Since a couple of days ago, there is a new parliament. Note that I don’t say “we have,” but that the form I use is impersonal, remote and alien. These 614 deputies that have ensured their seats in the National Assembly will have, during the next five years, the boring task of assenting, unanimously, to each proposed law. The exercise of raising the hand, signaling conformity, will take a good part of the time in the sessions. Meanwhile, the choke hold imposed by the “Constitutional Modification” of 2002, will remind them that “socialism is irrevocable.”
To see them so disciplined, so correct, and strangely quiet in their chairs, leaves me with the rare impression of a “parliament” that does not “parley.” Rather it seems like a group of spectators, incredibly uniform. I don’t remember a single discussion, a single argument born from the monotonous meetings in the Convention Palace. Nobody with the veins swollen, not one MP saying, “No, I can’t accept it.” Nor has a session been postponed due to the impossibility of getting to agreement. It seems suspicious that, in a country where it is difficult to dialog and come to an agreement, there could be more than 500 people in consensus.
You already know that I am obsessed with words and their meanings (the mania of a philologist), so I propose not to continue to call this a “parliament.” Let’s call it what it really is: an inflated group of “listeners,” a select, respectful and obedient “auditorium.”