Lamyae Aharouay: 'Doing business with the far right is no longer an issue' – and that's why she's leaving now

In recent years, normalising the abnormal has almost become a sport in The Hague. We all watched it unfold – some of us feeling powerless, others shrugging it off with a resigned 'that's just how politics works'. But now Lamyae Aharouay has put down her pen for good, and it feels like someone has thrown open a window in a stifling committee room. In her farewell column, she does what she has always done best: using her razor-sharp insight to lay bare the heart of the matter. And that core? It's grimmer than we often care to admit.

"Doing business with the far right is no longer an issue." That single line from her final piece lingers. It's not the conclusion of some academic, armchair analysis; it's the observation of someone who spent years with her finger on the pulse of the Binnenhof. What was once an unwritten rule – a firewall against parties that undermine the rules of democracy – has been washed away. Not by a sudden landslide, but by steady erosion. And Lamyae Aharouay refuses to accept that as the new normal.

The price of 'just playing along'

In the corridors of power, people whisper about 'pragmatism'. As if bringing radical-right parties into the fold to secure a majority is just a simple arithmetic exercise. But Aharouay punctures that bubble. She demonstrates with crystal clarity that it's not about pragmatism; it's about a choice. A choice to give hate and racism – once kept firmly outside the door – a permanent seat at the negotiating table. It's the political version of the overton window: what was once unsayable becomes, through repetition and a lack of pushback, 'just another opinion'. The price for this is not only the credibility of our institutions, but also the safety and sense of belonging for entire communities across this country.

Her departure, therefore, is more than just a change in personnel. It's a statement. Someone who could articulate what went wrong with such precision is stepping away. Not because she can't handle it anymore, but because she refuses to get used to the cold. Throughout her career, she has consistently played a role that, in the chaos of the daily news cycle, you'd almost forget about: that of the uncomfortable questioner.

• How can a government that claims to stand for 'normal behaviour' systematically cooperate with parties that undermine the rule of law?
• Why is rhetoric that was considered taboo for decades now dismissed as just 'a different opinion'?
• And what does it mean for the future of democracy when a moral compass is replaced by a calculator?

These are the questions Lamyae Aharouay asked. And because the answers were increasingly uncomfortable or simply absent, she chose a different platform. Not to fall silent, but to make her voice heard in another way. It's a loss for political journalism in The Hague, which has already seen so many sharp voices depart in recent years.

The silence after the blow

What remains once the dust has settled? The reactions to her farewell are telling. While some politicians dismissed her work as 'condescending', the recognition from a large part of the public was overwhelming. In the corridors of parliament, but also out on the streets, it's acknowledged that she was like a seismograph. She felt the tremors before the rest of the country realised the ground was shaking. The fact that she is leaving now forces us to reflect: have we truly lost the boundary? And if that boundary still exists, why is no one guarding it anymore?

For anyone who has been even remotely following politics in The Hague these past years, it's clear: Lamyae Aharouay's departure is a turning point. It's the moment when the warnings are no longer scribbled on a note but are written on the wall in big, black letters. The big question is whether The Hague will take this lesson to heart. But one thing is certain: she leaves a void that won't be easily filled. And as the negotiating tables fill up again with the very same people who pushed her to her limit, the lingering question remains: who will dare to say now that the emperor has no clothes?