Far-Right (Hypothèse 94)

“Far-right” means exactly “Unfaithful.” And you know what they do to the unfaithful?

Translation of: Hypothèse 94 : Extrême Droite. Philippe Gouillou. Evoweb. Vendredi 19 septembre 2025

What he heard horrified him. He was watching the evening news and the guest — his comrade in every struggle — called him “far-right,” and kept repeating it! Worse than the betrayal were the consequences that terrified him: his old friend had put a target on his back, the very man he had always defended despite his foreign origins. Not only was he being expelled from the movement to which he had devoted his life, but all his former comrades would now have to shun him like a leper.

His wife tried to reassure him:

— But that’s nonsense! Don’t make a fuss: you know they call everyone far-right these days, you do it yourself all the time. In fact, if you’ve never been called far-right, it just means you never had an original idea. Take it as a compliment: you’re not the submissive fool people think you are! And you can easily prove you never harbored a single deviant thought.

— You don’t understand, it’s a coded message. “Far-right” means exactly “Unfaithful.” And you know what they do to the unfaithful? They kill them or, at minimum, exile them from all public life.

It was true that he had often accused others of being far-right and even, sometimes, old comrades. But there had always been a reason: they hadn’t shown enough enthusiasm for a fight, or they had hesitated in their support for the Party, or they had criticized the merging of religious struggles. They were people to be purged; the Party had to remain truly pure if it hoped one day to be in a position to create a better, fairer, more equal world. And it had worked: he never heard of them again, except for a few whose long-term hospitalizations he later learned about after they had been “corrected,” and the Party rose.

His wife insisted:

— But tell them it’s false! It’s easy to prove! I know you’re pure among the pure!

— You don’t understand, it’s too late, he’s on TV, I’ll never get that kind of audience. From now on everyone knows they mustn’t associate with me; no one will listen to my answers.

The timing stunned him. The Party had never been closer to power. The population, exhausted by decades of crisis, was finally ready for revolution and they were more than ready! They had already begun divvying up posts, countless debates were under way, everyone was fighting for the best positions. It was only a matter of days, hours. Did his “friend” want the post that should have been his?

That’s when he understood; his terror turned to pure panic. He began to search frantically on social networks. Was he the only one in this position? No — all those of the old Guard were being ostracized, and always by the same people. It was the newcomers, the ones they had admitted in recent years to multiply their numbers, those they had defended against all odds, who were getting rid of them now that power was within reach.

He heard a noise in the street. Was he dreaming? He felt the downstairs door open, someone coming in. He didn’t know what to do; he wasn’t armed (they were), even a kitchen knife was useless against a Kalashnikov, and there were surely several of them.

His wife saw him go pale and she understood too:

— Didn’t you tell me you would get rid of them once in power? That it wouldn’t be like in Iran, that you would be the ones to win?

He began to hate her: why remind him of that? What did it change? They were both in mortal danger and she kept rehashing old arguments they’d often fought about. Now, in the present and immediately, they needed an escape route — nothing else mattered. Why couldn’t women understand that?

He heard an Allahu Akbar, then another; it came from the stairwell. There probably wouldn’t be more: they only had one flight to climb. He tried to recognize the voices, to count them.

His old “friend” was still on TV. He talked a lot, promising a better world, a fairer world, a world that would respect the will of his god — “who knows better,” he said. The presenter dared not interrupt him.

He heard a first shot, then a second; his lock had just been blown off. Then a heavy kick to the door, and it fell. The better world had arrived — and he was among its first victims.

©Philippe Gouillou - Mercredi 5 novembre 2025