Raspail almost had it right. The demanding mod isn’t at the borders, it’s within, and it’s needy and white too. Nonetheless readers are still a bit befuddled.
«But the weak and deaf middle class man and the blind man remain unwitting buffoons. Still, miraculously, in the comfort of the rich meadows of the West, he shouts while digging his own grave: "Make the rich pay!"Says Phyllis Chesler of Raspail’s nightmare scenario: that there are so many calls for “social justice” that not only can the successful no longer help, but will die trying – not knowing that the whole thing was little more than vengeance on them for their presence:
He might finally realize that he IS that rich person, and that this cry for justice, this cry of revolution, howled by a billion voices, is against him and him alone that it’s aimed at.»
« Raspail first published this haunting and apocalyptic novel, Le Camp Des Saints (The Camp of the Saints) in France. In 1975, it was published in America, where it was compared to Camus's The Plague and to Swift's Gulliver’s Travels. The book imagines a flotilla of millions of immigrants traveling from the Ganges to France. The similarities between the fictional France of the novel and the France of today are easy to spot.Naturally, anyone today who doesn’t care for his work will call him a puppy-in-the-blender imperialist running-dog racist blah-blah-blah... This is quite indicative of their deficit of acceptance for ideas that challenge them or real concepts of Justice which doesn’t make these Pavlovian dogs drool on about “social” justice.
Consider the plot. An all-powerful, multi-culturalist intelligentsia, having taught France that it must atone for its racist crimes, swiftly joins compassionate French Christians in ecstatically welcoming the mass invasion that brutally destroys France. The solicitude of white Frenchmen—the priests, intellectuals, student activists, and prostitutes who wish to embrace and assist the implacably angry new arrivals—is repaid by death. And terror: The immigrants loot everything in sight. They murder for new apartments. France is run into the ground. Raw and relentless, the novel is as brilliant as Orwell’s 1984.»