Macron’s latest PM is out: France’s return to political turmoil

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Once again without a government

In recent years, France and its revolving door of prime ministers has come to resemble the ill-fated postwar Fourth Republic, remembered as a textbook case of governmental paralysis caused by the petty self-interest of parliamentary parties. On Sept. 9, when Emmanuel Macron appointed former defense minister Sébastien Lecornu as prime minister, it was a forced move that followed yet another parliamentary no-confidence vote against the holder of the office. On Sept. 8, the opposition’s margin of victory over then-prime minister François Bayrou was crushing: 364 votes to 194.

The 73-year-old Bayrou, a veteran of the political scene with an impressive résumé that includes three presidential campaigns, became the latest casualty of parliament. One might have expected that background to earn him public sympathy. Yet his approval rating on the eve of the National Assembly vote did not exceed 13%. Predictably, the sticking point was the budget.

The Bayrou government’s resignation points to a deep political crisis for which there is no quick or simple resolution. France has found itself trapped in a tangle of economic, institutional, and social problems, compounded by growing mistrust toward Macron. Under the concept of the Fifth Republic, the president’s powers were designed above all to foster national unity, yet what the country is witnessing today is closer to national division.

The current crisis is unlikely to be fatal, but finding a way out will require the next PM, whoever it might be, to make a proper diagnosis. It is no coincidence that Lecornu immediately began the familiar round of consultations with the main political forces in the National Assembly, just as his predecessors had done. However, with each attempt, the situation only became more complicated.

Between the left and the right

The origins of the current crisis go back to Macron’s decision of June 9, 2024, when the president dissolved the National Assembly, triggering early elections immediately after the European Parliament results had delivered Marine Le Pen’s far-right National Rally (RN) a convincing victory.

It is hard to say what Macron expected, but according to the polls, the new composition of the National Assembly promised nothing but a stronger opposition and fewer moderate factions. That is exactly what happened. The post-election balance of power turned out to be highly unusual for French politics: no one in parliament holds an absolute majority of 289 seats; instead, three roughly equal blocs now dominate the chamber.

The left-wing NFP bloc holds 193 seats, the centrist bloc of the presidential coalition has 166, and Marine Le Pen’s National Rally (RN) and its allies control 142. The center-right Republicans (LR), who often criticize Emmanuel Macron’s policies, have 47 seats.

The NFP itself is an electoral alliance riddled with internal divisions, especially between the Socialist Party (PS) and the radical UnsubmissiveFrance (LFI) of Jean-Luc Mélenchon. With such a diverse and powerful opposition, Macron has struggled to find a prime minister acceptable both to him and to the National Assembly — a problem that remains unresolved.

From a purely numerical standpoint, if the NFP bloc could somehow be split and a broad centrist coalition formed — from the Socialists (PS) to the Republicans (LR) — it would fall just ten votes short of an absolute majority. Those ten votes might well be found somewhere. But politically, this scenario is highly unrealistic.

Even the moderate opposition, including PS and LR, has built its rhetoric on harsh criticism of “Macronism” in all its forms. For them, supporting a prime minister from the president’s team would be impossible without seeing key parts of their own platforms included in the government’s agenda. Yet the differences between them — especially on budget priorities — are so deep that forming a workable consensus among such a broad coalition seems out of reach.

The situation is further complicated by France’s political tradition: compromise between parliamentary factions is virtually absent. Instead, the dominant mindset remains one of “all or nothing.”

During election campaigns, many parties put forward radical demands that they later find hard to abandon without losing disappointed voters. Both the Socialists (PS) and the Republicans (LR) can count on winning no more than a few dozen deputies, but they would rather preserve that level of representation along with their habitual intransigence than risk it by agreeing to a compromise.

Under these circumstances, Sébastien Lecornu tried to follow the same path as his predecessors: form an unstable government relying on centrist and LR votes while trying to secure neutrality from the National Rally (RN) during any confidence vote in the National Assembly. The price of such maneuvering was concessions on the budget.

Lecornu had already agreed to consider higher taxes on the wealthiest people and top-earning corporations, as demanded by the left. But that is not a policy the right supports — meaning that once Marine Le Pen were to withdraw RN backing, the government would once again have been brought down by the combined votes of the radical opposition from both sides.

Going forward into the increasingly uncertain void left by Lecornu’s departure, Macron still has one remaining tool at his disposal: he can dissolve the National Assembly and call new early elections. He is in no hurry to do so, however, since all polls predict an unfavorable outcome for the presidential bloc. The right would be expected to win, the left to have an outside chance, and Macron’s camp to lag well behind both.

Even so, new parliamentary elections may eventually become unavoidable — the revolving door of prime ministers, after all, cannot go on forever. For now, there remains some hope that Lecornu’s successor will prove a more skillful negotiator than the others, especially since the budget issue is urgent.

Looking ahead to the presidential election

The Fifth Republic is built on a system unique in today’s Europe — one centered on strong presidential power. If France operated like Germany, Italy, or Spain, where governments are formed through parliamentary coalitions, the main factions would be compelled to reach an agreement, however difficult, through broad compromise.

But France is a presidential republic, and the real political prize will be contested in 2027, when Macron’s successor will be chosen. Everyone knows it, and everyone is preparing for it. In this sense, the current government crisis can be seen as a prelude to the main battles ahead — making Sébastien Lecornu’s mission even more precarious. The government has effectively become a hostage to the presidential ambitions of potential candidates.

Within the president’s own camp alone, there are between three and five potential contenders for 2027 — each weighing the advantages and drawbacks of their starting position, mapping out the political calendar, and strategizing on how to outpace rivals, first inside the centrist bloc and then on the national stage.

Ambitious figures have also emerged within both the Socialist Party (PS) and the Republicans (LR). Marine Le Pen, meanwhile, is still grappling with a court order barring her from running in elections at any level. She hopes her case will be overturned on appeal in 2026, but if it is not, behind her stands Jordan Bardella, whose approval rating rivals Le Pen’s. Together they lead the polls, with 36% support.

Then there is Jean-Luc Mélenchon, leader of UnsubmissiveFrance (LFI). Mélenchon has embarked on what he calls his final campaign — one without much hope of victory, but backed by just enough interest that the veteran politician can make his presence felt.

From the outside, the situation looks rather odd: the government crisis is in full swing, a budget consensus is urgently needed, yet the thoughts of political leaders are far removed from day-to-day governance. Instead, they are fixed on 2027.

The main problem with the institutions of the Fifth Republic is that they were designed for a situation in which the president commands the support of both a majority of voters and a majority in parliament. Today, however, no one holds a majority anywhere.

Could the current situation lead to the voluntary resignation of the deeply unpopular Macron and early presidential elections, as demanded not only by Unsubmissive France (LFI) but also by some voices in the less radical opposition? Those in support of such a step argue that the only way out of this deadlock is through the election of a new president. Unsurprisingly, this idea is most loudly promoted by those who believe they are best prepared for an electoral campaign right now.

However, such a scenario seems unlikely at present. Despite his clear unpopularity, Macron himself hardly considers his mission complete. Plus, a forced resignation is practically impossible — it would require a unique procedure and a two-thirds majority in both houses of parliament.

There are only two theoretical paths to early elections. The first would be if Macron, for some reason, decided to further escalate the political situation and announced his resignation, calling on citizens to end the crisis by electing a new president. The second would be if France were suddenly swept by large-scale protests capable of paralyzing the country, as the far-left opposition calls to do. For now, however, such a development appears highly unlikely.

Permanent economic crisis

Current forecasts put French GDP growth at below 1%. The main challenges remain the budget deficit of 6.1% relative to GDP (the highest level in the eurozone), and public debt amounting to 115.6% of GDP (third only to Italy and Greece). Servicing this debt is now the second-largest item in the national budget after spending on education. Any cabinet will have to start by drafting a balanced budget.

François Bayrou tried to propose a complex “patchwork” budget combining higher revenues — through additional tax receipts and the cancellation of two public holidays — with spending cuts of about 44 billion euros, to be achieved by scaling back certain social programs and temporarily suspending inflation adjustments for pensions and benefits. The government’s seemingly sensible idea was that every segment of society should make a modest contribution. In practice, however, this approach provoked dissatisfaction across the political spectrum.

Meanwhile, Fitch has downgraded France’s sovereign credit rating from AA– to A+, and the cost of borrowing to finance public debt has risen above that of Greece or Italy. The economic growth forecast for 2025 stands at just 0.8%. Across European capitals, there is growing concern over France’s inability to manage its budget responsibly. The issue is no longer about meeting the 3% deficit rule, but about reversing the negative trend and producing a realistic plan to restore fiscal stability in the foreseeable future.

The first casualty of political disagreements is always the budget, with the ruling parties usually following soon after.

State of society

In 2019, one of France’s leading sociologists, Jérôme Fourquet, published a book titled Archipelago France (a title that may evoke certain associations for readers of Solzhenitsyn). The book, however, does not discuss a system of labor camps, but the many fault lines in French society that have fragmented it into separate islands, poorly connected to one another.

French society has always been divided — hence the historic left-right split — but today its fragmentation is so pronounced that it is difficult even to identify the main points of tension. Moreover, the real problems facing society do not necessarily align with what people perceive as their biggest challenges.

For example, the issue of migration particularly worries the French: 79% of citizens support tightening migration policies, up 4% from just a year ago. Objectively, however, there has been no surge in migrants to France in recent years. Their share of the population has risen only slightly, from 10% in 1990 to 13% in 2025. Over the same period, GDP per capita increased from $40,000 to $56,000, while the homicide rate per 100,000 people fell nearly by half, from 2.3 to 1.3 (despite a small uptick of late).

And yet, according to recent polls, 86% of French citizens believe “the country is moving in the wrong direction.” Breaking this down further: 39% cite rising crime and violence as a concern, 32% worry about inflation, and 24% express dissatisfaction with each of four issues: the healthcare system, inequality and poverty, migration flows, and high taxes. Clearly, any government faces a difficult challenge in trying to satisfy such a wide range of public concerns simultaneously.

This perception is compounded by growing regional inequality. While Paris and most major cities remain dynamic and prosperous, other areas are falling into decline. In small-town and rural France, it is more difficult not only to find a job, but even to see a doctor, get medical checkups, or enroll a child in a quality school.

Politically, this societal fragmentation is reflected in the widespread distrust of all political forces. Citizens refuse to grant any of them the right to represent their interests. This situation was vividly illustrated by the Yellow Vest movement of 2018-2020 — somewhat forgotten now but crucial for understanding the depth of societal division. It suddenly brought to light a France that few had suspected existed: angry provincial residents struggling to make ends meet, disengaged from elections, inclined toward conspiracy thinking, and wanting to remove all politicians at once.

Even if they are not protesting at the moment, that does not mean the disaffected have disappeared or that they are satisfied with the status quo. The current parliamentary crisis underscores once again that a significant portion of society still does not see any existing political force as an adequate representative of its interests.