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 unthinkable has almost become a sport in The Hague. We all watched it happen – some of us feeling helpless, others just shrugging it off with a 'that's just how politics works'. But now Lamyae Aharouay is putting down her pen for good, and it feels like someone has finally thrown open a window in a stuffy boardroom. In her farewell column, she does what she has always done best: using her sharp eye to lay bare the crux of the matter. And that crux? It is more troubling than we often care to admit.

"Doing business with the far right is no longer an issue." That one line from her final piece stays with you. It's not a conclusion drawn from some theoretical desk research; it's the observation of someone who spent years with her finger on the pulse of the political heart of the country. 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 this as the new normal.

The cost of 'just playing along'

In the corridors of power, there is quiet talk of 'pragmatism'. As if bringing radical right-wing factions into the fold to secure a majority is just a simple arithmetic exercise. But Aharouay bursts that bubble. She clearly shows that it's not about pragmatism; it's about a choice. A choice to give hate and racism – things once kept politely outside the door – a permanent seat at the negotiating table. It is the political version of the overton window: what was once unspeakable becomes, through repetition and a lack of resistance, 'just another opinion'. The cost of this is not only the credibility of our institutions, but also the safety and sense of belonging of entire communities in this country.

Her departure, therefore, is more than just a personnel change. It is a statement. Someone who so precisely articulated what went wrong is stepping away. Not because she can't handle it anymore, but because she refuses to get used to the cold. In recent years, her work consistently played a role we almost forget in the daily frenzy: that of the uncomfortable questioner.

• How can a government that claims to stand for 'common sense' consistently cooperate with parties that undermine the rule of law?
• Why is rhetoric that was taboo for decades now being dismissed as 'just a different viewpoint'?
• And what does it mean for the future of democracy if our moral compass is replaced by a calculator?

These are the questions Lamyae Aharouay asked. And because the answers increasingly became uncomfortable or were simply absent, she chose a different platform. Not to fall silent, but to make her voice heard in another way. It is 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 settles? 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 parliamentary corridors, but also out on the streets, there is acknowledgement that she was 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 followed politics in The Hague over the past few years, it's clear: the departure of Lamyae Aharouay is a turning point. It's the moment when the warnings are no longer on a note, but written on the wall in big, black letters. Whether The Hague will take this lesson to heart is the big question. 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 same people who pushed her to the edge, the lingering question remains: who will still dare to say that the emperor has no clothes?