come addicted to a fatal drug that destroys all inhibitions. Embracingrnanarchy and savagery, they are joined by representativesrnof every class. As the mobs sweep through the land, evenrncivilized people seize the opportunity of taking revenge againstrntheir neighbors for slights and injuries suffered years before.rnCivilization is in ruins, the land depopulated, when sevenrnhorsemen set off on a journey to locate the heiress to thernthrone. Coming across a group of punks, the youngest of thernseven (a teenage military cadet) kills every one of them, provokingrnthe wrath of his senior officer. The young man, refusingrnto apologize, points out that he understands his own generationrnbetter than his seniors, who were reared in an honorable world.rnBy the end of Raspail’s novel, we realize that it is (like his earlierrnCamp of the Saints) a daydream about everyday reality inrnthe modern world. Civilization is in collapse, and a largernnumber of the people we live with are feral beasts—animalsrnthat have been bred to a social life they have been denied, deficientrnin all the ritualized controls that check the violence ofrnwolves and primitive men. The social order was destroyed byrnthe same class of men and women—educationists, therapists,rnjudges—who adamantly refuse to protect the public from thernpredators they have inflicted upon us.rnIn reacting to the collapse of civilized life, many of us willrnsink to the level of the predators themselves—like Raspail’s civilizedrnmen who made the general anarchy an occasion for settlingrnscores. So-called “road rage” incidents may be early indicationsrnof the Mad Max society our children will live in. ThernInternet offers a good cross sechon. You can find informafionrnon child-molesters, but you may also run into a revenge webrnpage giving instructions on how to destroy a CD-ROM (smearrnVaseline with ground glass on a CD), or ruin the life of a conservativern(sign him up with NAMBLA). There is even arn”Bitches Marquee” where unhappy men post lewd pictures ofrntheir ex-wives. In descending to the dregs, we add to the generalrnslime that makes modern life disgusting. But all over thernUnited States, responsible citizens are taking a more disciplinedrncourse of action. Confronted by child-molesters, drugrndealers, and neighborhood tyrants, Americans are striking back.rnThey are videotaping the dealers and organizing neighborhoodrnpatrols. They are posting information on the Internet: thernGuardian Angels have taken off into cyberspace. Above all,rnthey are taking direct action against the killers and rapists whornprey upon the innocent.rnIn San Diego, not too long ago, a retired naval officer emptiedrntwo clips of ammunition into a punk who had been terrorizingrnthe neighborhood and had threatened to kill the officer’srnfamily. In Northern California, a single mother went to therncourtroom where the pervert who had molested her son wasrnabout to undergo another mock trial. Seeing his confidentrnsmirk, she made up her mind to carry out her plan of gettingrnjustice—not vengeance, mind you, but justice—and shot thernyouth counselor. She was taking the law back into her ownrnhands, picking up the sword of justice which the state had castrnaside. As EUie Nessler said in her statement: “I played Cod . . .rnbut I don’t think I’ll lose any sleep over it.”rnThe Man in Camouflagernby Collie H. OwensrnThe Varsity is where he wheeled his chair to parkrnIn downtown Atlanta across from Georgia Tech.rnHis camo pants were pinned where his legs should be;rnA black guy, not exactly sad, I’d say.rnBut meditative, recollecting shadows.rnYet thanked for cash out-handed from car windowsrnAnd sometimes managed an ironical smilernThat meant he knew a secret but wouldn’t tell.rnWhen I’d take him hot dogs, fries, and onion rings,rnHe’d quip about his wounds, “Ain’t no thang.”rnHe vanished, Flossie the carhop didn’t knowrnWhere, camouflaged so well that no one saw.rnHis disappearance was no doubt evasive,rnLike VC, ghosts that came and went, elusive.rn12/CHRONICLESrnrnrn