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Novel ‘The Camp Of The Saints’ Comes Alive?

01 May 2014 @ 22:53


From the AP, via Yahoo, Harold Heckle and Fernando Garcia reporting, we learn:

Around 700 African migrants charged Spain’s barbed-wire border fences Thursday in the country’s North African enclave of Melilla, clashing with Spanish and Moroccan border police.

Spain said 140 of the migrants managed to enter Spanish territory despite the efforts of the border police.

It was the latest surge in the tide of African immigrants trying to cross into Europe. Spain’s two North African enclaves of Melilla and Ceuta are particularly vulnerable and have had repeated attacks by hundreds of immigrants this spring.

The migrants on Thursday rushed the fences in two waves, with 500 arriving in the early hours and a further 200 four hours later.

By afternoon, more than 150 people remained perched on an outside border fence, fending off police by setting fire to clothing and throwing it at them, Spanish officials said. Some even swung batons wrenched away from officers.

The new arrivals to Spain made their way, some hobbling, to the region’s temporary immigrant center, which now contains more than 1,900 immigrants, the statement said, adding this meant the facility was above its capacity.

The European Union’s southern countries — France, Cyprus, Greece, Italy, Malta, Portugal and Spain — are unhappy about bearing the costs of border enforcement.


“See? We’re outlaws all of a sudden! It doesn’t take much!”

“Well, Colonel old boy,” the undersecretary interrupted. “I think our job is cut out for us now. That’s something, at least. Why stand on ceremony? Let’s see how you’re going to get out of this one! Look, it’s so thick with bodies, you can’t see any water between the boats and the beach.”

TCOTS-Book-Cover-FR-002xTrue. But for that matter you couldn’t see the boats now, either. Their sides were alive, like an anthill slashed open. Using whatever they could lay their hands on—cords, cables, hawsers, worm-eaten rope ladders, loading nets lowered along the hulls—the horde was slipping down into the water. Endless cascade of human flesh. Every one of the boats, teeming, gushing with bodies, like a tub brimming over. Yes, the Third World had started to overflow its banks, and the West was its sewer. Perched on the shoulders of strapping young boys, first to land were the monsters, the grotesque little beggars from the streets of Calcutta. As they groveled through the wet sand like a pack of basset hounds, or a herd of clumsy seals exploring an unfamiliar shore, with their snorts and grunts of joy, they looked like an army of little green men from some remote planet. Behind them the bulk of the mob marked time: up on the bridge stood the dwarf, cap on head, staring blankly at the beach, as if waiting for a message from his hideous cohorts, some kind of report telepathically transmitted. And the monsters snuffled and sniffed at the sand, mouthed it by the handful, struck it with their fists to make sure it was real, and, convinced that it was, sprang somersaults over their horrid, twisted limbs. Yes, the country would suit them fine. No question … They jumped up all at once. Clearly that was the sign. A great hue and cry rose over the fleet. The human cascade began pouring again down the sides of the ships, swelling into huge wave upon wave of flesh, bodies upon bodies, pushing, shoving toward the shore, rolling in to the monsters and moving them along.

The Camp Of The Saints, by Jean Raspail, Chapter Forty-Three

But, to go back to the action in Camp of the Saints – if it is a symbol, it doesn’t arise from any utopia; it no longer arises from any utopia. If it is a prophecy, we live its beginnings today.

Simply, in Camp of the Saints, it is treated as a classic tragedy, according to the literary principles of unity of time, place and action everything takes place within three days along the shores of Southern France, and it is there that the destiny of white people is sealed. Though the action was then already well developed along the lines described in Camp of the Saints (boat people, the radicalization of the North African community and of other foreign groups in France, the strong psychological impact of human rights organizations, the inflamed evangelism of the religious leadership, a hypocritical purity of consciences, refusal to look the truth in the face, etc.) in actuality the unraveling will not take place in three days but, almost certainly, after many convulsions, during the first decades of the third millennium, barely the time of one or two generations.

When one knows what constitutes a generation in our old European lands – a rump-generation in the image of a rump-family and a rump-nation – the heart constricts in anticipation, and is overwhelmed by discouragement. It’s enough to go back to the scary demographic predictions for the next thirty years, and those I will cite are the most favorable ones encircled by seven billion people, only seven hundred million of them white, hardly a third of them in our little Europe, and those no longer in bloom but quite old. They face a vanguard of four hundred million North Africans and Muslims, fifty percent of them less than twenty years old, those on the opposite shores of the Mediterranean arriving ahead of the rest of the world! Can one imagine for a second, in the name of whatever ostrich-like blindness, that such a disequilibrium can endure?

At this juncture, the moment has arrived to explain why, in Camp of the Saints, it is human masses coming from the far-away Ganges rather than the shores of the Mediterranean that overwhelm the South of France.

There are several reasons for this.

One pertains to prudence on my part, and especially to my refusal to enter the false debate about racism and anti-racism in French daily life, as well as my revulsion at describing the racial tensions already discernible (but for the moment not fit for discussion) for fear of exacerbating them. To be sure, a mighty vanguard is already here, and expresses its intention to stay even as it refuses to assimilate; in twenty years they will make up thirty percent, strongly motivated foreigners, in the bosom of a people that once was French.

TCOTS-Book-Cover-001xIt’s a sign, but it is only one sign. One could stop there. One could even engage in some skirmishes, all the while ignoring, or pretending to ignore that the real danger is not only here, that it is elsewhere, that it is yet to come, and that by its very size it will be of a different order. For I am convinced that at the global level things will unleash as at a billiard game, where the balls start moving one after the other following an initial shove, which can start up in this or that immense reservoir of misery and multitudes, such as the one over there, alongside the Ganges.

It will probably not happen as I have described it, for the Camp of the Saints is only a parable, but in the end the result will not be any different, though perhaps in a form more diffused and therefore seemingly more tolerable. The Roman empire did not die any differently, though, it’s true, more slowly, whereas this time we can expect a more sudden conflagration. It is said that history does not repeat itself. That’s very foolish. The history of our planet is made up of successive voids and of the ruins that others have strewn about as they each had their turn, and that some have at times regenerated.

For the West is empty, even if it has not yet become really aware of it. An extraordinarily inventive civilization, surely the only one capable of meeting the challenges of the third millennium, the West has no soul left. At every level – nations, races, cultures, as well as individuals – it is always the soul that wins the decisive battles. It is only the soul that forms the weave of gold and brass from which the shields that save the strong are fashioned. I can hardly discern any soul in us….

—Jean Raspail, Introduction to the 1985 Edition

  1. 01 May 2014 @ 23:23 23:23

    Reblogged this on That Mr. G Guy's Blog.

  2. 02 May 2014 @ 09:03 09:03

    Well lads, it’s been a nice run. The thing now is to go out with style.

    • 02 May 2014 @ 22:52 22:52

      That’s what the Colonel and Undersecretary do, along with a few others. I recommend the book highly.

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