When French President Emmanuel Macron came to power, he vowed to restore gravitas to France’s highest office. Dubbed “Jupiter” for his tendency to hover, aloof and god-like, above the fray of everyday politics, the French president rejected his predecessors’ more down-to-earth approach. Humility, it seemed, was for mere mortals — not Monsieur Macron.
Now, under the weight of this Jupiterian conceit, France’s government has, at last, come crashing down. On Wednesday, the French Parliament passed a vote of no confidence in the prime minister, Michel Barnier, after he attempted to force through an unpopular budget by using a constitutional measure that allows bills to be pushed through without a vote. The government’s collapse led to Barnier’s resignation, leaving Macron in office but stripped of power, with no clear resolution in sight.
As the drama unfolded, Macron was, in every sense, an ocean away. Playing his preferred role of global statesman, he was in Saudi Arabia claiming credit — implausibly — for brokering a ceasefire in Lebanon. Ironically, though, he has produced a rare detente on the home front. In an impressive feat of anti-diplomacy, he alienated enough of his countrymen to unite the right and far-left poles of French politics against him.
This unholy alliance, with the right-wing Marine Le Pen at the helm, crossed the Rubicon when 331 MPs of 577 voted to topple Macron’s government — the first such coup since 1962. Le Pen justified the revolt as a last resort after her protests about the budget were ignored, though critics see it as a ploy to force elections before her corruption trial, which could bar her from office.
Whatever Le Pen’s true motives, Macron misjudged her resolve. Believing until the count was in that she, and Parliament, would not oust his government, he opened himself to being snookered. Unlike in 1962, when Charles de Gaulle had enough clout to simply reappoint his prime minister, Macron’s dwindling popularity leaves little room to manoeuvre. Numerous MPs have called for his resignation, a sentiment supported by 63 per cent of the public, according to a recent poll.
Yet Macron remains defiant. Under no obligation to resign, he has dismissed the prospect as “political fiction.” Now, he is left with three unenviable options.
The first is to appoint a new prime minister who can placate his many opponents. Macron must act quickly: France is set to host U.S. president-elect Donald Trump at Notre Dame’s reopening on Saturday, and facing the world without a functioning government would compound Macron’s embarrassment. Even if he appoints a new prime minister, there’s no guarantee he or she will succeed where Barnier — a seasoned diplomat — fell short.
The second course is to lead a paralyzed government without a budget until July, when the next election can be held. This would likely prove untenable. As Europe’s foremost military power, France’s instability risks uncertainty rippling across the continent at a moment of acute vulnerability. Germany, the economic engine of Europe, is itself in political turmoil with a government on its last legs. Meanwhile, the continent’s security teeters under two simultaneous, existential threats: Trump potentially scaling back military support, as Russia edges closer to victory in Ukraine.
The third option, which would become conceivable if the deadlock persists, is to invoke Article 16 of the constitution, which allows the president to rule under emergency measures if the republic is under threat. This would be bitterly contested, risking political fallout that could stretch the Fifth Republic beyond the limited elasticity of its president-centred constitution. Macron would face widespread protests if he invoked such authoritarian powers.
The fallout may leave an indelible mark on France. The vast presidential powers of the Fifth Republic have been described by one commentator, quoted by the historian Robert Tombs, as “so dangerous that it would be folly to put them even into the hands of a saint.” Looking around in vain for such a candidate, France may decide in the coming months to re-evaluate its constitution. Macron’s legacy would then not be in doubt: the pallbearer of the Fifth Republic.
Macron has blamed this looming crisis on Le Pen. But the president, blinded by hubris, bears much of the blame. Unlike England’s King Cnut, who demonstrated the limits of royal power by barking futile commands at the waves, Macron seemed to believe he could defy an equally implacable force: basic arithmetic. He held a snap election in July, shortly after Le Pen’s National Rally party achieved its best victory yet in European elections, attempting to render it a spent force. In doing so, he pushed the electorate into a game of chicken, betting they wouldn’t vote for the populists.
This proved only half correct: the election weakened the centre and emboldened the extremes. Now, stranded in the lonely middle, Macron has been hoist with his own petard.
National Post
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Michael Murphy is a journalist based in London. He writes for the Daily Telegraph and presented the documentary “Ireland is full! Anti-immigration backlash in Ireland.”