The French people deserved a choice in their country’s direction. And now they deserve the consequences. Some optimists will mention the doubling of Front National support from 17% in the 2002 election, when Jacques Chirac spackled the Le Pen patriarch by 65 points. I take little solace from such languid party growth trends. As little I imagine as a stage 4 cancer sufferer whose beaming oncologist advises a cure is just years away. The question isn’t will Western Europeans ever comprehend what is being done to them, it’s whether their situation will be salvageable when they do. The worst place to have an epiphany is at your own funeral.
Undoubtedly the French Haitians and Algerian Pieds-Noirs also came to see the benefits of right-wing reactionary politics. Whether that was before or as blades were being drawn across their throats no one can say with certainty. But what we can say is that at this rate of progress nationalists should be fairly competitive by the time the French are again being offered the suitcase or the coffin. This time from their own country.
All of which reminds me of reflections from a few years ago while touring the Louvre. I was struck at the time by the realization that none of its priceless antiquities have a future in their present home. The thought that a sullen Afro-Arab majority population would agree to pay for the upkeep of racist Euro-centric art seemed so implausible as to be ridiculous on its face. And so while strolling that facility’s endless corridors, I wondered if some of its more contemplative stewards had begun to fashion a South Africa Plan for its most sacred artifacts.
As most of you know, white South African officials sagely dismantled their nuclear weapons program before relinquishing the government keys to the Bantus. I presume the French will one day feel obliged to do the same once their demographic seed has come into its horrible bloom. And as its nukes are put to hammers and France takes her place in the Maghreb, I wonder if museum curators will execute a semi-clandestine effort to preserve the past as voters would not preserve the future.
I envision a convoy of armored cars en route to Budapest as laborers toil around the clock to make the Louvre’s public showcases more pleasing to Allah and the equatorial palate. Eventually the works of Rembrandt, Da Vinci, Van Eyck, and Titian will either will find sanctuary in the custody of their children or become the fuel of indifferent banlieue bonfires. Your history is none of their concern.
But until Macron’s wife reaches old age, Western antiquities should be safe to tell their stories of a once proud civilization. Or at least a civilization that was proud of more than just its merchant profits and self-abnegation. As I have mentioned before, brown people aren’t the only ones born with feet. And one day many of them in France will be trailing the Mona Lisa east.