Chronicle “L’air du temps” – Mélenchon, the insurgent of choice


Jean-Luc Mélenchon remains the favorite voice of the rebels. Forty years in ministerial cabinets to become a “rebellious”: that’s Paris!

France needs emotions. It needs sensations, vapours, crushes. Warm in her slippers, she loves to believe that she has escaped the worst. When she looks back, it’s stronger than her, Marshal Pétain continues to block the view. To say that in their time almost all the socialists voted full powers for him. And to think that in Vichy François Mitterrand navigated like a fish in water through the corridors shared with the offices of Jewish affairs. It was the era that demanded it from young wolves with tapered canines in his style. Other times, other mores but even ambitious: today, Jean Moulin’s battalions jostle at the gate to stand like the Alps between Marine Le Pen and the Elysée. A real mass lift. A little much overplayed.

Read also: A hundred fears and blameless – Chronicle “L’air du temps”

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For thirty years, this smiling bachelor with cats has been involved in politics without leaving the nails. Who can believe that she deserves so many alarm bells? Strictly speaking, his program sends shivers down the spine. Putting a thousand spokes in Europe’s wheels, covering the country with nuclear power stations, dismantling wind turbines, throwing money out the window… It promises. Especially since, from one election to another, its proposals are subject to violent swerves. That said, do not panic: as expected, during the great debate with Emmanuel Macron, on the merits, it was insufficient. Fortunately for her, on form, she was more than enough. Everyone rejoiced. Except Jean-Luc Mélenchon, of course. Once again, we stole the show.

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We know him almost as well as Marine Le Pen. For fifteen years, it has been the other stooge of power. A real stage beast. Like a switch, it has only two positions: on or off. On a stage, on a set, in his office, he has to attract attention. In the speaker category, it far outperforms the competition. His erudition swirls around a whole mess of ideas, themes, regimes, characters and values. Louis XIV has his merits there, Madame de Sévigné her graces, Robespierre her virtues and Zola her truths, all embellished with good formulas and presented under the eye of ecological planning, her latest mantra.

Sexism, racism, nuclear power, GMOs, capitalism, the hunt for baby seals, the rain in summer, everything turns his blood up.

Once on stage, he wears Che’s beret, the halo of Saint Francis of Assisi (animals are another of his hobbies) and Castro’s Kalashnikov. And it passes: without having ever pointed in a company or thrown a stone, this institutional revolutionary is the recognized voice of the rebels. So he protests. Sexism, racism, nuclear power, GMOs, capitalism, the hunt for baby seals, the rain in summer, everything turns his blood. Unfortunately for him, however high the tree is, its leaves always fall to the ground. The capitalists laugh at his diatribes as their first takeover bid. And the skeptics sneer: even if it means fighting against racism, helping the Third World, preserving the planet, any multinational does a hundred times more than it does. The leader of the rebels shoots more arrows than he kills prey. No matter, he goes back to the fight. Against Marine Le Pen and Emmanuel Macron who beat him at each of their meetings.

It’s funny but the radical left (don’t use the term “extreme left”; for some mysterious and irrevocable reason, this verbal stigma is reserved for the other side) still believes in it. All the superior minds of cancel culture, of woke, of inclusivism, of indigenism, of bougisme will therefore go around the track again by June to help Jean-Luc Mélenchon. Not to mention the famous zadists who hunt peasants digging water reservoirs without their permission. After a few months playing the Jacquou le Croquant, they will end up at thirty by taking out three carrots and ten turnips from a land where a countryman fed a village all by himself. Then they will bring them to the market, holding out their fists and begging bowls. I assure you: in the meantime, nothing will have changed. Nothing ever changes. And Jean-Luc Mélenchon will continue to dream of revolution as the chairwoman dreams of marrying the bishop.



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