Democracy in distress: Why France keeps marching

On a Tuesday afternoon, the soundscape of central Paris abruptly shifts. The hum of traffic and the chatter of market stalls fade beneath the pulse of bass-heavy speakers echoing off Haussmann façades. Leaning out of their windows, residents quickly understand what is happening: once again, thousands march beneath them. 

This demonstration is mobilised by the General Confederation of Labour (CGT), Solidaires and Fédération syndicale unitaire (FSU). 17,000 protesters have taken to the streets to denounce the budget proposed by the French government for 2026, which would cut more than €30 billion from public spending.

A change that the government deems necessary to minimize France’s public deficit – the 3rd highest in the EU - and ensure proper funding of the military, according to the Ministry of Economics, Finance and Industrial and Digital Sovereignty.

“I’m here because the government keeps insisting that we need to spend less on education, on healthcare – everything that makes life valuable and worth living,” says Nath, a primary school teacher and member of FSU.

Hundreds of metres ahead, Valentin, a metal worker lights an emergency flare, embedding the street in smoke.

His frustration targets the new proposed budget and the two-year-old pension reform, which gradually raises the retirement age from 62 to 64.

“They want to make us work more and more and more. I don’t want to die at work!” he says.

As the crowd crawls through the streets like a human caterpillar, cyclists try to squeeze past and shop workers film from the pavement.

A democratic crisis 

France has seen repeated waves of large-scale protests over the past decade. Movements such as gilets jaunes (Yellow vests) and Bloquons tout (Block Everything) and more recent blockades and strikes have drawn hundreds of thousands of participants, at times accompanied by clashes with police and property damage.

Meanwhile, confidence in France’s democratic institutions has weakened in recent years:

At the same time, voter abstention is rising. This is especially the case for the younger voters, with abstention hitting 72 percent in the latest municipal elections among those aged 18-34. 

“France is no longer a democracy” 

At a café near Paris's central station Gare du Nord, Pierre Castex scrolls frantically through notifications exploding on his phone. As a member of the left-wing party La France Insoumise, he's especially busy preparing for the March 2026 municipal elections.

Despite spending a lot of time on the elections, Castex has lost faith in the system and understands why many in his generation choose not to vote. 

"The government disrespects election results. If nothing changes, it doesn’t feel necessary to vote," he explains.

Castex refers to the 2024 legislative election, where left-wing alliances won the most seats without establishing absolute majority. President Macron's centrist bloc came second; instead of appointing a left prime minister, Macron reappointed center-right François Bayrou. 

"I also remember looking at a protest and thinking: 'Okay, so here we are, maybe one million people. Nothing could stop us in a democratic and normal country'," he recalls.

"But that's not how it works in France," he states flatly. "Because France is no longer a democracy."

But not everyone shares Castex's grim verdict. 

“Democracy is so precious” 

Elisabeth Stibbe, councilor of the conservative party Les Républicains, is gearing up for the municipal elections from the inside of Paris’ town hall. 

Even she feels that she must push her own three adult children to vote.

“They say, ‘OK, we will do it because you are our beloved mum’,” she chuckles.

Though she understands the frustrations with France’s political system, her bubbly appearance shifts when hearing the claim that France is no longer a democracy.

“This is not true,” she says, gesturing to the colleagues drinking coffee around her. “All people who are here have been elected by citizens. It's still a democratic machine.”

For her, the existence of elected representatives at every level — from town councils to the National Assembly and Senate — is proof that democracy is still alive in France. 

“The fact that people maybe do not believe in our democracy anymore is terrible,” she exclaims and points to countries like Russia and North Korea where citizens lack basic freedoms. 

“We have everything here. We can do everything. We can vote. We can choose. We can say what we want. Democracy is so precious,” Stibbe explains.

Politicians, protests and the public 

Despite believing in French democracy, Stibbe does recognize a problem. 

“We as politicians have to get better at listening to the public,” she states. 

Stibbe describes that a lot of politicians have spent their whole lives inside parties and parliaments.

“They know nothing about real life,” she says. “They are disconnected. They don’t even notice the strikes, because they don’t have to take the metro; they have a chauffeur,” she explains. “That's why I think being a politician shouldn’t be a full-time job.” 

Stibbe does believe that protests sometimes can be part of the answer in how to get politicians to listen more.

“When the people are loud, something is wrong,” she adds. “Our job is to listen.”

But living in Paris, she also has experienced how repeated strikes and transport shutdowns hit workers and families who are not protesting.

“When there is no bus, no train, no et cetera, you cannot go to work. So, you are punished by your employer,” she says. “I think the people in Paris hate them. They hate them because it happens quite often. It's very bad for everybody,” Stibbe claims. 

Why take to the streets?

While many politicians see protests from offices and council chambers, photographer Léa Schneider sees them from inside the crowd.

On Dec. 4, the same week as the budget demonstration, another protest forms in front of the Folies Bergère, a historic theatre in the 9th arrondissement.

As guests arrive for a gala hosted by billionaire entrepreneur Pierre-Edouard Sterin, protesters cluster outside with banners, brass instruments and drums, trying to drown out the red carpet with their own soundtrack.

Moving between them is photographer and activist Léa Schneider, camera pressed to her eye. She has a passion for capturing protest images and spends much of her free time in the streets.

“One of the things I like about protesting and demonstrations is that when you feel maybe alone or angry, you get together,” Schnieder says. “You can be angry together, but mostly you can be joyful together. And I think joy is a very important part of being political.”

Schneider wants her photos to show a different side to protests.

“I like to show that protests are also dancing and laughing,” she says.

Schneider says she is frustrated about the portrayal of the protests in the everyday news media.

“In the general media you're going to see a lot of smashed glass, a lot of tags, and you get the impression that it's just people in hoods and wearing black, just destroying everything for the sake of it. It's not about that,” she insists.

“People always ask me, ‘Was it all right? Did you get hurt?’ But I don’t feel in danger when I protest,” Schneider continues. 

Photos from the protest by Léa Schneider.

She lives by one important rule: to stay away from where clashes are likely.

“I stay clear of the police. From what I saw in the last several years, the less police there are, the quieter it is,” she says.

Schneider also shares the wider dissatisfaction with institutions. She still votes but understands why many choose not to.

“It’s pretty tiresome,” she says, describing a feeling of the government neither respecting the results of the elections, nor the voice of the people when they take to the streets. 

“When I stay alone with these thoughts, I tend to get depressed. But when I go out with people who are angry with me, I feel joyful, empowered, and energized,” she says. 

Even when mobilisations cannot immediately make changes, she believes that making causes exist in the media and showing others they are not alone still matters.

She can see why some Parisians are annoyed by constant marches, blocked roads, or diverted buses. But for her, inconvenience is part of the point.

“If you’re going to block the streets and protest, you want to annoy some people,” she says with a shrug. 

“It’s also part of living in a big city… it’s not too hard on them.”

What now?

Back on the street for the 2026 budget protest, Nath isn’t sure whether the strike and protests will have any effect. 

“To be honest, I don’t think protesting helps that much, because Macron has been in power for eight years, and it hasn’t changed much,” she says.

But Nath still marches because the alternative feels worse, she says.

“If we don’t protest, it will only get worse. We need to keep the flame alive to keep people in the fight.”

As negotiations over the 2026 budget continue in parliament, parties remain divided. If no agreement is reached in time, France could begin the new year without an adopted budget. 

In the meantime, Parisians brace for more marches. On Tuesday it is public spending and pensions; on Thursday it is billionaires and fascists outside a glittering theatre - a familiar rhythm in a country where democracy is increasingly contested in the streets rather than the ballot box.