Every time I land at JFK, I fill out an immigration form which asks, rather disarmingly, whether I am an terrorist, carry drugs, or whether I was “involved in any way in persecutions associated with Nazi Germany or its allies.” I’ve always wondered whether anybody has ever ticked the ‘yes’ box on the form and explained that, well, now, since you ask so politely, I am actually the former commander of Majdanek.
And what, I also wonder when I fill out those forms, if I were a retired commander of a Soviet labor camp, on a visit to New York to draw on my account at one of those discreet establishments on Park Avenue? Judging by the number of times one hears Russian spoken while shopping at Brooks Brothers these days, the likelihood must be that several former Communists with much to forget have been among former Soviet citizens admitted into the United States in the last few years. But if I were a Soviet butcher, I would not even need to lie.
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