In autumn 1958, soon after 82% of voters had backed a new constitution for arguably western Europe’s least governable country, Charles de Gaulle turned to his confidant, Alain Peyrefitte, and observed, with evident satisfaction, that he had successfully reconciled monarchy and republic.
But as France’s Fifth Republic nears its 65th anniversary later this year, there can have been few moments in its history when it has seemed more contested – and it is the constitution’s elevation of the nation’s president to the status, almost, of an elected monarch that appears most to blame.
“Down with the Fifth Republic!” has been one of the chants of the millions of demonstrators who, 13 times now, have taken to the streets, sometimes violently, in a rolling nationwide protest that has become about far more than Emmanuel Macron’s decision to raise the retirement age from 62 to 64.
Uniquely in Europe, its critics argue, the constitution of France’s Fifth Republic empowers the executive at the expense of the legislature, and in effect places control of that executive essentially in the hands of one man (thus far, it has always been a man): a supreme leader, of sorts.
The French president appoints the government’s ministers, and is chief of the armed forces. He dissolves parliament. He promulgates laws (or can temporarily veto them), and nominates certain members of the Constitutional Council, which determines whether new laws are actually legal.
In principle, he does most of this in concertation with the prime minister. But since it is the president who appoints the prime minister – albeit one who can command a parliamentary majority – the prime minister’s views are, understandably, rarely an obstacle to the president’s wishes.
Devised by De Gaulle and drafted by Michel Debré, a law professor turned resistance fighter who would become the Fifth Republic’s first prime minister, the constitution contains tools that allow the government to radically restrict parliamentary debate, and to ram legislation through the Assemblée Nationale without a vote.
They have been deployed by previous presidents, often: article 49.3 in particular, which – in exchange for a parliamentary vote of no confidence in the government – allows the executive to bypass parliament if it is uncertain of winning a majority, has been used 100 times since 1958.
But Macron’s use of all those tools to pass a reform opposed by more than 70% of voters has ensured that the current president, already seen by many as arrogant and out of touch, is now also widely accused of being autocratic – and has precipitated what some commentators are calling a crisis of French democracy.
Amid an unstable and fractured political landscape, and ever more hysterical debate, the Fifth Republic’s detractors – who include far-left firebrand Jean-Luc Mélenchon and his La France Insoumise (France Unbowed) party – say the centralised, solitary power of France’s presidents is only deepening divisions and aggravating popular mistrust of democracy.
The Fifth Republic, they suggest, has run its course.
“The authoritarian elements of the Fifth Republic have been acknowledged since its inception,” says Patrick Martin-Genier, author of a book titled Towards a Sixth Republic, who argues that the issue is so significant that it means France cannot properly be called a parliamentary democracy comparable, for example, with Germany.
“It’s a vertical system of power that basically confiscates parliamentary democracy and allows the president to do what he wants. Over time, that’s become more apparent and less acceptable, and we cannot continue like this.”
Others agree. The “hyperpresidency” of the Fifth Republic engenders “distance, isolation, a concentration of power, decisions taken alone or in a small circle, a lack of transparency, and ultimately – if it encounters opposition – authoritarianism”, argues Raphaël Porteilla, a political scientist at the university of Burgundy.
France is four years from its next scheduled presidential election but, with Macron’s popularity plunging and far-right leader Marine Le Pen taking full advantage, many have expressed alarm at what might happen should a true authoritarian ever become a Fifth Republic president.
The current constitution deliberately constrains parliament’s role as a counterweight, Porteilla notes, not just through article 49.3, but also articles allowing the executive to limit time for debate and force a vote on a bill, retaining only those amendments it has approved. Perhaps most significantly, it keeps the people “on the fringes” of the political process, exercising their supposed sovereignty only during periodic elections and with no other constitutional capacity to act: referendums can be initiated only by the president, or by 20% of MPs backed by 10% of voters – roughly 4.8 million people – and providing parliament hasn’t examined the issue in the meantime.
“The public is confined to the role of spectator and, increasingly, non-voter,” he says. Turnout in the run-off of the 2022 presidential election that returned Macron to the Elysée was the lowest since 1969, while barely 46% of voters bothered to cast their ballots in the second round of that year’s parliamentary poll.
“Faced with a democratic crisis that calls into question the very legitimacy of the current regime, the issue is not whether France should change its constitution, but whether it should change constitutions altogether,” he argues.
So is France, as has happened on multiple occasions since 1789, soon to be forced by another bout of social and political turmoil – following the chaotic would-be popular uprising of the gilets jaunes (yellow vests) in 2018 - to fundamentally change the way it is governed? There are good reasons why not.
The Fifth Republic was born amid war in Algeria and an attempted military coup in May 1958. What was needed above all was stability and legislative efficiency: the previous, more parliamentary Fourth Republic, founded in 1946, had seen two dozen governments come and go, lasting an average of seven months.
Having concluded France and full parliamentary democracy were not natural bedfellows, De Gaulle, the country’s wartime hero and “homme de providence”, devised his more executive regime (reinforcing it, four years later, with a referendum ensuring the president would henceforth be directly elected).
However, he envisaged the president remaining largely above the fray of actually running the country – and many of those who feel the constitution should be changed again (it has been revised 24 times since 1958), rather than torn up, believe the nub of the present problem is that Macron is trying to reform the country against its will, without a parliamentary majority, using powers that may be constitutional but, in the 21st century, are no longer seen as democratic.
Many, such as history professor David Bellamy, argue that at a time of political uncertainty, writing and adopting a whole new constitution would be a “perilous exercise”. Placing parliament at the heart of lawmaking again would, they say, entail an acceptance of consensus and compromise that is not part of France’s political culture, at the cost of efficient decision-making.
Moreover, says Bellamy, the Fifth Republic has shown its adaptability, seeing France through “decolonisation, war, civil unrest, the resignation and death of presidents, power-sharing between presidents and parliaments of different persuasions, small and large majorities, referendums won and lost”.
Under it, modern France has taken shape, in peace and prosperity. A few changes here and there – revising those contentious articles, proportional representation, more participatory democracy – would suffice, many say. After all, suggests another historian, Marc Lazar, the French are quite attached to the idea of the all-powerful, Bonaparte-style leader.
“There’s something about the ‘republican monarch’ the French like,” Lazar said. “It appeals to many of us. It’s why we still turn out, in such numbers, for presidential elections. Last year’s turnout may have been low, but it was still 72%.”
Historically, France has changed constitution only in times of war, revolution and existential crisis – which this year’s mass demonstrations, so far at least, are not.
Nor is there any agreement on what a Sixth Republic might look like. A US-style system, in which the powers of executive and legislature are balanced? A European-style regime, with a largely representational head of state? Or, as Mélenchon would like, routine referendums, giving power to the people?
But perhaps the biggest reason a Sixth Republic may not be imminent is that in the current fractured state of French politics, there is no majority for it among MPs – even if it makes parliament stronger. As so often, France is crying out for change. It just cannot agree what actual changes it wants.