Facts and Opinions (part 1/2)

A week after Fontenys, Eva called me without preamble.

— As the first round approaches, the media are organizing a big debate tomorrow night with all the candidates still in the race, in a Parisian studio requisitioned for the occasion. I can get you backstage, Franck. You're writing an article on the Rousseau-Cobot duo, aren't you? It would be a shame to watch it from your couch.

The next day, I took the first train to Paris.

Upon my arrival, I found a hustle and bustle I knew all too well: the walls of screens, the cables snaking across the floor, the helmeted technicians crossing the corridors without slowing down, the communication officers speaking too loudly into their lapel mics, as if every sentence was already going on air.

That fever had once been my daily life.

My life has always resembled a theater stage.

Today, one sees the freelancer withdrawn from the noise, writing from a cabin by the lake. But behind the curtain, other characters still exist, costume on their backs, as if they had just left the light: the engineer seeking logic in everything, the Parisian journalist chasing news until dawn.

Both had their scene before retreating into the dark.

We believe, by changing careers, we close a door on who we were. In reality, nothing truly disappears. It's not multiple lives, but a single one, traversed by several roles, several facets of the same personality, taking turns on the same stage.

Eva, she knew the place better than I did. In the preceding days, she had already come to test Cobot's connection, check the access points, the blind spots, the control points. She moved with the assurance of someone who knew exactly where to step.

She guided me to a technical recess, just off the set, from where we could see everything without being seen.

In front of us, the studio shone with a white, cold light.

The candidates faced each other around a semicircular table. Many had long experience in politics, and were accustomed to television sets, meetings, narrowly avoided media traps. They knew how to smile when attacking, interrupt without seeming rude, dodge a question while giving the impression of answering it. Two of them were clear favorites in this campaign: Antoine Chevalier and Sarah Amar.

The least experienced candidate, and credited with the lowest score in the polls, was François Rousseau. Cobot stood by his side.

— Ah! You dressed him up as a nice robot for the occasion! I said to Eva.

— Yes, I thought it would be less mysterious for the viewers than seeing a big white egg next to Rousseau. And that way, we want to look at him more, right?

Gray suit, closed expression, shoulders too stiff, François Rousseau had the look of a man who was discovering, a little late, the exact weight of what was at stake tonight.

The contrast between the candidate and his robot was almost comical: Rousseau still seemed to be finding his place; Cobot, on the other hand, needed no costume to exist on this set.

The other candidates watched him with amused condescension. For them, this robot was just a publicity stunt, a media curiosity. As a publicity stunt, it was successful: the media saw Cobot as a welcome distraction in a campaign that had become too long, and with too many candidates.

— There are now only two kinds of candidates, François Rousseau had declared: those who have the arrogance to believe they know everything, and those who accept help in information and reflection, and a factual and permanent control to secure their decisions. In this second group, I see that we are only one... We will see what the people prefer.

No candidate imagined having to seriously respond to him tonight.

Antoine Chevalier, in a midnight blue suit and red tie, was leading in all the polls, and displayed a calibrated smile that night. He had sharpened his ready-made phrases. He had this way of looking at the Rousseau-Cobot duo as one observes a child mistakenly invited to the adults' table: with amusement, but without the slightest worry.

— I hope he won't let himself be devoured, I whispered to Eva.

She didn't respond immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the control screen in front of her, which reproduced in miniature what Cobot displayed on his chest screen.

The first few minutes confirmed my fears.

A candidate leaned towards his microphone.

— Before we begin, I'd like someone to explain what a calculator is doing on this set.

A slight laugh rippled through the assembly. Another candidate seized the opportunity.

— We're here to debate a program, not a software update.

Then Chevalier took his time. He let the laughter settle, turned his face slightly towards the camera, and smiled as if offering the country the phrase it had been waiting for.

— A president under assistance is a country under assistance!

This time, laughter erupted, and applause spread through much of the audience.

On the control screen, François Rousseau seemed to crumble. He stared at the table in front of him, shoulders hunched, unable to meet the gaze of the other candidates. Next to me, Eva did not laugh.

The debate began. It bogged down almost immediately.

Very quickly, a tacit rule was established. On substance, it was better to avoid any precise figures or verifiable commitments. A vague promise always resisted fact-checking better.

As for form, everyone found their favorite ground: personal attacks, insinuations, and those little phrases designed less to convince than to be replayed endlessly on social networks and in the newspapers the next day.

The journalist tried to bring the exchanges back to purchasing power or energy. In vain.

— You're talking to us about convictions? one of the candidates launched with a knowing smile. You've changed parties three times in ten years. You don't defend ideas, you follow the polls.

— At least my ideas evolve, his opponent replied without losing his calm. Yours have been stubborn for thirty years... like the cases that pursue you!

An amused murmur ran through the audience.

The person in question shrugged.

— My cases? Are you talking about the harassment I'm a victim of? You'll agree it's high time to ask if justice...

— Gentlemen! Let's return to the question, please... the journalist struggled.

— ... still serves the law or certain political interests.

— It's a classic. For some, when the facts are inconvenient, the institutions become guilty. What example do you give our children? That the rules only apply to those who respect them?

— Are you calling me a thug?

— No. I'm saying that a man who stops believing in justice as soon as it takes an interest in him cannot ask the French to entrust him with the Republic.

The applause was not long in coming.

The debate already resembled more a contest of repartees than a choice of society.

The targeted candidate half-rose from his seat. His impulsive temperament was well known, and his position in the polls didn't help. His hand had already grabbed his lapel mic. For a second, everyone thought he was going to tear it off and leave the set.

— I thank you for staying seated if you wish to continue the debates, Mr. Bonnal, the journalist cut in.

She hadn't raised her voice. She didn't need to.

An awkward silence fell over the set. The candidate looked at the cameras, then at the others, as if still searching for a dignified exit. He didn't find one. So he sat back down slowly, his face closed, almost more humiliated than if he had actually left.

A small laugh escaped one of his opponents. He stifled it too late.

I found myself looking at the stopwatch. Twenty minutes of debate, and no one had yet answered a single question.

The discussion resumed, more cautiously. But the damage was done.

Rousseau and Cobot, they, had not intervened.

On Cobot's chest screen, the hue remained neutral, almost absent. As if he had deliberately stepped back, waiting for the candidates to finish tearing each other apart on their own.

The journalist took the opportunity to try to center the exchanges on substantive topics.

— Let's move on to employment, if you don't mind. It's one of the major concerns of the French. Mr. Rousseau, you have a lot of speaking time left, so I'm addressing you. Over the past five years, what assessment do you draw on unemployment in our country?

On Cobot's screen, an orange hue appeared for a second before disappearing. I recognized it immediately: anxiety, the one Eva had told me about during our dinner.

Next to me, Eva had her hands clenched on her knees. She didn't take her eyes off the screen. She looked like a mother watching her child go on stage for the first time, unable to help, unable to look away.

— It's the first time he's speaking on television, she whispered to me.

— But it's François Rousseau who must answer! I replied.

— Yes, yes, but they communicate, and Cobot will surely intervene.

On the set, Cobot remained motionless for a brief moment. I noticed that François Rousseau had an earpiece.

Before Rousseau could answer, an opposition candidate, seeking to undermine the five-year term's record, launched with the aplomb of someone stating an established fact:

— Unemployment is now almost at 10% in our country. That's the real record of this five-year term.

A brief silence followed, then Cobot's voice filled the void, even and without relief:

— The unemployment rate stands at 8.1% in the first quarter of 2026, according to Insee¹. Although it has increased by 0.2 points over the quarter, and by 0.7 points over a year, and is at its highest level since the first quarter of 2021, it does not reach the 10% you just announced.

— Ah! It speaks, this machine! No matter the exact figure, the idea remains the same.

— No, Rousseau replied. It's not a nuance of figure. What you just stated is false.

— We don't believe you anymore! someone in the audience shouted.

A bitter laugh ran through several rows. The journalist raised her hand, seeking a calm she herself struggled to regain.

In a few minutes, those who promised to restore order in the country had just offered millions of viewers the very spectacle of chaos. The political class had just reminded, live, why so many French had stopped listening to it².

Then the debate shifted.

The journalist hosting the evening tried to steer the discussion towards a topic she knew had explosive potential: pensions.

— Let's move on to pensions. If you had one thing to present to the French before proposing a possible pension reform, what would it be, Mr. Rousseau?

— I would first like to allow the French to look at the facts.

Then he turned to Cobot.

— Cobot?

Cobot immediately displayed a graph.

In his earpiece, Cobot whispered the figures.

— As you can see, over the past 60 years, life expectancy has increased by thirteen years for men, and twelve years for women³.

Rousseau placed his hands flat on the table.

— Over this same period, the legal retirement age has changed little, as it was 64 years in 1964, and has now returned to around 63 years after a period around 60 years. Several European countries have already set it at 67 years, and Denmark, which has indexed it to life expectancy, aims for a legal retirement age of 70 years by 2040. Also, France has one of the lowest effective retirement ages in Europe⁴.

— In 1964, each retiree could count on 4.4 active workers to finance their pension, whereas today, there are only 1.32⁵. The system thus relies on three times fewer contributors per retiree.

The journalist stopped consulting her notes.

— Over this same period, our fertility has almost halved since a French woman had nearly three children in 1964, whereas today she has only one and a half⁶. This decline results from economic constraints⁷, trade-offs between career and parenthood⁸, sociocultural changes⁹, infertility¹⁰, and eco-anxiety¹¹. Moreover, for the first time since the end of World War II, France recorded more deaths than births last year. Six thousand more¹².

— From an economic point of view, we note that in 1964, the French GDP grew by about 6% per year, whereas in 2025, it only grew by 0.8%. We developed and extended our social model during decades of strong growth. We are now trying to finance it with an economy almost at a standstill.

— Finally, in the sixties, expenses related to old age and survivor pensions represented about 5% of our national wealth. Today, pensions have become the largest item of our social protection and represent nearly a quarter of all our public spending. In 2025, France devoted about 420 billion euros to its pension system, or 14% of its GDP¹³. These figures do not include, of course, the expenses of our public health system for our retirees. Those over sixty-five, who represent a little over a fifth of the population, concentrate nearly half of these health expenses¹⁴, which total around 265 billion euros additional in 2025.

In summary, over 60 years: we live twelve years longer, we retire at almost the same age, we have three times fewer active workers per retiree to finance pensions, we have almost half as many children, our growth has been divided by 6, and the share of our wealth devoted to old age, excluding health, has almost tripled.

Rousseau fell silent.

The figures seemed still suspended above the table. No one rushed to break the silence.

Antoine Chevalier, known for his opposition to any pension system reform, waited a few seconds before straightening up.

— You line up figures, you and your robot. But behind your figures, there are lives.

He turned to the audience.

— What does it say about a society that no longer takes care of its elders? Of those who have worked all their lives and built the country we live in?

A few applause broke out.

— I will oppose any further extension of the contribution period. And I say it clearly: our retirees deserve better. Their pensions must be revalued. Out of respect for what they have accomplished. Out of respect for what they have passed on to us.

This time, the older ranks of the audience applauded frankly.

Chevalier remained upright, hands placed in front of him, savoring the moment. He let the room return his silence.

A voice cut through the last applause.

— In Portugal, your party nevertheless reached a compromise, which resulted in a shift of the retirement age, indexed to life expectancy, which today is around 67 years¹⁵, Sarah Amar launched.

— At 66 years and 9 months to be precise, Cobot intervened.

A shiver of astonishment seemed to run through the audience.

The journalist turned to Chevalier.

— Mr. Chevalier, would you like to respond?

He didn't move.

His gaze slid towards the journalist, then towards the others, as if he were looking for an exit. In front of him, the figures of the Rousseau-Cobot duo, reinforced by candidate Amar's remark on the coherence of his own party, left him no grip. The facts were there. They waited.

The silence lasted a second too long. Enough for everyone to understand.

Chevalier had nothing left to oppose. Neither figures nor arguments. His annoyance no longer targeted his opponent, but the facts themselves, guilty of not proving him right. Straight in his wounded pride, he finally let slip, almost despite himself, the phrase that would make the rounds of the country the next day:

— I don't need facts to form an opinion.

The set froze.

No one was laughing anymore. Even the candidates most prone to smile had lowered their eyes or pressed their lips together, as if they already knew the phrase had just escaped them all. In the recess, I could hear the discreet crackling of the spotlights, the rustle of a cable, the almost imperceptible breath of the control room behind us.