OBITUARIES: CHARLES KRAFFT, EDDY MORRISON AND JEAN RASPAIL

It was a sad day on Saturday, as I learnt of the deaths of two great men of the arts: Charles Krafft and Jean Raspail, the former whom I knew personally. Yesterday was no better, as I found out that my friend, the politician and activist Eddy Morrison died unexpectedly from an accident at home two days ago. An obituary about his career in politics can be found over at Heritage and Destiny, but what is not mentioned is the fact that he was also a very good poet. Some of his poetry was collected in Issue II of Mjolnir Magazine. He was one of the few in the nationalist movement who truly understood the link between culture and politics and was one of the first on the Right to embrace punk rock and turn its energy against the Leftists and Jews who had artificially created the counter-cultural movement as yet another affront to tradition. Eddy was instrumental in setting up Rock Against Communism in response to Leftists like The Clash and Elvis Costello's Rock Against Fascism. Eddy was an unashamed National Socialist, and while I have never shared his politics, we had common ground as comrades in the racial struggle for White self-determination. We actually never had a crossed word - a rarity in the nationalist movement! He was also responsible for the realisation of the Mjolnir logo and helped get the print magazine off the ground.

 

 

 

Jean Raspail is famous in Rightist circles for his 1973 prophetic novel Le Camp des Saints, although he wrote over thirty books and received both the Grand Prix du roman and the Grand Prix de littérature from the Académie française, in 1981 and 2003 respectively, and this all while being an unashamed traditionalist, monarchist and Roman Catholic. Indeed, throughout his career, Raspail remained unapologetic for his staunch Rightist views, in which he rejected both the communism and liberalism that France has fallen into since its period of eternal revolution. He rejected the post-Revolutionary conception of France as necessarily antagonistic to the French people themselves, an inorganic political construct, which it is. In recent years, he was a semi-regular contributer to the Roman Catholic magazine Valeurs Actuelles, writing articles in which he berated France's colonisation by the third world and its culture of decline. 

 

 

Perhaps his greatest flaw was that he became so concerned about the culture of decline that he became a part of it. His most famous oeuvre Le Camp des Saints is a prime example. It is a novel that wallows in its own despair, that offers no hope to the fatalistic doom. Doom merchants are ten-a-penny in the nationalist movement these days and one cannot help but wonder at the influence of the likes of Jesus, Schopenhauer, Spengler and Raspail on the movement's intelligentsia. Visions of doom become self-fulfilling prophecies if they get into the marrow. We need more men with visions of future glory and splendour. All too often, Raspail looked to the past through rose-tinted glasses (the novel Sire is a prime example) instead of learning lessons from both the good and bad to provide answers for the future. His rejection of modernity as a force for destroying indigenous cultures (he studies many both in and outside Europe) was misplaced. Modernity is not the problem but those steering its direction. That said, at least he had the courage to address questions of race and ethnicity in a France that has long-since forgotten that it owes its name to a tribe of White Europeans....

 

 

 

Charles Krafft was an altogether different kind of artist. I had the pleasure of calling him a friend and welcoming the (in)famous ceramicist to the London Forum back in 2015, after his exhibition at the Stolen Space gallery in London had been cancelled due to the Left's threats of violence against the gallery. Charles was the star of the conference with his warm humour and wit to go along with his artistic talent. His humour certainly shows in his art, whether it be in his Disasterware, Spone or his representations of some of history's most notorious characters. Charles was a rarity in this day and age: a mainstream artist with the courage and integrity to stand up for truth, and it was this which got him into trouble. He refused point blank to believe in the Holocaust™ myth of industrialised genocide and realised that the reverse was true: that White Europeans were being persecuted and are facing genocide. This can be seen all too clearly now with the current state of Black, Brown and Jewish mischief even in our European homelands. This was exposed in 2013 by The Stranger and The New Yorker, before the story snowballed even as far as The Guardian in the UK. It got him thrown out of galleries, kicked off the university lecture circuit and put on the hate list of the ADL and SPLC, which shows just who has power and who is oppressed.

With these greats now gone, a vacuum must be filled. It is up to the next generation to step up and show the same courage. I'll leave the last words to Eddy Morrison:

I see it will not last
I see a new sun weakly seeping
At first, thin rays, through a thick fog
I see the Sun’s Son
Strong and young as a new folded mountain
Rise up like a Titan
From a shaken Earth
I see a wild, loose wind sweep
The stinking, clinging mist from the land
And, from this deep sleep of night—
I dream the Iron Dream.