.” It may have been the overwhelming emotion of it all. I impulsively hoisted my arm in the air, raised my thumb high above my head and—depending whom you ask—scowled or gave a look of righteous indignation and triumph. I tried to smile, but could not. Maybe it was the subliminal awareness that, even at this moment of joy, so much pain had been caused by this endeavor. Maybe it was the woman in the sweater with the number on her arm.
IN MY OWN WORDS
Later, in front of a sea of cameras and reporters in the hotel ballroom, I described this not just as my victory but as a victory for all those who fight hatred and prejudice. I paid tribute to Penguin for “doing the right thing” and to the magnificent legal team—lawyers, experts, researchers, paralegals, and even secretaries—who fought this as if it were their own battle.
But I soon learned that some people still did not grasp what this trial had been all about. A reporter asked if I thought Irving’s loss would deter other historians from adopting controversial points of view. I reminded the reporter that Irving had sued me and that my issue with him did not concern his “controversial” views, but his lies and manipulations. Another reporter followed up and, in a thick foreign accent that I could not identify, asked, “Will you have pity for Mr. Irving? Or will you force him to pay your costs, probably causing him to be bankrupt?” Well aware that the press conference was being broadcast live in a number of countries, I modulated my answer, but with some degree of umbrage said, “‘Pity for Mr. Irving?’ I think you have it backwards. It’s my life and work that has been disrupted.”
Another reporter asked, “Given all that has happened to you, would you write the same book once again?” Over the course of the past ten weeks, I had thought a lot about this and was prepared for it. I immediately said, “No.” My answer caused an audible stir in the room. This time I was the one who paused for dramatic effect. Then I added, “What I would now write would be far more harsh.” As a result of the trove of documents we had uncovered, I now knew that Irving’s assault on history was considerably more egregious than I had previously imagined.
As we neared the end of the allotted time, one reporter asked, “Have you heard from Holocaust survivors?” I started to relate Ben Meed’s admonition that I could sleep soundly because “none of us are sleeping,” when suddenly my voice began to tremble and tears welled up in my eyes. The room grew quiet as reporters waited. Drawing on whatever emotional reserves I could muster, I regained control and finished the anecdote. When Penguin’s publicist stopped the conference shortly thereafter, I was relieved.
After months of depending on others to articulate my position, I felt liberated. For the first time in a long time, I w
as in control. After the press conference Richard Rampton approached me. He was smiling broadly: “You are really very good at this,” he said. “Richard,” I teased him, “you sound a wee bit surprised. Remember, answering questions is my stock and trade.” I realized that neither Richard nor any member of the defense team had ever heard me “perform” publicly before. James came over to say that Prime Minister Barak’s office had been furiously calling Mishcon looking for me. He was in the midst of negotiations with President Clinton but took time out of those meetings to acknowledge this important victory “on behalf of the Jewish people.”
Later that day, I returned to my hotel to freshen up for another round of interviews. As I entered the lobby, activity stopped. Other guests were momentarily left in the lurch, as the desk staff, doormen, and bellmen all began to clap. Sally, the hotel manager, came running from her office with a bottle of champagne and a gorgeous array of flowers.
Within a few moments I was on my way to an evening news show. Walking into the studio building, I spotted Professor Donald Watt, who was also scheduled to appear. I recalled Watt’s dismissal of Irving’s argument that Hitler did not know of the Holocaust as “difficult . . . to accept.” After he testified, Watt sent me a letter reassuring me that he had no sympathy for deniers. Smiling, I extended my hand in greeting and said, “Professor Watt? Deborah Lipstadt.” Without indulging in any niceties, he blurted out, “Penguin was out for blood.” Unsure that I had heard correctly, I mumbled, “Excuse me?” “None of us,” he continued, “could have withstood that kind of scrutiny.” I said nothing but turned away perplexed.
When I reached the “green room,” or its British equivalent, someone handed me the Evening Standard. Watt had written an op-ed column, which must have been composed prior to the release of Judge Gray’s judgment. Entitled, “History Needs David Irving,” its opening line confirmed that I had indeed heard him precisely right.
Penguin was certainly out for blood. The firm has employed five historians, with two research assistants, for some considerable time to produce 750 pages of written testimony, querying and checking every document cited in Irving’s books on Hitler. Show me one historian who has not broken into a cold sweat at the thought of undergoing similar treatment.
After praising Irving’s ability to ferret out new documents, Watt argued that Irving suffers from the “characteristic faults of the self-taught” and was “seduced by the notion of conspiracies.” Watt claimed that other British historians could also be accused of having “allowed their political agenda and views to influence their . . . selection and interpretation of historical evidence.”24 I recalled the fact that Watt had written a lengthy introduction to one of Irving’s books and wondered if he felt obliged to somehow defend Irving, even though in his testimony he had been quite dismissive of Irving’s theories about Hitler. Shortly before the show began, as the host was reviewing how he would identify each of us, he described Watt as having “co-authored a book with David Irving.” Watt sternly corrected him: “That is not correct. I just wrote an introduction.” In any case, I found it hard to believe that Watt had actually read the judgment, particularly since his column appeared in the afternoon paper a few hours after it had been handed down. While historians often let politics influence their writing, they did not weave a web of inventions and suppressions, as Irving did. Anyone reading Watt’s column might have assumed that I had sued Irving to drive him underground.
After the broadcast, when I left, the young man whose responsibility it was to make sure guests found their way in and out of the rabbit warren of studios and offices, quietly said, “I’m Jewish. Thanks.”
As the driver worked his way through the London traffic to the next interview, I phoned my friend Bill Lowenberg in San Francisco. Bill, a Holocaust survivor, is a tough, no-nonsense kind of guy. When he heard about my defense fund, he took responsibility for raising over $100,000. Bill’s secretary said, “I am sorry, Mr. Lowenberg is indisposed.” I smiled at her delicate euphemism and said, “Just tell him Deborah Lipstadt called.” When she repeated my name, I heard Bill’s daughter, Susan, yell, “Deborah’s on the phone! Someone get my dad.” Within a few moments a breathless Bill Lowenberg picked up the phone. “Deborah, Deborah, is that you?” “Yes, Bill. I just wanted you to know that I was thinking of you.” Bill’s voice, usually so confident, trembled. “We were joyous when we heard the good news. We are so happy.” And he began to weep. “Thank you. Thank you. In the name of my family, thank you.”
Ernie Michel, another survivor who had spearheaded raising funds for my defense, reacted similarly. “We did it. We did it,” he said. I called Rabbi Herb Friedman, who two years earlier had demanded to know how I was going to fight this. I told him, “Without you, I could not have done it.”
The day ended with a late-night appearance on Newsnight, the BBC’s equivalent of ABC’s Nightline. While James and I sat in the BBC café eating a late supper prior to the show, a bottle of champagne arrived at our table. The waiter said it came from a young couple sitting in the corner. I invited them to join us. They described themselves as “just two members of the British public who very much appreciate what you did.”
Irving was in one studio and I was in another. Jeremy Paxman, the host, countered Irving’s attempt to reinterpret the judgment. When Irving argued that the judge had not ruled against him, Paxman replied, “Typical of your methods.” Paxman then recited a litany of Irving’s racist and antisemitic statements. Irving, obviously a bit nonplused, burst out, “You’re not Jewish, are you?” When asked by Paxman whether he would, in light of the judgment, “stop denying the Holocaust,” Irving responded, “Good Lord, no.”25 As we left the studio, the morning papers arrived. The trial was the lead story on all the front pages.
It was well after midnight when I returned to the hotel. Physically spent, yet bursting with emotional energy, I turned on my computer. I found over three hundred emails from friends, family, and complete strangers. Many were expressions of joy: “HOORAY!!” My research assistant, Maureen, noted that her message would be very short as she was too busy “dancing around the room.” An Emory student related that his professor announced the news to his class early that morning. “We all began to whoop and holler. We made so much noise that other professors came in to ask what was going on. Soon their classes were celebrating as well.” A colleague had been in O’Hare Airport waiting for a very early morning flight, when CNN broadcast the news. The coffee and bagel he was carefully balancing on his knees went flying as he stood up, threw his hands in the air, and yelled, “Yes.” A group of my students from the Wexner Heritage Foundation emailed me: “You taught us well in class and you taught us—and so many others—well in court.” Many of the notes were sobering:
On behalf of my grandmother, aunts, uncles and cousins who died at Treblinka I thank you. . . . Now, enjoy Pesach, because you can doubly enjoy your freedom. Moe Stein
Dear Dr. Lipstadt,
Thank you for defending the historical truth of the Holocaust. My father-in-law came of age in a concentration camp, so I have witnessed the physical and emotional scars first hand. . . . Perhaps there will now be a few less such horrors in the world. Sincerely, Gloria Klaiman
Thank you in the name of my grandparents Bertha and Max Steiner and my uncle Robert Steiner, killed by the Germans in Poland in 1943, and in the name of my great-aunt Paula Weiss, killed by the Croats in 1942. Gratefully yours, Professor Felix Dothan
These messages were very much on my mind as I crawled into bed. They made me feel decidedly uncomfortable, though I could not figure out why. I turned off the light and fell asleep.
Early the next morning, as I prepared for the BBC Breakfast News, I hurriedly glanced at the Daily Telegraph. The lead headline on the front page was unambiguous:
“JUDGE BRANDS DAVID IRVING A HOLOCAUST DENIER WHO FALSIFIED THE FACTS TO EXONERATE HITLER: RACIST HISTORIAN FACES £2M BILL FOR LIBEL DEFEAT”
Under the headline was a cartoon showing a ma
n in a bookstore inspecting David Irving’s new book. Its title: The Libel Trial That Never Happened. The lead editorial declared that “this trial has done for the new century what the Nuremberg tribunals or the Eichmann trial did for earlier generations.” Irving had “damned himself.”
As I waited in the hotel lobby for a car to take me to my next interview, I noticed that Sir John Keegan’s column in the Daily Telegraph was also devoted to the trial. As I turned to it, I recalled his courtroom testimony that Irving’s claim that Hitler did not know about the Holocaust was “perverse.” This time, however, Keegan’s tone was very different. Keegan opened his column by bemoaning the outcome of the trial. “The news that David Irving has lost his libel case will send a tremor through the community of 20th-century historians.” I read the sentence twice to make sure I had grasped it correctly. Apparently Keegan did not think that forcing an academic to defend her scholarly work at tremendous personal and professional costs would upset historians. Keegan then turned to Irving’s Holocaust denial. Seeming to discount the repeated outright inventions and falsifications that our experts had documented, Keegan described Irving’s denial as “nonsense” that constituted a “small but disabling element in his work.” Keegan did not address the fact that Irving’s work on Dresden—a decidedly non-Holocaust topic—was riddled with the same falsifications and distortions. Engaging in what sounded to me like armchair psychology, Keegan posited that Irving simply sought to shock people and may “not really believe what he says.” How Irving’s putative failure to believe what he says made his lies any less egregious Keegan failed to explain. Then, changing tacks and contradicting himself somewhat, Keegan declared that Irving was only guilty of errors of interpretation. The “judge has now decided that an all consuming knowledge of a vast body of material does not excuse faults in interpreting it.” Keegan ignored the fact that Judge Gray’s devastating judgment had nothing to do with “faults” in interpretation but with outright falsifications.
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