By Matt Underwood The recent revelation that hundreds of accounts with links to Nazis have been discovered at Credit Suisse, as stated by a US lawmaker, isn’t exactly groundbreaking news. It feels more like the unveiling of a long-kept, albeit poorly guarded, secret. The notion that Swiss banks, and Credit Suisse in particular, have a history of holding assets connected to Nazis has been a subject of discussion and investigation for decades. Commissions like the Bergier Commission in the mid-1990s and later, the Volcker Commission, delved into these very issues, attempting to shed light on Switzerland’s role as a financial haven during and after World War II.
The confirmation of Credit Suisse’s alleged failure to fully investigate these Nazi-linked accounts, as brought to light in a 2023 report, underscores a pattern of behavior that some believe has been ingrained in the Swiss banking model. Accusations that the beleaguered Swiss bank may have even impeded the hunt for these accounts further fuel the perception that these connections have been either deliberately overlooked or inadequately addressed for far too long. It’s as if the business model of catering to certain clientele, regardless of their historical associations, has proven too lucrative to dismantle.
The acquisition of Credit Suisse by UBS has brought these lingering questions and potential liabilities to the forefront. There’s a palpable concern that UBS might be looking for a bailout from the US financial system to absorb the problematic assets inherited from Credit Suisse. These assets are described as being so toxic that they’ve been kept out of public view for as long as fifty years, suggesting a deep-seated and potentially destabilizing financial burden.
Within Switzerland itself, it’s widely understood that if UBS were forced to unwind the negative positions held by Credit Suisse, the Swiss economy could face severe repercussions. The financial strain is said to be astronomical, with estimates suggesting a significant burden on each Swiss taxpayer, perhaps around $25,000 per person. This looming financial threat has led to extraordinary measures, such as the waiver of standard financial margin requirements for UBS, highlighting the precariousness of the situation.
The idea that this is fundamentally a Swiss problem and that the consequences of their financial system’s potential collapse, built on wealth derived from controversial sources, would be a sleepless night for some, perhaps even a vindication. The connection drawn between historical Nazi financial dealings and contemporary issues, such as the implication of a large German population in Argentina, raises questions about the enduring legacy of these associations.
The reaction to this news has been met with a sense of “least surprising news of all time.” The sentiment is that anyone familiar with historical financial practices, or even current trends, would not be shocked by these revelations. The question arises whether these accounts are linked to Nazis from the 1930s and 40s, or potentially to more contemporary individuals who align with such ideologies. Alongside these revelations, there’s a concurrent concern about “Russian blood money” that the “neutral Swiss” are allegedly profiting from, especially in light of their stance on international conflicts. The perception is that Swiss neutrality has become a shield for financial opportunism, and some believe this era of perceived exceptionalism needs to end.
The notion that money drives morality, or amorality, is a recurring theme. The observation that “everyone has a price” seems to be a cynical but widely held belief in financial circles. The comparison of current US Nazis to those of the past, and the acknowledgement that this has been an open secret since the 1940s, highlights a sense of historical repetition and a lack of genuine surprise from many observers.
The source of this information, coming from a Republican head of the Senate and the Judiciary Committee, also invites scrutiny. The fact that he claims limited knowledge of judicial matters, while simultaneously bringing attention to these banking issues, has led some to question if this is an attempt to distract from other scandals, particularly those potentially involving members of his own party who are perceived as having sympathy for far-right ideologies. The question of whether these accounts belong to deceased individuals from the Nazi era, or to living individuals, adds another layer to the unfolding narrative.
The idea that certain political figures, like Trump, or influential individuals like Elon Musk, might have banked at Credit Suisse, further complicates the picture. The comparison of Switzerland’s role in global finance to Singapore’s in Asia, both being described as “horrible countries” in this context, points to a deep distrust of certain financial hubs. The assertion that these accounts are unlikely to be inactive adds to the concern about ongoing financial ties.
The historical context, including the religious interpretations and teachings that were prevalent until the 1960s, is brought up as a way to understand the broader historical landscape. The comparison to current situations in the United States, suggesting that fascism requires institutional support, implies that dismantling such systems involves holding accountable not just leaders but all those who aided and abetted them.
The recurring mention of Donald Trump and his potential banking activities, along with the questioning of specific Republican representatives, indicates a suspicion that these accounts might be linked to contemporary political figures with perceived right-wing or nationalist leanings. The US government’s willingness to use the term “Nazi” is also noted, with a question raised about its application and potential hypocrisy in different contexts.
The historical fact that Swiss banks have profited from “Nazi gold” is not new, and the revelation that the US government is acknowledging this eight decades later is met with a degree of irony. The persistence of companies founded during the Nazi era, like Hugo Boss, Volkswagen, and BMW, is cited as evidence that the legacy and the associated financial structures often endure.
Personal anecdotes from Switzerland, like a gig in Gstaad where guides openly discussed the country’s post-war economic boom and its origins, provide a grounded perspective. The mention of hidden caverns used as hangers for Nazi planes, now repurposed as secure data centers, paints a vivid picture of how the past is integrated into the present. The sight of restored WW2-era German vehicles at residences further reinforces the idea of a lingering connection.
The sentiment that the same “crooked banks” are involved in similar activities, and that records mysteriously disappeared after the war, speaks to a long-held suspicion of a lack of transparency and accountability. The idea that “no one is ever neutral” challenges the traditional perception of Swiss neutrality, suggesting it was a carefully crafted facade for financial dealings with wealthy individuals and entities, including those aligned with powerful figures in the US. The reference to “The Devil’s Chessboard” points to the idea that Switzerland not only served as bankers but also facilitated escape and even assisted in weapons design prior to the war. The euphemistic naming of “neutrality” is seen as a way to mask these less savory aspects of their financial operations.