Since mid-September of this year, when a high school in Créteil, in the southern suburbs of Paris, first went on strike to protest staff shortages and a lack of educational resources, France has seen multiple waves of demonstrations initiated by young students. As major trade unions, farmers, and civic groups have joined in, the protest demands have rapidly expanded to include opposition to fiscal austerity, protests against rising living costs, and the shrinking of public services. By October 17, these protests had evolved into large-scale demonstrations involving hundreds of thousands of people across France, marking one of the most severe street disturbances in recent years.
Beneath the surface of street fires and tear gas, how did this storm brew? In the following text, French sociologist Martin Barnay moves beyond the fragmented perspective of breaking news to analyze the structural crisis of contemporary France. The article places this autumn's "Generation Z" school blockade movement within the historical timeline of the French Fifth Republic, revealing how the failure of the French education system and class solidification have become the fuse for youth anger. It further discusses the fiscal straitjacket and debt abyss facing Emmanuel Macron at the end of his term, ultimately turning its gaze toward the upcoming 2027 French presidential election.
Author Martin Barnay is based in Paris. He studied at the University of Montreal and the École Normale Supérieure (ENS) in Paris, and received his PhD in sociology from Columbia University in 2024. He has served as an assistant researcher at the French National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS) Centre for European Sociology and Politics, and as a visiting scholar at the École Polytechnique and Sciences Po. He is a long-time contributor to various internationally renowned publications. (Before turning to academic and political writing, he was a professional ice hockey player in the French Division 1 and a high school history and geography teacher in Paris.)
This article, titled "End of Term" in English, was published on October 17, 2026, in the "Sidecar" section of the New Left Review. The Shanghai Review of Books has been authorized to translate and publish it.
France has a tradition of youth participation in social affairs. Gaullism was born with a youth movement and was eventually thwarted by another. In November 1940, when General de Gaulle and his "Free France" movement had only a handful of supporters, thousands of students gathered under the Arc de Triomphe, shouting "Long live de Gaulle." In May 1968, youth protests triggered a social crisis that damaged de Gaulle's governing prestige. Less than a year later, he lost a referendum and resigned. Today, as Emmanuel Macron's presidency enters its final months, a new wave of youth protests is exacerbating his already beleaguered situation.
This unrest began in mid-September at a high school in the southeastern suburbs of Paris, where students and teachers protested against staff shortages and deteriorating teaching conditions. The protests spread rapidly across the country. By early October, about one-third of high schools (lycées) were disrupted or preventively closed. Since then, parents, university students, and union members have responded, and demonstrations have broken out in all major French cities. The French government's instinctive reaction was repression: in response to the blocking of school gates (sometimes accompanied by burning barricades), authorities deployed swarms of armored police and conducted mass arrests. By the second week of October, nearly 7,000 people had been detained by police, 86 percent of whom were minors—a figure exceeding the total number of arrests during the ten-month "Yellow Vest" (gilets jaunes) movement. Police used the same sting-ball grenades and stun grenades used against protesters during the 2018-2019 demonstrations, with similarly tragic consequences: a fifteen-year-old boy in Lens lost a hand; in Tours, another teenager was blinded in one eye. Since Macron took office, tragedies of protesters being maimed by police actions have occurred one after another, and now these two teenagers have joined this miserable army of the "mutilated" (mutilés).
The mobile phone ban implemented in high schools earlier this year seems to have been the trigger for this movement, but the reasons for dissatisfaction go far beyond that. The heatwave during the exam season in June exposed the dilapidated state of many school buildings. The university admissions platform (Parcoursup) launched in 2018 remains a source of student resentment; they view it as a tool of cruel competition because the system ranks applicants by academic performance and pushes many into the long agony of waiting lists. A more fundamental crisis is the declining attractiveness of the teaching profession itself: most French teachers are civil servants, and their compensation has been kept low, dragged down by the long-term stagnation of public sector wages. In total, France's investment in secondary education is not unreasonably low; inequality stems mainly from the way resources are allocated. Schools in poorer suburbs and peri-urban areas are in worse conditions than those in wealthier city centers, while the heavily subsidized private education sector disproportionately caters to the needs of wealthier families. In Seine-Saint-Denis, one of the early strongholds of the movement, it is estimated that a student might miss nearly a full year of classes by the time they take the baccalauréat simply because there are no substitute teachers for absent ones. Such grievances also have a broader intergenerational character, as evidenced by the protest placards: they have all paid tribute to "Generation Z" protests in Nepal, Morocco, and Madagascar.
The most relevant precedent for the current crisis is perhaps the high school student rebellion in the autumn of 1990, which also began in the poorer suburbs of Paris. The immediate trigger at the time was the rape of a fifteen-year-old girl inside her school in Saint-Ouen, against a backdrop of escalating campus violence. Teachers and students complained that beatings, extortion, and intrusions by outsiders were rampant in these educational institutions, which they felt had been abandoned by the state. The initial demand for "security and cleanliness" subsequently expanded to protests against overcrowded classrooms and dilapidated infrastructure. The movement remained strong after the All Saints' (Toussaint) holiday, and on November 12, nearly 300,000 people demonstrated across France. The Socialist government led by Michel Rocard initially tried to downplay the mobilization, but subsequently announced an emergency aid plan worth 4.5 billion francs. Because the shadow of Malik Oussekine (an Algerian-origin youth student who was beaten to death by a police motorcycle unit during protests against university reforms four years earlier) still loomed, the government at the time instructed riot police to exercise restraint, preferring to tolerate a considerable degree of chaos rather than risk another death. In this regard, Macron's reaction is in stark contrast.
Macron's Interior Minister, Laurent Nuñez, initially used the term "urban violence" (violence urbaines) to describe the unrest in September, a term usually associated with riots in the suburbs (banlieues). However, as the movement spread to the Lycée Louis-le-Grand and the Lycée Henri-IV, two prestigious high schools located in the upscale 5th arrondissement of Paris at the top of the French academic pyramid, this characterization became increasingly difficult to sustain. Sciences Po and the École Normale Supérieure (ENS) were blockaded, order at the University of Paris II (Assas) and the Mines Paris was disrupted, and even the famously "peaceful" Institut Catholique was forced to close due to pressure from protesters, which Le Monde described as the "first time in memory." It took the government nearly two weeks to come up with a decent political response: meeting with student organizations, promising to deploy 3,000 substitute teachers to the most affected schools to fill vacancies, and launching a new online platform to collect student feedback. But this gesture of soliciting public opinion is likely no more credible than the "cahiers de doléances" (books of grievances) set up during the "Yellow Vest" crisis. The very name of those books, used to collect public grievances, reminded people of the complaints of peasants under the Ancien Régime.
If the unrest continues, Education Minister Edouard Geffray will clearly become the scapegoat. As the former chief of staff to centrist politician François Bayrou, Geffray is no stranger to the Rue de Grenelle (where the French Ministry of Education is located). Since 2017, he has held senior positions in the Ministry of Education, thus embodying an unusual administrative continuity in a department that has seen eight ministers in the decade of Macron's rule. But Macron and his Prime Minister, Sébastien Lecornu, have few cards left to play; this crisis erupted just as budget negotiations for the next year were beginning. Nuñez is in a particularly passive position due to the controversy sparked by police repression of student protests. Previously, he was already under pressure due to a scandal involving Rima Hassan, a member of "La France Insoumise" (LFI). Hassan was detained for allegedly "glorifying terrorism" due to pro-Palestinian comments on social media; Nuñez was filmed in a video lying to reporters, claiming that drugs had been found in the personal belongings of the Palestinian-origin Member of the European Parliament. Hassan has filed a lawsuit against him for violating the confidentiality of the investigation. In a government that was not so exhausted, this incident might have been enough to force his resignation. But with only six months left until the presidential election, Macron is clinging tightly to the few cronies he has left.
What the French government fears most is the "convergence of struggles" (Convergence des luttes). Many of those on the streets are not yet of voting age, but this campus rebellion could become a rallying point for grievances that go far beyond education, most notably the cost of living and fuel prices. Ministers are clearly hoping that the mid-term break (All Saints' holiday) starting this week will curb the momentum of the movement. However, a call originating on TikTok and widely circulated on other platforms, calling for further protests on October 17, has once again evoked the ghost of the "Yellow Vest" movement—in November 2018, that movement began in protest against fuel tax hikes, leading to months of violent clashes in central Paris. Ministers will be watching the road freight industry closely, as truck drivers were an early mainstay of that movement. Prime Minister Lecornu has ordered the release of 10 million barrels of diesel from strategic reserves, and the government says this should lower fuel prices at gas stations by about 15 euro cents per liter.
On all fronts, Macron's presidency is limping toward its end. The decade of his rule has seen one crisis after another: from the "Yellow Vest" movement and massive protests against pension reform, to the parliamentary deadlock triggered by his decision to dissolve the National Assembly in 2024. When he was elected, he promised to transcend partisan differences, only to watch the alienation between the political establishment and the general electorate deepen. On the international stage, the president remains exceptionally active, yet seems unable to influence the course of events. The issue of Ukraine is the most obvious example: despite pressure from Washington to restart negotiations, Paris remains firmly supportive of Kyiv and maintains a hard line against Moscow. The bond market is a more difficult problem. The yield on French 10-year government bonds has approached 5 percent, hitting its highest level in nearly 25 years, and the spread with German bonds has widened sharply. Anglo-American financial media have begun to call France the new "sick man" of the eurozone. By the end of the second quarter, France's public debt-to-GDP ratio had reached 119 percent.
Macron's camp argues that the president, who pursued a "whatever it takes" (quoi qu'il en coûte) policy during the COVID-19 pandemic, also had to deal with the energy shocks caused by the wars in Ukraine and Iran. But his pro-business policies are also one of the reasons for the current situation. The French Court of Audit (Cour des Comptes) estimates that by 2023, tax cuts and social security contribution cuts implemented since 2018 have cost the public treasury about 62 billion euros per year, equivalent to 2.2 percent of GDP, or about half of the structural deficit during that period. Therefore, the fiscal gap is, to some extent, the result of deliberate political choices to lower corporate taxes and employer contributions, while at the same time, French public spending has been cut, unemployment benefit eligibility has been tightened, and the retirement age has been pushed back. For most people, a government that is generous to businesses without attaching conditions, yet now demands sacrifices from the public, sounds incredibly hollow and hypocritical.
How the European Central Bank (ECB) will respond to the further rise in French borrowing costs remains an unknown, which has further exacerbated tensions. Bloomberg has raised the question: to what extent can Christine Lagarde, as President of the ECB, step in to save her home country without being accused of favoritism? Lagarde herself insisted this week that the key to resolving France's debt dilemma lies in Paris, not Frankfurt. If she were to resign before her term ends, as she has hinted, her successor—Klaas Knot, the former governor of the Dutch central bank, is one of the names currently circulating—would likely not be any more accommodating. No matter how alarmist the warnings from financial markets are, their political impact is real, leaving the French government with almost no room to appease the protesters on the streets.
With only seven months left until the presidential election, the campaign has already begun, but all major political camps are in varying degrees of chaos. The National Rally (RN) is leading in the polls: the latest poll by Odoxa shows Marine Le Pen at 37 percent, Jean-Luc Mélenchon at 18 percent, and Édouard Philippe, Macron's former prime minister and the most likely standard-bearer for the center-right, at 17 percent. However, most of the drama so far has been within the National Rally. After Le Pen's appeal, her ban from running for office was shortened, legally regaining her eligibility to run, but Jordan Bardella, long seen as the party's "Plan B," has seen his momentum hit by revelations of suspected anti-Semitic remarks made early in his political career. Given that this material came from people close to Bardella, it is suspected that this is the result of internal party infighting. This incident has not yet shaken Le Pen's lead, but it has complicated the National Rally's strategic deployment. Bardella is not only a useful young face, but also a reassuring liberal, market-friendly voice within the party. Le Pen continues to firmly support him, and when she unveiled her budget plan this month, Bardella stood at her right hand: the plan proposes net savings of 140 billion euros by 2032 and the establishment of a constitutional "golden rule" requiring annual deficit reduction, aimed at calming investor concerns. Considering that more than half of French government debt is held by foreigners, this is a small irony for a party committed to the "nation first" principle.
In contrast, because the outgoing president is constitutionally barred from seeking a third term, the traditional right and the Macronist centrist camp are struggling to find a successor for him. As in 2022, the figures currently on the table have not yet generated heat commensurate with their political ambitions. Within Macron's inner circle, a significant number of people see Philippe as the top candidate. As a protégé of Alain Juppé, a pillar of the French pro-European center-right, he has cultivated a plain, moderate, and reassuring image. Bruno Retailleau, the hard-right leader of The Republicans (Les Républicains), might eventually stand behind him and offer support. However, since being removed as prime minister in 2020, Philippe's relationship with Macron has been quite delicate. If Philippe wins in 2027, it could dash Macron's hopes of returning to the Élysée Palace five years later. After all, the outgoing president will only be 54 in 2032, and according to the constitution, he is fully eligible to run again.
The situation on the center-left is equally bleak. The so-called social democratic primary, jointly organized by the Socialist Party, the loose "Place Publique" party of Raphaël Glucksmann, and the smaller "Gauche républicaine et socialiste," concluded on October 11, with Glucksmann winning a decisive victory with 66 percent of the vote. However, only 140,000 people registered to vote, compared to more than 2 million who participated in the 2017 Socialist primary. Non-party members, who made up the vast majority of participants, had to pay 15 euros to vote online; on the eve of the vote, the candidates' platforms were not even visible on the platform; the voting process was also interrupted by what the organizers called a "cyberattack," forcing them to extend the deadline by one day. The entire primary was largely aimed at shaping Glucksmann as a credible rival to challenge Mélenchon for leadership of the left. As for whether he really has a chance of winning, that is another matter.
Glucksmann is the son of neo-conservative philosopher André Glucksmann, and he grew up in that small circle of half-baked Parisian intellectuals who flirt with the media. After supporting Nicolas Sarkozy's presidential bid in 2007, he served for four years as an advisor to the fervent Atlanticist and Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili. Today, as a Member of the European Parliament elected with the support of the Socialist Party, he specializes in defense and foreign policy, advocating for rearmament, increased military support for Ukraine, and a tougher policy toward Russia and other so-called enemies of the West. Although the media has praised him to the skies, recent initial polls show his support is only around 9 percent. He has also shown none of the "Rastignac" (the ambitious young archetype in Balzac's novels) drive that propelled Macron's 2017 campaign. Meanwhile, François Hollande refused to participate in the primary, keeping his distance from the sidelines. If the former president were to jump in and announce his candidacy, it would likely further divide the already dwindling Socialist camp.
In contrast, while other rivals are mired in internal chaos, Mélenchon has so far remained largely unscathed. The eight-year judicial investigation into "La France Insoumise" European Parliament assistants ended this spring without any formal charges being filed. Meanwhile, the campus protests have given Mélenchon a favorable position, as the urban youth at the center of the storm are the very voter group he has worked hard to mobilize. Current polls show him with a narrow lead over Philippe in the race for second place, increasing the possibility of a runoff between the "La France Insoumise" leader and Le Pen. The prospect of broader social unrest this autumn might, on the surface, seem to favor Mélenchon. But if the campaign is conducted against a backdrop of police-civilian clashes, it will force Mélenchon to spend a great deal of time arguing about violence and public order, leaving him no time to hold his signature super-large rallies and touring political education events as he has in previous elections. As the contest begins, the National Rally's support is twice that of its closest follower, while the parties that governed for most of the Fifth Republic are now either fragmented or in retreat. But whoever wins in 2027 will inherit the same fiscal shackles and face a public increasingly unwilling to pay the price for them.
