Senegal is innovating. After teleworking, here comes the remote MP. Judging by the commotion around the cars at the National Assembly, the modern elected official no longer needs a physical location. A chair, a ringlight, an iPhone, and an internet connection—tap in live! The rest is superfluous. Stay home, Honorable Member, the people will adapt. In the land of Teranga (hospitality), grievances will soon travel via WhatsApp with the notation "forwarded many times." A voice message for isolation, an emoji for poverty, a message seen but unanswered for an emergency. The MP listens and votes. Remotely, please.

Dust-free. We're told that asking for a vehicle is an abuse of power. As if national representation were conducted via videoconference. As if an elected official could understand the hardships of an isolated village without ever setting foot there. Politics isn't a story that disappears in 24 hours. It's not a live broadcast. It's about being on the ground. And being on the ground isn't something you do in slippers. The real problem is our knack for missing the middle ground. We go from the ostentatious SUV to the walking MP. In between, nothing.

Even if they were driving in Jakarta, there would be complaints. Perhaps they should have been given sturdy, modest vehicles, capable of handling laterite without costing the price of a hospital. At this rate, they'll end up taking away their fuel too. Why not? Except that the fuel is supplied by the people themselves, lined up to provide it. Ticket by ticket, until the very last one.

A democracy without mobile representatives is a stagnant democracy. A republic run by notifications. A representative's car is not a luxury. It's a working tool. To refuse it is to admit that we no longer want elected officials in the field. We want institutional influencers. And a representative who no longer goes to the people will always end up being caught up by them in the next election.