If there is a frankly unbearable term in the political vocabulary, it is “within reach of engueulade”. This expression designates the fact for a political leader to dare to go before citizens who will take advantage of it to tell him sharply what he is doing. The term belongs to the lexicon of journalists but also to that of communicators who comment on presidential or ministerial trips. And you know the funniest? All find this – being “within yelling range” – downright deserving and courageous. Because it is the sign of a politician who does not flinch in the face of adversity.
Really, it’s the height of politics: agreeing to be questioned, insulted, rotted by the first Beijing. And so the whole political class competes on the matter, because in the end, nothing like to move the country forward than a good thrashing, right? Obviously, the ulterior motive is there: the most informed or clever say to themselves that the match is sometimes winnable, and that knowing how to respond to a “battle”, especially in front of the cameras, is like a certificate of high political value. The war cross of street debate. Going to “engueulade range” by having meditated on your lines, is to give yourself a chance to emerge triumphant from what communicators call a “sequence”.
This is what ministers risk every day who, like Pap Ndiaye, had to retreat cautiously or who, like Rima Abdul-Malak, calmly succeeded during the Molières tornado kick with armbar finish. Only here, all this seems extremely embarrassing to me. Acting out the “litter of engueulade” as a new modality of political art is like reestablishing the duel on the meadow as a means of resolving neighborhood conflicts. This contributes, slyly, to the ambient brutality, to the conflictuality of social life. And the more there will be “reach of yelling” (with the media calculating in centimeters the physical distance between the political leaders and the people who come to meet them to ensure that there is indeed “reach”, and not “distance “), the more there will be shouting matches, and why not jostling, or fights, with the prospect of a good little stoning session as the pinnacle of the democratic spirit.
Obviously, to use the expression of Roselyne Bachelot, a minister must not remain crammed into his chair. But beware of too tempting arenas and their easy victories. Because behind “the shouting match” hides a perverse ambition: to make the politician come down from his supposed pedestal, accept the fight, lose his temper, and finally renounce the dignity imposed by the functions, the kind of wisdom and perspective that inspire respect and trust.
Jurisprudence “break yourself pôv con”
This is also what troublemakers and professional bordelisers are watching for. To create the fault, to cause the crack, to inject the fever, to cause the misconduct by which will engulf all the lawsuits in indignity, illegitimacy, incapacity which will carry out those even which will have meditated the release of it. Jurisprudence “break yourself pôv con”. We certainly understand the immense temptation of politicians to reestablish their truth in the face of the uninterrupted flood of canards broadcast even from within the political class. At a time when revolutionary postures outweigh the substance of the debate, when vilifying politicians with all their hair seems to be one of the keys to improving the lot of the French people, when tapping a saucepan is well worth a good discussion, it It is only too understandable that the nerves wear out and that the inclination to fight appears. But precisely, adopting the adversary’s method is never a guarantee of victory.
Trying to convince is good, but the dissymmetry of status between a political leader and a simple citizen is such that rationality will always fade behind the projected image of David against Goliath. In L’Iliad, the dreadful Thersites publicly declaims in the face of the Greek generals his jealousy and his hatred. He incites the Achaean soldiers to disobey and return home. Ulysses tries to parley with him and, failing to do so, knocks him out with a big blow from his sceptre. There are still Thersites, but the time of Ulysses is over. Let’s not try to resuscitate him and let’s just apply the wisdom of the fathers of the desert: “Flee the man who cannot speak without discussing.”