The Spanish writer Yolanda Morín sends her observations on the recent dismantling of the migrant shantytown near Calais.

The Calais Jungle Has Died. Long Live the Paris Jungle!

by Yolanda Morín

The French authorities have decided, finally, to dismantle the famous “jungle” of Calais: the chaotic, violent and odorous third-world embassy in the heart of Europe, the focus of crime and a festering sore on the landscape, once peaceful and prosperous. This in a country that is awakening to the terrible realities that the elites have cooked up, acting as wizards and doing experiments with people’s fate.

That clean-up operation actually consists in relocating the wildmen and mountaineers — the tenants of the camp — to various locations within the country. In other words: it is sweeping the dirt under the carpet. Bread for today and hunger for tomorrow…

The problem is not solved; it has just changed its address. Even worse: it has spread to areas that recently were relatively safe from this pest. But even the expansion of the invasion of illegal immigrants and other “refugees” is limited to certain areas far from large urban centers, in the middle of the green countryside, in the shadow of its historic bell towers.

Yet Paris itself has become the unintended camp of these new hordes of barbarians who have settled in the center of the old glamorous and romantic City of Light, a distant country of poets and artists, today on its way to becoming, by the work and grace of these unexpected and unwanted visitors, a replica of a rusty and rotten suburb of Africa or Haiti.

“After Calais, everyone to Paris!” — this seems to be the message sent to the four winds. The situation is becoming tragic in the capital, which has become a meeting place for the entire Third World.

The dismantling of the “jungle” of Calais is a failure. Hundreds of “refugees” have dispersed into nearby Calais forests, while others flock to Paris, taking possession of the city sidewalks, unfortunately for neighbors who suffer from the drawbacks of this forced promiscuity. Just over a month ago the police evacuated about 2,500 illegal immigrants who had settled in the heart of Paris. Today the situation is the same. With every passing day the number of “refugees” increases, by about 80 per day, according to the prefecture. The tents are piled up on sidewalks for approximately 700 meters. Campfires light up the night and rumors of the primeval forest rise. The night is filled with screaming, fighting, howls of wounded beasts, cries of desperate humanity…

The situation is becoming more complicated and conflict-ridden as the days pass. Garbage everywhere, excrement on the streets, shouting all the time, fights between individuals and between gangs, like old battles, with stones and iron bars. Robberies and assaults against neighboring areas multiply. Owners and sellers see their customers pass by. The neighborhood lives in fear.

Paris was a party. Now is a “jungle”. The longed-for Hemingway years are gone forever. Now is the time of fear, discord, conflict, surviving. Soon all of France will be affected by this situation, as the government does not offer any other solution than moving the problem from one place to another, without wanting to cut off evil at the root, closing the borders and expelling those outside the law, as there is the risk of ending up in the general chaos if this situation do not stop. But no one in the government seems to have the courage to carry out the measures required.

France expels almost no one. The number of deportees is negligible, while hundreds of thousands arrive each year. France is being ruined by the costs of this tsunami of migration, which threatens to suffocate the country. Each asylum seeker costs the public purse about €13,000 per year, at a minimum, in administrative expenses and maintenance, while an unaccompanied minor costs €50,000 annually. Of those famous “refugees”, the vast majority are economic migrants who are attracted like flies to the cake of the social Eldorado that France offered them. Meanwhile the government gesticulates and talks a lot but does nothing concrete to put a limit on this tide.

The blessings of the multicultural society seem increasingly far off. The endless happiness promised has not yet been submitted for appointment. Perhaps the dreamers will start to open their eyes, surrender to the harsh reality and end up voting for Marine Le Pen in a few months.

At least the French have that option, the opportunity, the possible way out of the nightmare in which they are immersed. The Spanish, as always, continue forty years late. Nevertheless, the problems of our neighbors will be ours soon. We can see our immediate future in the French present. Today is Paris, but tomorrow will be Madrid or Barcelona.