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The sailing of a million refugees for the shores of France triggers an orgy of Western self-hatred, a masochistic fetish of contrition for the “sins” of the First World on the part of lazy, spoiled leftists who dominate the media. Anyone who expresses caution at the numbers or nature of the refugees is mau-mau-ed by the critics and driven into obscurity–or covertly knifed by roving bands of self-appointed executioners. Because, you see, the real enemies of the West by this point aren’t the starving cargo of the refugee armada, but the gangs of razor-wielding Arabs and other self-selected “outsiders” who await the landing of the armada as the signal for an uprising against hated “Whitey.” The ghettos in New York, the banlieues and favelas throughout the West, are pulsing with energy, waiting to see if the symbolic blow will be allowed to fall: will the refugee armada land, or will the West blow it out of the water? Will the “weak” be permitted to use their weakness as a weapon, to exploit the chinks in the poorly catechized, post-Christian consciences of Westerners–who will feel too guilty to use force in self-defense? This question will arise in a much sharper way in the next few decades in Europe, as the remaining non-Muslim populations face the threat of takeover, and must choose between sharia and civil war.
Yes, race is used too overtly as a metaphor for the values of the West in The Camp of the Saints. At times, you can’t help cringing at how concretely the author equates whiteness with Westernness. That overly material, almost biologistic racialism, if it were more than a metaphor, would be morally reprehensible. But the author is careful at various points to point in another direction: Most of his white characters are cringing, puling post-Christian slave moralizers who seem to deserve their onrushing fate; some of his most heroic, civilized figures are Indians who cherished their Western educations, who wish to help save the West. I wish the author had laid more emphasis on such figures. But hey, I’m not the visionary author who predicted, three decades ago, precisely the sort of auto-destruction that Europe (and New York City) are currently engaged in.
If you haven’t read The Camp of the Saints, go get a copy. Indeed, get five copies–enough to give your closest dhimmi friends. If they make it all the way through (it’s a brilliant, but harrowing read) they will never look at the world the same way again. It’s that kind of book–on the same order as Darkness at Noon, The Black Book of Communism, or Man’s Search for Meaning. Anyone who can read it and remain unaffected is pretty much past persuasion.
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