Study Suggests Adolf Hitler Had Jewish and African Ancestors

In the decades since Adolf Hitler’s death, the Nazi leader’s ancestry has been a subject of rampant speculation and intense controversy. Some have suggested that his father, Alois, born to an unwed woman named Maria Schickelgruber, was the illegitimate child of Leopold Frankenberger, a young Jewish man whose family employed her as a maid. (She subsequently married Johann Georg Hiedler–later spelled “Hitler”–whose surname her son adopted.) Others have claimed that Alois’ biological father was also the grandfather of Hitler’s mother, Klara Pözl, making Adolf the product of an incestuous marriage.

To unravel the mystery of the Fuhrer’s roots, the Belgian journalist Jean-Paul Mulders teamed up with Marc Vermeeren, a historian who has written extensively about Hitler and his ancestors. The duo collected saliva samples from 39 of the infamous dictator’s living relatives, including a great-nephew, Alexander Stuart-Houston, who lives in New York, and an Austrian cousin identified only as “Norbert H.” Tests were then conducted to reveal the samples’ principal haplogroups, which are sets of chromosomes that geneticists use to define specific populations.

Writing in the Flemish-language magazine Knack, Mulders reported that the relatives’ most dominant haplogroup, known as E1b1b, is rare in Western Europeans but common among North Africans, and particularly the Berber tribes of Morocco, Algeria, Libya and Tunisia. It is also one of the major founding lineages of the Jewish population, present in 18 to 20 percent of Ashkenazi Jews and 8.6 to 30 percent of Sephardic Jews. In other words, Hitler’s family tree may have included Jewish and African ancestors.

The tragic irony of the discovery, of course, is that Hitler’s Nazi regime systematically wiped out an estimated two-thirds of Europe’s Jewish population between 1933 and 1945. People of African descent were also considered enemies of the Aryans, whose supposed racial purity and superiority were central to the “Mein Kampf” author’s lethal rhetoric. As Mulders put it in the Knack article, "One can from this postulate that Hitler was related to people whom he despised.”

As part of its continuing quest to pin down the Fuhrer’s heritage, Knack hopes to conduct DNA tests on a jawbone fragment and piece of bloodstained cloth retrieved from the Berlin bunker where Hitler allegedly committed suicide. The Russian government has held these artifacts in its archives since 1948 and continues to vouch for their authenticity despite a contradictory 2009 study by American scientists.

Since the publication of the Knack article on August 18, 2010, academics have been quick to point out that this does not necessarily mean the man who inspired the Holocaust was either Jewish, African or a combination of the two. The E1b1b haplogroup runs in other ethnic groups, for instance, and DNA analysis remains an inexact science. But one thing about this study’s results is certain, as Ronny Decorte, a geneticist interviewed by Knack, remarked: "Hitler would not have been pleased.”

Manmohan's indecisiveness costing India dear

A few years ago, when Greg Chappell was Big Boss, I asked Saurav Ganguly on how he felt losing the Indian captaincy. Ganguly, candid as ever, replied, "I miss being in the team, but frankly, am relieved at not being captain. An Indian cricket captain is under constant pressure, and after four to five years at the top the pressure gets to you!" If being captain of the Indian cricket side is tough, then being prime minister of the country is a shade tougher. This Independence Day, as Dr Manmohan Singh created a slice of history by delivering his seventh speech from the Red Fort ramparts - the most since Indira Gandhi - there was a suggestion that maybe what is true of an Indian cricket captain also applies to the leader of the country's political ship: has Manmohan Singh's prime ministership run out of steam is the big question being asked.

Next month, the prime minister will turn 78. In itself, age should not be a constraint. Last year, after his second major heart surgery, Dr Singh appeared recharged during a general election campaign where his persona was made a key factor. When he was repeatedly attacked for being a 'weak' prime minister, there was even an uncharacteristic flash of anger, as he questioned the credentials of those targeting him. Indeed, having successfully piloted the Indo-US nuclear deal, and then presiding over the best Congress performance in over two decades, there was reason to believe that the genial sardar had come into his own, revealing himself to be more than just an 'accidental politician'.

A year later, the doubts have resurfaced, even the goodwill which the prime minister's personal integrity so readily attracts appears to be slowly evaporating. The charge of being indecisive is now finding a silent echo even among his many admirers. The examples offered are many. The Kashmir crisis has festered since June, yet it took over two months before the prime minister publicly intervened. Even then, his response was tepid: a promise of jobs and the appointment of another committee indicative of a bankruptcy of ideas. On the Naxal challenge, the government's stand ranges from uncertain to chaotic. When a Mamta Banerjee speaks out of turn in virtual support of the Maoists, the prime minister seems reluctant to rein her in. When a Jairam Ramesh collides with a Praful Patel over the much-needed second airport in Mumbai, the prime minister appears unwilling to exercise veto power.

When an A Raja finds himself discredited over serious allegations of corruption, the prime minister doesn't appear in any hurry to seek an explanation or effect a ministerial reshuffle. When rotting foodgrains symbolize the inefficiency of Krishi Bhavan, there seems little urgency in enforcing accountability. And even the attempt to get the crumbling Commonwealth Games house in order appears to lack credibility: an 'empowered' committee of secretaries is a classic 'Yes Minister' recipe for more confusion . The solution to every policy issue - be it a Bhopal judgment or a caste census - is to appoint a group of ministers, usually headed by the ultimate political all-rounder Pranab Mukherjee (there are 47 GOMs, of which the finance minister heads 27). The result is a perceptible sense of drift in just the first year of a new government.

Ironically, Dr Singh in his second term should have been much more in command than in his first innings when he was still coming to terms with his dramatic ascent. In 2004, Dr Singh was saddled with a government that was critically dependent on the left and a motley group of small parties. In 2009, the mandate was clearly for a more stable coalition, with the UPA no longer in need of weekly life support from any of its coalition partners. In term one, the prime minister could be held hostage by the left over critical economic policy choices, this time he should have no such fear. And yet, timidity in governance has become the hallmark of UPA II, almost as if the prime minister's bureaucratic past has returned to haunt his political present.

The bureaucrat tends to be risk averse, the politician tends to take chances. Two years ago, when confronted with a belligerent left, Dr Singh put his government on line over the passage of the nuclear deal. In those difficult months, it appeared that the prime minister had discovered a political spine and the power of the PMO. Unfortunately, deal done and election won, Dr Singh seems to have retreated into a shell.

The reluctance to take the initiative may also stem from conflicting signals emerging from the other power center, 10 Janpath. In his first term, Dr Singh's prime ministership was boosted by Sonia Gandhi's reassuring presence by his side. This time, the Congress president has been less protective of the prime minister, be it after the Sharm-el-sheikh tangle, the Naxal conflict or fuel pricing. For marginalized Congressmen, be it Mani Shankar Aiyar or Digvijay Singh, this is then open season to keep sniping at the government in the belief that dissent is tolerable.The re-emergence of the National Advisory Council as an alternate policy group has only further undermined cabinet authority.

Which is why it is time not just for the prime minister to assert himself, but for Mrs Gandhi too. Her silence on critical issues is only giving extra ammunition to those who feel that the UPA leadership is either tired or complacent, or perhaps both. Six years ago, it was Mrs Gandhi who handpicked Dr Singh as the chosen one. Now, she needs to help revive his flagging prime ministership before its too late.

Post-script: The capital's gossip bazaar is working overtime, claiming that Dr Singh has already been sounded out for a possible move to Rashtrapati Bhavan in 2012 and a smooth transition of power to Rahul Gandhi. If only politics was as simple as cocktail party chatter!

(the writer is editor in chief, IBN 18 network. Email rajdeep.sardesai@network18online.com)

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Irony: Manmohan was ranked 7 amongst the most respected Global leaders yestderday

Sholay, the Beginning

Hindi cinema’s biggest blockbuster officially completes 35 years this 15 August, but it was actually born in 1973 in a small room. Screenplay writer Salim Khan remembers how Sholay was conceived

CREATIVE INDIAN

It took us a month to write Sholay in a small room laid with white mattresses that served as the Sippy story-writing room at their Khar office.

When Javed [Akhtar] and I wrote Ramesh Sippy’s Andaaz and Seeta Aur Geeta, we weren’t partners. We worked on it as part of the Sippy story department’s team and received a salary of Rs 750. We had to fight for credit, and when we didn’t get it for Seeta Aur Geeta, we left the Sippys. Writers had no izzat (respect) those days. I still remember how posters of Zanjeer didn’t have our names. So we hired a man with a jeep and got him to paint Salim-Javed in stencil font on all theZanjeer posters from Juhu to Opera House. The man probably was a few drinks down, so he painted Salim-Javed on Pran’s face or Amitabh’s [Bachchan] hands! 

After six months, we again got in touch with GP Sippy and [son] Ramesh, but now as the writing team of Salim-Javed. We had two narrations for them. One was the four-line idea of Sholay and the other the complete script of Majboor. GP Sippysaab wanted to make a film with a large canvas. When he heard Majboor, he said, “Filmchalegi (it will work), but there’s no sense in making this in 70 mm and with stereophonic sound.” 

We said, “If that’s what you have in mind, listen to Sholay.” Most of Sholay was inspired by Magnificent Seven and also Dirty Dozen, The Five Man Army, Once Upon A Time In The West—a lot of Westerns. Ramesh was more attracted by the fact that Majboor was a complete script with dialogues. But Sippysaab said no. AfterAndaaz and Seeta Aur Geeta, the company was doing well; he wanted to take that risk. We demanded credit and Ramesh agreed. We then sold Majboor’s script to Premji; it was our first script that sold for Rs 2 lakh and Ravi Tandon went on to direct that movie. For Sholay, we were paid Rs 1.5 lakh.

It took us a month to write Sholay in a small room laid with white mattresses that served as the Sippy story-writing room at their Khar office. The dialogues then took us about one-and-a-half months. Javed and I worked at it, while Ramesh Sippy, Satish Bhatnagar and Narendra Bedi pitched in. Once we were done, we all felt we had a blockbuster. In Hollywood, a script is called a ‘property’. In Sholay’s case, we felt we had a huge ‘property’. We now had to have a great cast. 

A good screenplay writer always visualises the movie, so we always had people in mind for the characters. For Thakur Baldev Singh’s role, I approached Dilip Kumar. I had also narrated Zanjeer to Dilipsaab in Bandra Gymkhana, but he had turned that down too. Dilipsaab felt the Sholay role had limitations. He wanted to perform comedy and emotion, and he felt this was a straitjacketed role. I met Dilipsaab about eight days ago. When we were chatting, I asked him, “Which films do you wish you had not let go of?” He replied, “Baiju Bawra, Pyaasa, Zanjeer and Sholay.” 

When we approached Sanjeev Kumar, he wanted to do Gabbar’s role. He tried to convince us by messing up his hair, staining his teeth and doing some mannerisms. But we felt he had the audience’s sympathy through roles he’d done before; Gabbar had to be completely hateful. We were in search of a newcomer for Gabbar. We had Prem Nathji in mind, but he had a reputation for being difficult. One day, when I was walking along Bandra Bandstand, I bumped into Amjad Khan. I had acted with his father Jayant in a film, so I knew Amjad, who had done the part of a black slave in K Asif’s Love and God. I told him I’d suggest his name; if he got chosen, his career would be set. Amjad did his screen test and was selected because Danny Denzongpa (the other choice) didn’t get back to the Sippys in time.

Sholay was a title I suggested right at the start, but we also toyed with Angaarey. The names of Sholay’s characters came from real life. I had two college friends in Indore, Veeru and Jai. Veerandar Singh Bias was the son of a jagirdar at Khajrana Kothi—he died just six months ago. Jai Singh Rao Kalevar died four years ago. He had worked in a company in Mumbai, then grew vegetables at a farm in Thane. They were my drinking buddies. Jai used to grumble that I never gave him royalty, but inside, he was pleased. Thakur Baldev Singh’s name came from my father-in-law [Salma’s father], who was probably Mumbai’s oldest practising dentist at 80 years. He was very happy I’d made him famous the world over with Sholay.

The strangest dialogues in Sholay became popular—it was so unfair (laughs). ‘Arre O Sambha! Kitne aadmi thhe?’ ‘Poore pachaas hazaar’… these were not really dialogues. I particularly liked the speech that Thakur gives when he finds out his family is dead. It’s also well-known today that the scene where Jai speaks about Veeru to Basanti’s mother was taken from the real-life incident where I recommended Javed to Honey Irani’s mother.  

Once the shoot started, Javed and I visited the sets to make changes; there weren’t many, though. I suppose the most challenging parts were the action sequences, wonderfully created by foreign technicians Jim (Allen) and Gerry (Crampton). Dwarka Divecha captured it all brilliantly. After he died, there was a vacuum in that department. Ramesh Sippy put together such a team. Sholay became a cult film because all of us were so excited and at the peak of our careers.

When Sholay released, for four weeks, the trade papers went on about how it was a flop. Yet, we were confident. As Salim-Javed, we took out a personal, full-page advertisement in trade papers saying Sholay would do business of Rs 1 crore per territory. Of course, we were mistaken. It did business of much more. It didn’t work at first because the first show was at 9:30 am and the last at 2 am—the timings were odd. Once that changed, it ran for five years in Minerva. 

After Sholay, we were in great demand as writers. Everyone came to us and we increased our price until we were paid more than even actresses. Salim-Javed was the first choice and they thought our success was fool-proof. Yet, Sholay can never be attempted again. I’ve seen so many spoofs, caricatures and even suffered through Ram Gopal Varma Ki Aag (laughs). Yet, I have nothing against interpretations; we ourselves took inspiration from Hollywood films.

I had a personal relationship with most of those who worked on Sholay, like Sanjeev Kumar and Amjad Khan. I still occasionally talk with Dharmendra. But I have no relationship with Amitabh Bachchan. He goes about crediting Dharmendra for having recommended him to the Sippys when even Dharmendra has denied that. The truth is that I kept a trial of Zanjeer for the Sippy family so they could see what Amitabh was made of. I introduced him to Prakash Mehra and Manmohan Desai. The ‘Angry Young Man’ was my discovery—my father was a policeman for 32 years and the character was created from material I got from that. You should give credit where it is due. I’m willing to sit down and sort it out with Amitabh, but he doesn’t even see the problem, so I have no desire to keep in touch.

I don’t live in the past glory of Sholay or Deewar. I may have played marbles or sat on a tree as a child, but if you still see me sitting on a tree, you’d say, “Salim Khan paagal ho gaye (has gone mad).” I wouldn’t change a thing of Sholay, just like you wouldn’t tamper with a winning side in cricket.

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As told to Shradha Sukumaran

Cricket

Bradman

Cricket's greatest batsman was a colossal contradiction: a young visionary and an old reactionary; and he triggered the sport's first two great cataclysms

History's most colossal batsman is, in many respects, a colossal irrelevance. Nobody ever emulated 99.94, the one average that will never be average. None ever mimicked that barmy stance - bat between his feet, back-lift pointing towards gully. He did not play in Asia or Africa or the Caribbean. He did inspire cricket's first great cataclysm, Bodyline, but only briefly. From 1928 to 1948 he was roughly twice as good as anyone who ever had, or ever would, play the game. Then he quit and everything returned to normal.

He was a colossal contradiction too. He spawned dozens of books, yet revealed almost nothing. He answered umpteen-thousand letters from complete strangers but avoided his own ma and pa's funerals. His 1948 Invincibles exuded joy and goodwill, yet he could be as quick to dispute a catch or order a bumper barrage as the next mortal. He was a money-alert player but a penny-pinching administrator - the young visionary who stood up for his economic worth becoming an old reactionary, who according Ian Chappell, "treated the board's money as though it was almost his own". Thus, by default, he helped trigger cricket's second great cataclysm: World Series Cricket.

Bradman mattered, though, because of his omnipotence and origins. He was the supreme master of any ball game - better than Pele, Nicklaus and Jordan - and he lent cricket a lustre and romance. It lives on today in the obscene sums forked out for a dead man's old green caps. The fact that he came from a small town in a colonial doormat made him all the more powerful. As Matthew Engel, an Englishman, wrote on the day Bradman died: "More than any politician, he gave Australia a unity of purpose and a sense of itself and of its own worth as a country… No sportsman has ever influenced a country's history to the same extent."

Bradman was bigger than the sport he played and the country he lived in. Irrelevant? Hardly.