⏱ Temps de lecture : 18 minutes
Once upon a time, on the coast of a continent where the harmattan loved to quake palm trees and dry orange orchards, a country flourishing in speeches and hungry in markets.
It was called the « Great Eternal Republic of N ».
There were red hills like embers, rivers that became nets in the dry season, cities that shone with billboards brighter than their hospitals, and, perched in the middle of the landscape, a palace that shone stronger than anything else, so that the birds had to turn their heads away so as not to burn the retina.
In this palace lived « His Majesty of Unanimity », Guide, Father, Brother, Great-Uncle of the Nation, and « Heir of Destiny » according to the Official Journal.
Before fate made his pockets and filled them with power, he was only one unimportant quidam, a man of corridors and cutlery, charged with opening the doors and closing the meetings while others spoke.
One day, with a political storm, thunder fell on the capital, and when the dust dissipated, the man without relief had become a mountain relief.
It had been raised over the country, and up there, where air is scarce and applause louder, he discovered that height gives both vertigo and appetite.
From the palace that illuminates the darkness
The palace was vast, a continent in the country. They walked from marble to velvet, from velvet to gilding, from gilding to curtains drawn from the world.
The carpets wore the motifs of a happy people, woven by hands who had never seen the color of the pay on the promised date.
Under the painted ceilings, the Guide slept a long time, not out of laziness, but to better dream about the future of the people.
Thus, when he woke up at noon dawn, the future was already two hours late, but one that cared, since state television claimed that the future in that country began precisely when the Guide opened his eyes.
As early as noon dawn, the court was masquerading in procession: Minister of Truth and Reconciliation, Grand Chancellor of Extended Applause, Head of Contractive Dance (responsible for recruiting crowds that tremble as needed), and the Prior of Unanimist Louanges.
All had red hands and deep pockets. They fought hard to prove to His Majesty that the people worshipped more than the sun, rain and rice gathered together.
One used to say poems where one saw crops bowing to the presidential smile.
Another presented graphs where poverty fell when the cameras lit up.
A third wave of expert reports proved that popular enthusiasm was measured at the decibel.
« His Majesty of Unanimity », a simple man in his complex palace, smiled modestly, this modesty that we learn quickly when we have golden ceilings above the head. « I am only the servant of the people », he said with humility, as he was brought with him his breakfast as head of state: imported fruits, rare coffee, relocated farm eggs and honey which had travelled more miles than the nurse of the nearest clinic.
White witches and modern talismans
Among the court was a discreet club: « White Wizards ». They were alchemists of modernity, draped in grey costumes and learned words. They transformed absurd projects into Public-Private Partnerships with acronyms so learned that no one dared to ask: « Who pays? »
They validated the purchase of a presidential aircraft and recommended the construction of international stadiums where schools still held their classes under a flamboyant.
They whispered: « It's good for the image ». But the image in the Great Republic was worth much more than drinking water, because the image reassures the donors and the thirst does not give rise to an audience.
The Sorcerers had the idea of a giant statue of « His Majesty of Unanimity », high as ambition and digs like the treasury caisse a 30 of the month. The statue was to show the hand stretched out towards the horizon, an imperial finger pointing at the future, while the real hand, in the backstage, palpated the present.
The site was opened with bands; At night, at the time when the people slept, there was no light and no meat.
The Festival of Unanimity, also called « elections »
In the country, every five years (or when it was necessary to redo the facade), we organized « The Day of Unanimity ». It was called an election, but it was a question of vocabulary: we will not upset a tradition well regulated by an exact word.
The protocol was immutable.
First, credible opponents were neutralized: some found themselves in air-conditioned jails, others discovered exile, and others, by miracle, became silent like graves.
Then, they recruited fake opponents: distant cousins, youth neighbours, burhaha entrepreneurs, all disguised as national conscience with beautiful moustaches of dissent.
When the day came, state television installed its cameras in the right places, where the « Contract crowds » had been parked since dawn with promises of rice and t-shirts.
The pudic ballots slipped into docile ballot boxes; The counting, also modest, was done in the joy of the prefects.
The same evening, the country discovered that 103 % voters had opted for stability, which carried the same mustache as « His Majesty of Unanimity ».
The crowd applauded on the screens; The people looked at his dusty feet and wondered how to count beyond the empty belly.
The elastic Constitution and grateful judges
One day, a farce spirit (called « Article of the Constitution ») recalled that the number of mandates was limited.
What a joke! Legal counsel laughed at a professional laugh.
The « Council of Constitutionalities », composed of members lovingly appointed by the Guide himself.
They examined the Constitution as a rubber stretch: it became elastic, flexible, opportunely interpretable.
We rediscovered subtleties:
- the first mandate did not count because it was before the revision;
- the second was actually the first (version 2.0);
- the third was not a mandate but an extended service to the grateful people.
By a mystery of hermeneutics, the sentence « No one can... » became « Anything is possible if... ».
The judges, grateful to live in villas where the water arrives by the pool, rendered a verdict that relieved the palace: the time of the Guide looked like the horizon: it was moving away when we walked.
Television, mirror without alouettes
State television became the regime's favourite musical instrument.
Every evening, the country attended the inauguration of the same bridge from different angles, the same tunnel, the same « Industrial Zone of Prosperity » which, by day, offered above all tall herbs and brand new signs.
The presenters, smoothed like the announcements, proclaimed the fall of unemployment while the markets went up the price of the millet; They sang hospital modernization while women gave birth in the light of a telephone. The weather predicted good weather on growth; dust answered in the lungs.
The Ghost People Who Fill the Statistics
The people, in this story, advanced as a shadow. He stood up for subsidized sugar that did not arrive, three hours for an electricity bill that felt the breakdown, two days for a passport that, once obtained, was often used to say goodbye.
Young people, with a great deal of enthusiasm and illusions, learned to dream in geography: the future was elsewhere, on the other side of the greedy sea.
The sea, an old witch, swallowed hopes like flies; Without thinking about it.
Those who remained in the country lived with dispatches: a taxi without brakes, a stall without customers, a jobless diploma.
But in the evening, when television lit prosperity, they were silent out of fatigue or caution, because the air also had ears.
Major projects that take the dust
« His Majesty of Unanimity », liked big projects. The bigger it was, the less it worked, the more beautiful the inauguration ceremony was.
An airport was built that saw only delegations passing; an express train which was especially slow; A highway that led to ministerial subdivisions; international stadiums that rain occupied more often than athletes.
The first stones were laid like others, asking questions, without ever having the intention of returning to seek the answer.
« Major projects are proof that the country is emerging », assured the Minister of Truth. « Where does he get up? » asked the people. « In the photos », answered the TV.
Diplomacy of red carpets
« His Majesty of Unanimity » traveled a lot: you have to carry the voice of the country when you have a brand new plane.
Foreign hotels welcomed him with parquet floors so bright that his face was multiplied: a plebiscite of varnish. He held prestigious hands, gave speeches smiling like a tourist on a postcard, signed statements promising promises.
The delegation that accompanied him was an arch of political Noah: ministers, cousins, family friends, columnists, singers of personality worship, all travelled under the banner of protocol necessity.
On return, the national airport was filled with a « contract crowd » : signs printed the day before, improvised but repetitive songs, tears controlled.
Television showed through the image that the love of the people is not tired; provided that it is well organized.
Internet, this high evil
When the storm came, corruption scandal, protest, angry students, « His Majesty of Unanimity », lay hands on the internet switch.
A single click, the night fell on the conversations; the videos were frozen in the middle of a cry; The rumor became a dull noise. « For safety »It was said.
And in fact, the security of the palace was better: without images, there is no more indignation; without indignation, there is no more spontaneous crowd; Without crowds, there are only official processes, which never break a window and never demand anything other than a better per diem.
Genealogy of Loyalty
The court, we know, thrives with the throne.
Ministers were hereditary faithful. The First Lady's brother presided over the Authority of Authorities; the son-in-law managed the Digital Future; Sister-in-law, Eternally Reformed Education; The nephew, the Bank of Possibilities.
Competence was a detail, fidelity, a principle. In order to serve the country, posts such as stamps were combined, wallets and shirts were changed, decrees were signed, as were autographs: to the chain.
We even created a ministry for « Optimization of Reality » understand: the rewriting of facts, and a« Office of the Commissioner of Applause Supported », responsible for harmonizing the rhythm of clamours in speeches.
In this country, applause was a civic duty; Refusing to applaud became too political an opinion to be tolerated.
The tale of the bottomless trunk
The state caisse, was a magic safe.
They laid down taxes, taxes, and all these little things under which the people contribute by whispering: « Maybe one day». And then the trunk disappeared, at night, rolled by contract trucks, siphoned by public procurement pipes, transported to distant paradises where money sleeps without noise.
In the morning, the Minister of Finance said that the chest, in reality, had never been filled, that all this was just an optical illusion: budgetary opulence is not budgetary opulence. So we borrowed, because the future also knows how to receive bills.
One day in the life of a kingdom
Listen to how an ordinary day goes.
At eight o'clock in the evening, newspaper opening time, « His Majesty of Unanimity » inaugurates the School of the Future — a repainted room — while outside, the teachers are waiting for the salary before yesterday.
He received, in the show, patriotic entrepreneurs who sweared that their offers were the best even before being written.
It signed a decree to reduce poverty by reducing the number of poor in statistics.
It announces a plan to generalize electricity as soon as electricity returns.
He affectionately rumbles young people for their impatience, advises them entrepreneurship without clients, promises them incubators where ideas are born until they cool.
And then he fell asleep, defeated by the effort of the imposed happiness, while the air conditioners rustle like answered prayers.
Seasons pass, calendar gets tired
Years are piled up, docile. We celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the first second mandate, we inaugurate the Fresque de la Continuité, we build a museum of stability.
Children learn at school that democracy is a rare animal seen on posters, and that losing an election is a foreign custom.
The cult of the personality is refined, gaining in grace and budget: busts, t-shirts, prayers of assembly.
« His Majesty of Unanimity » greenhouses babies who become adults without finding employment; it promises roads that turn into tracks when it rains; It cuts ribbons faster than the country cuts its deficits.
When reality enters through the window
But reality, in the tales even the best locked, has the art of open windows.
One morning, an exhausted nurse dares to speak in front of an unwelcome camera; One night, students stumble the indifference of the city; One afternoon, a judge, tired of kneeling, remains unwise.
They're just shrapnel, accidents of courage, and the machine quickly starts spinning again.
Nevertheless, the rumor of a fatigue goes through the halls of the palace: the people, whose weight had been forgotten, suddenly weighs with all its silence.
The old age of power
Power, like mango, ends up riding. Hair whitens; of « His Majesty of Unanimity », invisible under the dye, those of the country, visible under the dust. The ears hear less, the court speaks louder, but she always talks about the same thing:
- Your Excellency, you are eternal;
- Excellence, history will never forget;
- Your Excellency, youth begs you to stay. »
We order a second plane, because the old modernity is old in the hangars.
One imagines a new administrative capital, because the old one keeps its traffic jams.
We are working on a new Constitution, because the previous one, too served, feels warmed up. Everything moves so nothing changes.
The morals of devices
The story could end here, on a bitter pirouette. But stories, it is said, are made to teach without pointing a finger.
So let's keep this in mind: « Great Eternal Republic of N », power was not exercised, it was settling. He did not serve the people; He used it.
« His Majesty of Unanimity » took the state for an inheritance, the Constitution for a garment, democracy for a decor, elections for an esoteric rite, television for a mirror, opposition for a backup troop, and the people for a strategic reserve of patience.
Some will say that this is just a tale, that reality is more subtle, that all this does not happen anywhere.
Others will raise an eyebrow: Sometimes nowhere has accent from somewhere.
It is true that in imaginary countries close to ours, we have seen leaders sternize, revise the rules for the same player, win with theological arithmetic scores, and confuse public caisse and private piggy bank.
Opponents who faint like salt in the soup have been seen, crowds mobilized at the daily wage, grateful judges, constitutional councils that constitutionalize the will of only one.
Statues have been seen growing like crazy grasses and schools collapsing like sand castles. We saw the sea count the children gone, and the earth count the promises returned.
Epilogue: the cracked mirror
One night, late, « His Majesty of Unanimity » remained alone in the mirror room. The chandeliers were singing low. He lifted his eyes and crossed his reflection: a hundred times he, a thousand times he, eternal as far as he could see. « Am I loved? » He asked for silence. Silence, polite, did not answer.
It is said that a crack, eaten by time, ran along a mirror. It is said that it looked like a line of truth, thin, almost invisible, but obstinate. The next day, the mirror was replaced. It shone more. The crack, on the other hand, had left in the shadow, or in the street.
The street does not write decrees, does not preside over councils, does not inaugurate statues. The street reports what she sees: rising prices, dragging wages, limp promises, sons going away, mothers counting.
She knows that « power drives mad, and absolute power drives absolutely mad ».
She also knows that madness is expensive and that the people are always the one who pays the bill, service not included.
Thus the tale of the « Great Eternal Republic of N ».
It's just a fable, of course! Any resemblance would be accidental, due to the whims of imagination or the habits of history.
However, if adventure you hear, in a country not so far away, about elections that we don't organize to lose, constitutions that fold like towels, judges who thank before judging, statues that raise their finger while schools drop their heads, remember this story.
Tales, sometimes, do not lie; They disguise the truth to make it more polite, or more biting.
And if, by mistake, you ever meet « His Majesty of Unanimity »Tell him with a smile that we do not rule a people with mirrors, nor a future with inaugurations.
Tell him that a country is not measured at the height of a statue, but at the height of a classroom; not at the length of a procession, but at the length of a queue at the hospital; Not to the number of presidential aircraft, but to the number of free medical examinations; not to the score of an election, but to the score of daily dignity.For in all countries, imaginary or not, always comes a day when one ends up understanding that stability is not immobile, that continuity is not confiscation, and that power, when it forgets that it is only a loan from the people, ends up being recalled with interest.
