The country isn't really stopping. Nor is it going into extended standby mode. But it's like an overused phone that now refuses all social media applications. One sector gets angry, another grows impatient, a third observes… and very quickly, the whole of society resembles a meeting where everyone talks and no one takes minutes.

Here, it's no longer a strike, it's a season. Instead of a "social movement," we're forecasting the weather: overcast skies, protest winds, and the risk of a series of blockades. Public transport slows down—before finally easing its grip a little, just to give discussions a chance. A pause, then. Not a return to calm, more like an "observation period."

Meanwhile, the health sector is protesting, schools are organizing themselves into "suspended classes" mode, and the administration is fuming over its own procedures. Even sectors that are usually silent are starting to raise their hands, like long-well-behaved students who suddenly discover the right to protest.

The paradox is that everyone is right… in their own lane. But once all the lanes are combined, you end up with a building with no exit. The country then resembles a vast waiting room where every counter is on strike and every user is convinced they have priority.

Power, meanwhile, is at the center of the picture, like a referee without a whistle in a match where the teams are already contesting the rules before the kickoff. Governing becomes a balancing act: responding here without setting a precedent there, calming one front without provoking three others.

And behind this turmoil, an older truth is emerging. The current tensions didn't arise overnight. They accumulate, pile up, and settle. Like files that are put off, expectations that are postponed, compromises that are never truly resolved.

But by pulling on all the threads at once, the social fabric weakens. Each demand, legitimate in itself, collectively becomes a system under pressure. And the country discovers a simple and cruel equation: when everyone is blocking progress, no one moves.

The strike remains a right, a language, sometimes a necessity. But when it becomes a widespread reflex, it loses some of its power and becomes background noise. It no longer simply signals a problem; it becomes an atmosphere. It remains to be seen whether anyone will ever find the "play" button.