A Survivor's Tale

[Douglas Mercer]

Douglas Mercer
September 4 2023

One needn’t speculate on the industrial strength press coverage which will ensue when the exalted figure of the “last survivor” bites the dust—it will be over the moon monumental and never ending, they will literally have to stop the presses to get the presses humming again, it will be blazoned with sad chyrons that a once living legend has passed, gone forever is the last in a long line of living links to the lugubrious and lachrymose story of stories, the greatest story that never happened: the Holocaust. The talking heads will bring their dour game faces on the air, the academic scum will be dredged from the bowels of the history departments, the sensationalistic journalists will trot out their always increasing crescendos of superlatives of ballyhoo, praise and memory, even a politician or two might mark the supposedly sad event with a remark crafted by an establishment compliant wordsmith. The message that all will be peddling is that this is one of those “big think” moments for the world, a moment when things are demarcated into before and after, now the only thing that connects the world to its most awesome event are words, photographs, film, some beat up sites, a gazillion museums and memorials, Ken Burns documentaries, serially proliferating mountains of slanderous books, Deborah Lipstadt’s grim and ugly mug, and some shaky science. The Jewish world will hold its collective breath and take solace that ghost figures in the form of holographs still can be projected on to screens but even they in their hearts know that this is the poor man’s substitute for the most sacred of things: the survivor in the flesh regaling the world of what he said he saw with his own two eyes. When this figure is no more there will be calls to redouble the propaganda and exhibit eternal vigilance in the matter lest the whole rotten and tottering corps constituted by the corpus of Holocaust fable begins its long feared slide into irrelevance, decomposition, and death.

“Frank Bright MBE, one of the last Jewish Holocaust survivors remaining in Britain, has died aged 94. Born Frank Brichta in Berlin in 1928, Bright was just four years old when the Nazis came to power in Germany. In an interview with the Association of Jewish Refugees (AJR), he recalled seeing mocking antisemitic cartoons on street corners and signs banning Jews from entering shops and cafes, images which held fast in his mind despite his young age.”

Frank, we hardly knew ye! And why would we? You were a nobody after all, a walking cipher and nonentity, a man who cadged his way into England on a bank of fantasy and fairy tales, lived an undistinguished life, existed indifferently, made no special mark, yet were waltzed and whisked around England lecturing the locals on the lachrymose and lugubrious tales. You warned the White man that he had been out of control in the past and henceforth he needed to remain in control. You went around browbeating White school children and told them (in so many words) that their people were evil and that needed not to be evil. And how pray tell could they avoid this evil? Why, quite simple says Frank: worship the Jews, cater to the Jews, be solicitous to the Jews. And for this non yeoman service in the field of bloodsucking Jewry Her Majesty’s government in all of its rancid non glory saw fit to bestow on this middling (at best) individual an insignia symbolizing the Order Of The British Empire. Because in the eyes of the rulers of England nothing is more meritorious or betokens distinction more than the toiling in the vineyards of White Genocide. It is one cause they can all get behind.

“For their safety, Bright’s parents moved their small family to Prague in 1938, a city quickly filling with German and Austrian refugees, as Bright observed. Any peace the family might’ve experienced in Prague was swiftly ended by Czechoslovakia’s secession of the Sudetenland to Germany. Most of the six Jewish families in the flats where Bright’s family lived perished by 1942. He recalled hearing the Gestapo knocking on doors during home-to-home searches, and the terror he felt at that ominous sound. Though Bright was still able to have a bar mitzvah, he called the atmosphere in Czechoslovakia then as one of fear, prohibition, and rules. In 1943, Bright’s family was transported to Theresienstadt ghetto in a locked train compartment."

The mind’s eye reels and recalls the reels of this never-ending movie: the trains rolling on the tracks, the poor Jews huddled in fear, their gaunt eyes beseeching, and then piling out on to the ramparts where overpowering Germans in fine looking uniforms summarily send some to the ovens and sudden death, and some to work themselves to a slow yet certain death. And then the Jews cowering in attics and basements, not daring to go out, and suddenly the long-feared knock at the door is heard shattering the fragile peace of the enclosed space. And soon the clattering of jackboots up or down the stairwells echoes through the house and the Holocaust is nearing its completion. Indeed they have this one so on autopilot and rewind that the Jews can recount it on command in their sleep; thousands and thousands of such images and stories have flooded the minds of the White race in a massive ideological brainwashing operation to scramble the brains of our people, to disassemble them and reassemble them along Jewish lines. Anyone can conjure one of these images from the storehouse of memory on cue and the life work of Frank Bright (possessor of the MBE!) was to be sure that when they do a chill shudder of horror passes through them to paralyze them from seeing or seeking the truth. A job well done Frank the Jews say: RIP. You didn’t just kibitz and kvetch—you killed White people.

“Every 2-3 days, transports took 1500-2000 people to Auschwitz, leaving the ghetto half empty, he recalled. Bright’s final birthday at the ghetto, he found a sweet that his father had hidden him as a treat. Soon after, his father disappeared, and Bright never saw him again. In October 1944, he and his mother were transported to Auschwitz. When they arrived, his mother was directed to the left, and Bright to the right. She died in the gas chamber that day, and Bright was left wondering which of the flames was my mother.”

Which flame was his mother? It could have been that one or the other one. Which speck of ash softly wafting down on the spring breeze was his mother is the real question, is it not? Which skeleton in Himmler’s secret closet is a good one too, or which eyeball lovingly pondered and poked and prodded by Otmar von Verschuer once belonged to his bubbe, which head on display at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for careful study in race science was his mother’s visage---these are all good questions but beside the point—it could have been any one of the six gorillion on display. But the “nazi symbiosis” in all of its alleged blood curdling fright meant that each and every one of them got a one-way ticket bound for Yahweh’s loving embrace.

“Bright, meanwhile, was sent in a cattle truck to a factory on the outskirts of the Sudetenland region. As liberation drew nearer, Bright was forced to dig trenches in the frozen earth to bury Jews who had perished in the notorious death marches. At last, in 1945, Bright and others who had been abandoned were rescued by French laborers who unlocked the gates and turned off the electric wire fence around the camp. After his liberation, Bright returned to Prague temporarily until a distant relative living in London offered to pay for his journey over. He arrived in the UK in 1946.”

It is funny how these victims of Hilter all somehow managed to survive and were able to crawl on their bellies into the White countries of the West. Surely you’ve noticed how there is a never-ending supply of these survivors who crawl out of the woodwork and live to ripe old ages—heck, if you didn’t know any better and hadn’t been savagely pummeled by decades of unrelenting Jewish agitprop you might even think that this Hitler fellow was not quite as expert a genocidal maniac as we’ve all been led to believe. For someone who it is said was dyed in the wool committed to annihilating every last Jew down to every last man, woman, and child of them, he certainly left a lot of loose ends lying around. But then his farewell message to the White world was that despite what the mongers of compassion and tolerance spout it remains true that you will always regret being kind.

“Since the Second World War, he has shared his story countless times at schools around Suffolk and Essex. It means a lot to me to be able to tell my story to young people. It is important that they understand what has happened in the past - and these are things they can't really understand just from reading a book. Frank, who survived Auschwitz and came to Britain after the liberation dedicated much of his life to educate young people about the horrors of discrimination, hatred and genocide. Bright was awarded an MBE in 2022 for his services to Holocaust Education. In a statement from the Holocaust Educational Trust expressed sadness at Bright’s passing. They said: Frank was unwavering in his determination to honor the memory of those who perished and spoke to schools and other organizations across the UK for many years.”

This evil genie was nothing less than a one man wrecking crew—though he has had plenty of collaborators and felonious fellow travelers in his egregious endeavors. He was the plague personified, being let into schools to smear the White race, to inculcate in the White young that orgy of self-loathing that we have seen spread like a Jewish virus among our kind. By rights it’s child abuse pure, plain, and simple, but it’s child abuse with the official insignia and imprimatur attached to it by the British authorities, they after all being a group that hushed up the wanton rape and torture of young White girls by Jew imported Muslims. No, in England they want the Whites to experience that infamous and genocidal multiculturalism good and hard for as always in our time it’s the Jews and the Jews alone who have the whip hand. After much kerfuffle they are nearing to putting up that big fat Holocaust Memorial right next to Parliament---and you can be as sure as sure can be that Frank Bright’s Jewish handlers are laughing their silly heads off when they contemplate all the suckers.

“Frank always showed a very poignant example of all that was lost during the Holocaust whenever he shared his testimony – a photo of his 1942 school class on which he had indicated the many young children who never survived the Nazi occupation.”

But when at long last the last living survivor leaves this vale of Jewish tears and croaks---that’s when the torrents of stories and memories will come flooding out. Ken Burns will go on the air and put it all in perspective for us, the ADL will say that the day is an important milestone that the world must ponder in pain, the Jewish presidents of Ivy League schools will put out a memo that a landmark has been reached, even the President of the once White United States Of America might blurb or burble about the humanity of it all. Because these survivor’s tales are the Jewish stock in trade, what they traffic in, it’s the schmear on their bagels, it’s the bar in their mitzvah. And as that Jewish show warned us in the end it’s not merely a matter of mitzvah—it’s a matter of murder. And the entire point of magnifying the survivors is that we might not survive.

[Douglas Mercer]

The "Survivor" in question

[Douglas Mercer]

That little pisher second from right ended up having a long career spewing anti-White hate in British Schools.

[Douglas Mercer]

[Douglas Mercer]

This victim of Hitler somehow miraculously managed to live to the ripe old age of 94.

[Douglas Mercer]

The Faces Of Evil

[Douglas Mercer]

A "survivor" and his holographic Holocaust double

[Douglas Mercer]

This so-called survivor looks pretty damn chipper for having nearly been burnt to a crisp.

[Will Williams]

This so-called survivor looks pretty damn chipper for having nearly been burnt to a crisp.

It is funny how these victims of Hitler all somehow managed to survive and were able to crawl on their bellies into the White countries of the West.

It really is funny, ha, ha! Tell us, Mr. Brechta, which flame was your mommy?

[Douglas Mercer]

Boo Hoo