It was hardly a surprise that François Bayrou resigned last week. After nine months of toil, he, too, failed to haul France even an inch out of its fiscal ravine. Within 24 hours, Macron appointed his fifth prime minister since January last year – a rate of turnover that would make even No. 10 look stable.
The president persuaded his ally Sébastien Lecornu (39) to take the kamikaze job. Until last week, he was the defence secretary; now he must negotiate a “realistic” 2026 budget in a hung parliament. A government team is not yet in place – Lecornu is still holding interviews and won’t present his line-up until next week at the earliest.
His mission: lure the Socialists to avoid a no-confidence vote while keeping the Republicans on board. Macron’s vaunted en même temps increasingly resembles a straitjacket. The left demands a wealth tax, the right insists on cuts, and the street simply wants fewer austerity measures. Lecornu’s first acts: scrapping plans to abolish two bank holidays and capping perks for ex-ministers. Symbolic gestures, yes – but designed to show he is more than Bayrou Mark II. International credibility is another matter: Fitch has already downgraded France to A+, the Gallic equivalent of a slap from Moody’s to the Treasury.
Today, France was (a bit) paralysed. Again. After last week’s half-hearted blockades, today is a broader test. For the first time since 2023, all major unions are striking together. Officially, it’s about the 2026 budget, but really, it’s a catch-all protest.
From dawn, lorries blocked industrial zones and tollbooths near Paris and Lyon. In the capital, half of all schools shut. Pharmacies closed in protest against cuts to generic drugs. Journalists at France Télévisions and Radio France went on strike over reforms proposed by Culture Minister Rachida Dati. Even aviation saw disruption.
The metro was paralysed: several lines down, the RER was barely running, with only the driverless lines working smoothly. The unions call this the “jonction des colères” – the meeting of many angers. The paradox? Only one in ten French workers is unionised – compared with a quarter in Britain. In France, collective agreements cover everyone, so why pay dues? In the private sector, a union card can harm your career. But when there’s a national strike, the French march en masse.
At the end of the day, the Interior Ministry reported just over 506,000 protesters nationwide, while the CGT union insisted there were “more than a million”. By 4 p.m., police counted 141 arrests, with 11 officers and 11 demonstrators injured in clashes. A reminder, if one were needed, that France does not do protests by halves.
The government has a new toy to show its nerves: the Centaure, a 14.5-ton gendarmerie intervention vehicle. Officially “robust and wise”, it is essentially a blend of Gandhi and Rambo on wheels – at £630,000 apiece.
Inside: twelve officers, a 360° camera, tear-gas launchers, and even microphones that can detect a sniper’s calibre. Named after a mythical creature embodying “strength and wisdom”, it looks more like a steroidal horse in a bad mood. Today, 24 of them were deployed alongside an astonishing 80,000 police officers mobilised across the country.
The numbers say it all: a nation that fields enough security forces to fill Wembley twice over, against its own citizens waving union flags. France’s leaders talk of dialogue, but they clearly prepare for battle. It’s the militarisation of demonstrations, and a reminder of how fragile trust between state and society has become in the République.
The Socialists’ new weapon is the so-called Zucman tax, after economist Gabriel Zucman. A 2% annual levy on assets over €100 million would hit just 1,800 households but raise €20 billion. For PS leader Olivier Faure it’s a red line: “The middle classes must not pay the bill.” Business leaders are furious: MEDEF, France’s CBI, threatens counter-action. Yet three in four French back higher taxes on the super-rich. For billionaires plotting a quick escape to Geneva or Dubai: under the plan they’d remain taxable for five years – a fiscal ankle tag.
Paris mayor Anne Hidalgo has again shown that democracy in the capital is treated like a Dior scarf – a chic accessory. Mediapart revealed she spent €84,200 on clothes since 2020 (a Burberry coat for £2,600, two Dior dresses for £5,300) and €125,000 on travel from New York to Tahiti.
It sounds like satire but is deadly serious. I know from experience: two years ago I won a five-year legal battle for access to her expenses. France’s highest court, the Conseil d’État, forced disclosure, but hours before my appointment, Hidalgo leaked them to a friendly journalist at Le Journal du Dimanche. Five years of work gone in a flash – Fleet Street would call it daylight robbery.
Since then little has changed. City Hall still withholds documents unless forced by judges – and even then delivers them incomplete. Transparency? Only if wrapped in black lace and silk. Meanwhile, France’s public finances are unravelling. As other European capitals fret about deficits, Paris parades in haute couture. “Let them eat cake,” one can almost hear her whisper.
Summer may be fading, but autumn already brings me many new projects. One of them is a quarterly international talk show in English at Rosewood Amsterdam. Not about politics this time, but about design, art, culture, architecture – and all the other things that make life pleasurable. More info soon.
🎼 The paragraph headings are titles of songs that are in the playlist of this newsletter on Spotify. Totally random French music, but a treat for true francaudiophiles!
🇳🇱 Er is ook een Nederlandse versie van deze nieuwsbrief, klik hier!
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