In Our Time

Crescent Moon Over Europe

Jean Raspail, the French novelist and explorer, now 90 and living in a suburb of Paris, must be experiencing the eerie feeling of living inside The Camp of the Saints, his most famous work, as he follows the contemporary news reports from across the Continent.

The tens of thousands of Third World migrants are arriving in Eastern Europe rather than on the coast of southern France, and they are coming on foot, by rubber dinghy, and by train from the Middle East, Africa, and Afghanistan, not aboard a flotilla of rusting tramp steamers out of Calcutta.  Otherwise, Raspail’s fictional scenario of more than four decades ago is being realized today as bands and swarms of migrants push north from Greece and Macedonia toward Hungary, Serbia, Croatia, and Austria, guided by mobile phones and GPS, cheered on by Western politicians, the media, the churches, and crowds of welcoming citizens (Lenin would certainly have recognized the latest generation of useful idiots when he saw them) in a state of near euphoria, as if the crisis had somehow given new meaning and purpose to the lives of these blasé postmodern Western bourgeois and restored their will to live.  As in the novel, the liberal facilitators of this migratory tide are all sympathy and no logic.  It’s no easy thing to turn a catastrophe of continental scope into soap opera, but the left is hard at the job, as the hysteria surrounding the “drowned...

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