I

   Second year of Macron's reign. As we had predicted in the previous book, France is under the sign of chaos and desolation. For the twentieth consecutive Saturday, the streets of Paris and the nation's main cities are the scene of a violent and uncompromising confrontation between a people and a police force that has placed itself unconditionally at the command of an elite; which, through an undemocratic and corrupting procedure of a political system, already defective in itself, has illegitimately taken over all the organs of power and is not willing to give one bit in the face of the massive protests of an entire social body, whose standard of living has been dangerously degraded by the different previous governments, in which it already dominated, although not with the arrogance, with the arrogance, with the absolute and seamless contempt that now, completely uninhibited of everything humanitarian sentiment, manifested in relation to those who have no choice but to live from salaried work.

   The trust of a people in their institutions has been irretrievably broken and, in the best of cases, it will take decades, perhaps generations, to be recomposed. The reality that, just a few months ago, the masses did not see, or did not want to see, currently appears with contours so clear and so dazzling that they hurt the eye of the beholder and only with an excessive, excessive dose of hypocrisy and shamelessness, the media, also under the rule of said elite that finances and owns them, believe they can alleviate the effects of such percussive, powerful, revelation; But with this they only manage to lengthen and deepen the gap that separates the bulk of the popular masses from the official sources of information, from every type of discourse that emanates from the established power, except that which is propagated, more or less freely, by the new instruments of communication, through the Internet and the latest technology. For this reason, many journalists are violently expelled from demonstrations.

   Every Saturday, the heart of the great French metropolises, including Paris, is enveloped in the veil of tear gas, smoke from burning cars and buildings; They resonate with the explosion of scattering grenades, LBD shots, proclamations, slogans, insults, challenges, provocations; It is adorned with the varied colors of the most diverse and opposing flags, of the scribbled banners and of the rapeseed yellow that, once, those same elites had the misfortune to impose, according to the cunning patent of marque consisting of making an exhaustive catalog of good intentions, in order to exploit them industrially and make a lucrative and exclusive business with them. Nowadays, everyone has one of those yellow vests, out of obligation, “per opus”, out of necessity. And they paint the cities with an acidic spring, lemon color or rapeseed yellow.

   The riot police have been ordered to aim at the faces of the protesters, with the obvious objective of sowing terror, of ending the protests using the weapon of fear and horror. There are already twenty one-eyed people, due to those rubber bullets, several feet and hands torn off, due to the explosion of the tear gas grenades. And the police commanders will carry before history the immeasurable responsibility of having followed such orders coming from a small ruling minority that, to save their privileges, does not hesitate to disgrace the Nation before the world, to mutilate, to beat, to humiliate the very citizens they have the obligation to protect and govern. Countless graphic testimonies show police officers pointing, without any need, upwards, towards the faces of those who are there, on the street that belongs to everyone, to defend the bread and future of their children.

   Behind the riot police the hordes of the BAC are concentrated, ready for the surprise raid, for the dazzling onslaught that strikes with batons, with hands, that pushes and knocks down with their bodies armored by all types of protection, that chooses a victim, be it male, female or adolescent, to throw her to the ground in any way, with a pull, with a trip, by the hair if it is a woman and offers better prey there, and immediately afterwards They drag her along the ground, they cover her, they hide her from the eyes and objectives of curious people, they hit her head against the ground, they hold her with their knee, with all the weight of their bodies, in plural. Finally, they surround the groups of protesters, surround them and throw tear gas grenades in their midst.

   But today, a dictatorship cannot last long, even if it is dressed in the solemn garb of a pseudo-democracy, of a crude substitute for democracy, even if it is equipped with a formidable and all-powerful propaganda apparatus, because there is the Internet and mobile phones that film and broadcast, on the spot, the scenes they capture to the city and the world.

   The oligarchy, which had believed in the end of history, which is why it progressively let a part of the mask fall, the occasional pious veil that hid its moral ugliness, now sees itself threatened in its heart, in its marrow, in the entire temple where the god of falsehood, propaganda, empty myth and selfishness is worshiped, so that, in the face of the emergency, it does not mind dropping the rest of the mask and making open and open use of violence while maintaining control of force.

   However, the blame for all that contempt, for all that superlative disorder, cannot be held by a single man. Although this man, Macron, has contributed, with fearsome effectiveness, through absolutely delirious discursive formulas, formidable in their irresponsibility, through a gratuitously provocative attitude whose excessive arrogance can only be compared, according to a British newspaper, with his incompetence, to pour, not oil on the fire, to use a French expression, but gasoline, kerosene, on an entire society in flames, on a nation that burns from the bottom sides, on a people inflamed by a highly combustible reason, precisely because of its high degree of truth and justice in its demands.

   No, a single man is not enough to generate such a dimension in chaos, in generalized exasperation, in the confrontation of all bodies and layers of society and even its institutions. It was also necessary that he be surrounded, as a great Latin writer would say, by the most spectacular group of mampolones imaginable. Never in the life of the world has such a herd of incompetents completely monopolized all positions of responsibility in one of the great nations on the planet. It would seem that, due to the absence of a true political party behind this government, the absolute totality of the high functions of the State, including the ministries, has been assigned to the schoolchildren who, during the last presidential elections, knocked on the doors of homes to do electoral propaganda for their candidate. Of that candidate who refused to participate in the primaries of a party in which he had never been a member and in which he had never believed, but which was useful for growth and also for entanglement. That whole bunch of beardless people, novices in politics, brats spoiled by a privileged cradle, found themselves, overnight, without eating it or drinking it, ministers with this or that portfolio, undersecretaries of this or that, advisors of the other. And together they have created, in a matter of a few months, the greatest crisis that has erupted in the Western world after the Second World War.

   The worst of all is that they are in the front row to solve what a man with the guts of a De Gaulle or a Mitterrand might not have been enough.

   When this is over, how can we not ask for responsibility, not only from this group of schoolchildren, but from the high levels of finance and the media that made it possible, by dint of millions and propaganda, for this to happen?

   At the same time, in the European Union, the adverse winds have never blown with such fury and the elections scheduled for May 26 threaten to unleash an unprecedented storm. The British have not been able to leave yet. They find themselves with one foot in and one foot out, in an uncomfortable temporary situation that generates a frustration whose contour goes beyond that of the islands and spreads to the continent. However, it would be worse if they eventually managed to leave and absolutely nothing happened. However, the real stab in the back, the authentic disintegrating catastrophe, would be the fact that, not only did nothing happen, but, on the contrary, things went well for them. And let's not say if it was better for them.

   The countries of Eastern Europe no longer tolerate wild immigration. The middle classes of the South are tired of paying taxes, of not seeing the benefits of them and of becoming visibly impoverished. Only Germany, Holland, Denmark and the countries that have become tax havens are doing well. But a man is a vote and the melopies, litanies and other politically correct chants are not as effective as they were in the past, before the 2018 Revolution.

The situation is serious.

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