HOW FRANCE LOST ITS DIPLOMATIC TOUCH

Colin Powell waved around a vial purporting to contain anthrax, a justification for the United States to start its invasion of Iraq. In reality, the decision had already been made. The charade in the Security Council was just a ploy to gather more international support. Powell maintained till his death that he never lied as he was supplied with unreliable information (Borger, 2021). Regardless, his, and the United States’s reputation was ultimately tarnished globally. A week or so later came another – perhaps less well-known – event in the run-up to the Iraq War. Then French Foreign Minister Dominique de Villepin outlined his country’s position on the crisis. And, a rarity in the UN Security Council, he received a round of applause, something which in less formal settings could be considered akin to a standing ovation (Ahmed, et al., 2003).

De Villepin’s speech is arguably better known domestically than internationally. His tenure as foreign minister is today viewed with nostalgia across political aisles (Le Parisien, 2023). He, along with President Jacques Chirac, seem to represent a now bygone time in which France had some weight in the diplomatic scene and could forge its own path internationally. China, a member of the Security Council, was also opposed to military action in Iraq, but unlike the French, did not threaten to use their veto (Tagliabue, 2003). European countries, aside from the United Kingdom – where Tony Blair seemed unwilling to jeopardise the US-UK ‘Special Relationship’, were also largely opposed to military action, but, perhaps by virtue of their permanent seat on the Security Council, the French attracted most of the United States’s ire (BBC News, 2003). The row clearly touched a nerve, with Congress’s House Committee on House Administration going as far as renaming ‘French Fries’ in their cafeterias to ‘Freedom Fries’ (Loughlin, 2003). Some restaurants in the country followed suit, reflecting not only high-level frustration with France, but also popular resentment (ibid). To De Villepin, France’s opposition to the war wasn’t a problem between it and the United States, but a disagreement over how to deal with the crisis in Iraq. A different vision of the world. And a problem in which France felt a responsibility, as a “friend”, to help the United States be able to see clearly (BBC News, 2003). France ultimately failed to make the US, and the UK, change course. The invasion of Iraq went ahead, without UN consent. But importantly, it went ahead without France – nor most of the United States’s traditional allies (Hosenball, 2016).

The eventual consequences of the Iraq War essentially vindicated France’s position. Weapons of mass destruction were not found (Borger, 2004). Saddam Hussein’s government fell quickly, but a long-lasting insurgency kept the US and UK engaged – and when they did leave, the Islamic State managed to take hold, prolonging conflict in the war-torn country for many years (Sengupta, 2023). Once again, De Villepin was right. As he cautioned in the same UN speech, winning a war was only part of the process, with one also “[having] to build peace”, warning that it would be “long and difficult” because of the need to “preserve Iraq's unity and restore stability in a lasting way in a country and region harshly affected by the intrusion of force” (CNN, 2003). In hindsight, he was right. So right that what he said could even be considered prophetic. 

Other than on Iraq itself, France’s ability at the time to take a third path seemed to vindicate a certain sense of French exceptionalism with regards to foreign policy. From De Gaulle to Mitterrand to Chirac, France has always sought a distinct foreign policy position from that of the United States – sometimes leading to tensions between the two states. In the 1960s, France withdrew from NATO’s joint military command structure following the United States' refusal to give European states more influence in the organisation (NATO Comissioned Study, n.d.). De Gaulle was particularly unhappy about having French troops under what he viewed as American command (Peyrefitte, 1997). Adding to this was American disapproval at France’s development of its very own independent nuclear deterrent. Fearing a weakening of Anglo-Saxon influence in NATO, the US refused to integrate it into the North Atlantic bloc’s overall nuclear deterrence arsenal (Baum, 1990). More generally, he contested the US’s hegemonic dominance in the world, trying to brand France as a viable leader of a non-aligned Third World bloc (Paxton & Wahl, 1994). Ultimately, De Gaulle was successful, forming lasting relationships with African and Arab states. From being highly reliant on the US during the immediate post-WW2 context both economically and militarily, the country managed to forge its own path in the world (Martin, 2013). 

De Gaulle’s position was maintained and supported by his successors whether on the right or on the left (France Culture, 2021). Even under various rapprochements between France and the United States in the 70s and later in the 80s under President Mitterrand, De Gaulle’s withdrawal of the country from NATO’s joint military command was not contested. As former prime minister Lionel Jospin put it, De Gaulle managed to find a unique position for France to fit in the world. France would be politically united with its allies, militarily interoperable, and strategically autonomous (Jauvert, 2011). In short, the best of all worlds. A « politique de grandeur ». And it was specifically this independence from US hegemony which gave France a diplomatic advantage over the decades.

In 2007, Nicholas Sarkozy, interior minister under Chirac, and De Villepin’s party rival, won the presidency. He had no qualms about vocalising his appreciation of the United States, both personally and on a foreign policy level (Le Monde, 2010). Relations between France and the US improved greatly under his tenure, at least publicly (Lepri, 2010). In 2009, France re-entered NATO’s joint military command after a nearly fifty-year absence. Sarkozy defended his decision by claiming that progress in implementing « l'Europe de la défense » would be able to balance American dominance in NATO. He framed rejoining NATO joint command as a natural continuation of a European defence strategy (L'Express, 2008). But, to many, the decision was rushed, and many of Sarkozy's supporters now say that the European Defence which was a condition of a return to joint NATO military command simply never materialised (Le Monde, 2010). For critics, the sole consolation was that France was to retain an independent nuclear deterrence (Mills, 2022).

Sarkozy’s other foreign policy decisions have also been heavily scrutinised. He may have very well pleased the US by rejoining NATO command, and by sending more troops to Afghanistan and expanding their role to include combat operations (Jauvert, 2011), but he also softened ties with Russia. More specifically he approved the sale of French warships to Russia, incurring Washington’s wrath (Davies, 2010). This just two years after Russia went to war against Georgia – culminating in a ceasefire which Sarkozy himself helped broker. To Sarkozy, a multipolar world where France forged its own path very much meant a multipolar world for business purposes, and no further (Jauvert, 2014). 

Sarkozy also led France to join in airstrikes on Libya in 2011. Whilst the military intervention was started under the pretext of enforcing a no-fly zone, France and the UK pushed for the operation to be expanded to include targeting Muammar Gaddafi’s regime. Even President Obama later slammed Sarkozy and UK Prime Minister David Cameron for their instrumental role which has destabilised the country and plunged it into civil war (Walker & Morris, 2016). A report conducted by the UK Parliament’s Foreign Affairs Committee pointed how Sarkozy pushed for regime change in order to better his domestic political standing (Arfi, 2016). Incumbent French President Emmanuel Macron also later stated that France’s role in regime change in Libya was a mistake, contrasting it with the country’s non-involvement in the war in Iraq (Werly, 2017). It comes as perhaps no surprise that Sarkozy is currently on trial for various offences, including allegations of corruption and influence peddling (Les Echos, 2023).

Francois Hollande, Sarkozy’s left-wing successor, similarly was no great statesman. Though he at least did not lead France into military action for personal gain. His tenure was marked by the increasing threat of ISIS and other terrorist groups, for which he authorised military intervention in Mali, later expanding to more countries in the Sahel region, to help bolster African nations’ fight against Islamist terrorist groups. His one and only notable foreign policy initiative was praised from both sides of the aisles (Le Monde, 2013). However, France’s failure to use its traditionally strong influence in the Middle East to resolve the Syrian crisis was also perhaps a sign of what was to come. Aside from the operations in the Sahel and the success of the Paris Climate Agreement, he was unwilling to rock the boat, be it domestically or internationally (François, 2017).

Then came Emmanuel Macron. Despite benefiting from a certain novelty factor, the incoming president hadn’t at first fundamentally changed France’s foreign policy, though the presence of a wildcard President Trump on the other side of the Atlantic offered him an opportunity to diverge from the newly isolationist US foreign policy and reestablish the country’s importance in the world (Carbonaro, 2022). But as Trump came and went, and a more normal President Biden emerged, it seemed that Macron had missed his chance.

In a sense, President Macron suffers from a form of main character syndrome. He seems unaware or perhaps unwilling to be aware that the France of the 2020s no longer has the same influence it did in the world under the « politique de grandeur » under De Gaulle, Mitterrand, or Chirac. Perhaps most emblematic of this is his eleventh-hour attempt at preventing the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022. In early February, Russian President Vladimir Putin hosted Macron in Moscow (Herszenhorn & Leali, 2022). Sat on opposite ends of an absurdly long marble table, the French President expressed much hope that a solution in a bid to de-escalate the crisis could be found. He was perhaps hopeful, or perhaps naive. Or more likely, overestimating his own personal charisma. He had indeed believed that he had formed a strong enough personal relationship with Putin over the years. Indeed, Putin was the first head of state to visit France after Macron’s election in 2017. Senior Elysée sources also seemed to agree, praising Macron as the only Western leader capable of having such “profound” conversations with Putin (ibid). At that exact date, Russia had already amassed 125k soldiers along the Ukrainian border, according to Macron himself. American intelligence put that number at 150k, 70% of the forces that were likely necessary for an invasion, warning that one could start within two weeks. Unlike the US and the UK, Macron downplayed concerns over any impending Russian military action. Macron reportedly tried his best to appease Putin in the meeting. Refusing to push back against untrue claims made by the Russian President regarding the annexation of Crimea for instance or his claim that the Wagner Group – which was destabilising France’s traditional sphere of influence in Africa – was linked to the Kremlin (ibid). The French President also reportedly expressed concern for Russian interests and linked it to the trauma that it experienced following the dissolution of the Soviet Union (ibid). A far cry from the stronger stance from other Western leaders. Even reluctant Germany took a firmer stance on Russia, with Olaf Scholz stating that his country and the US would act in lockstep to respond to an invasion as he visited Washington (ibid). 

Not one to easily be deterred, just four days before the start of the war, Macron and Putin spoke once again, this time by phone (AFP, 2022). The French President was reportedly firmer with Putin, but still clearly out of depth. With the benefit of hindsight, he had essentially gotten played. Whilst talk by Macron was still regarding the possibility of a de-escalation, the US and other European allies were taking the threat seriously and discussing possible responses to Russian military action. Just a day later, Putin made his speech in which he recognised Ukraine’s two breakaway provinces in the east of the country as independent and made a series of false claims regarding Ukraine, the West and NATO (C-SPAN, 2022). Notwithstanding his spectacular failure, even after the war started, Macron continued to diverge from his European allies, calling for instance for the world to not ‘humiliate’ Russia (Ricard, 2022). Ukraine slammed this declaration, whilst the West was dismayed (ibid). Putin must’ve rejoiced at the row. And perhaps even more telling, just as action speaks more than words, Macron had by that point, contrary to many Western leaders, yet to step foot in Ukraine (ibid). Perhaps Macron thought he was going to be a modern day De Villepin, stating that peace had to be given a chance at all costs, but it most certainly demonstrated France’s powerlessness, and likely his own personal shortcomings. He was no Dominique de Villepin.

Under Macron’s presidency, France has also lost its grip on two core traditional spheres of influence. Its hold on former colonies in Africa has been severely weakened by a series of coups, threatening France’s one instrumental role in Françafrique (Keaten, et al., 2023). Notwithstanding the coups, the former colonial power’s sway on the region was already being challenged by China’s increasing investment on the continent. France is also seen by many nationals of its former colonies as propping up elites, with French aid and investment rarely reaching those most in need (Usman, 2023). In a sense, Russian-supported coups have only compounded the already existing issue of waning French influence.

The country has also lost much credibility in the Middle East following its reaction to Hamas’s attack on Israel and subsequent Israeli response. Members of Macron’s party have pledged unconditional support for Israel (LCP, 2023). The president himself hasn’t spelled out his unconditional support that explicitly, but very much has diverged from the country’s traditional position on Israel and Palestine (Gueugneau, 2023). For instance, then president De Gaulle was highly critical of Israel during the Six Day War in 1967 (Bass, 2010). He condemned Israel’s treatment of refugees, colonisation of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip and refused to recognise Jerusalem as being part of Israel (ibid). In the UN, France used its veto power against Israel and sided with Arab states on Middle Eastern matters (ibid). Most notably, France imposed an arms embargo on Israel (ibid). De Gaulle’s successors softened their stance, but also defended France’s position that a two-state solution was necessary. François Mitterrand and Jacques Chirac for instance had good ties with Yasser Arafat (Filiu, 2005). And in a now iconic moment of French political history, the latter had an angry outburst when visiting Jerusalem of the heavy-handed tactics used by Israeli security forces who were escorting him (INA, 1996). He viewed that the Israelis were curtailing his movements and limiting his interaction with those who came to welcome him. Macron, perhaps in a bid to imitate Chirac, had a similar interaction with his security detail in early 2020, but that now seems like a bygone time (Le Figaro, 2020).

This shift in policy, seemingly without any consultation from the diplomatic corps at the Quai d’Orsay caused concern. In an unprecedented rebuke, a dozen, or so French ambassadors to various countries in the Middle East and North Africa drafted and signed a memo expressing opposition to President Macron’s overtly pro-Israel stance (Malbrunot, 2023). The diplomats argued that a departure from France’s traditionally balanced stance between Israel and Palestine has led to the country losing credibility and potentially influence in the Arab world. Of note, his proposal to expand the international anti-ISIS coalition to fight Hamas raised eyebrows. Hamas is not considered a terrorist organisation, unlike ISIS, by many of the Middle Eastern countries involved (Perrier, 2023). A repeat of 2006, in which France under Chirac was instrumental in drafting a ceasefire agreement between Hezbollah and Israel with the United States seems unlikely (The Guardian, 2006). France itself has become the target of some protesters across North Africa and the Middle East due to its stance (Jeune Afrique, 2023). To many, France’s position has become synonymous with that of the United States on the issue. This has also had repercussions on a higher level with leaders of the Arab world seemingly giving France a chilly reception. Macron for instance was welcomed by the Mayor of Amman upon landing in Jordan, rather than a more highly ranking official as is customary (Malbrunot, 2023). Faced with this, and growing coverage of what looks to amount to Israeli war crimes in Gaza, Macron, following the winds of change affecting Western leaders, has moderated his stance, much to Israel’s anger (Adler & Luckhurst, 2023). But is it already too late to reverse the damage? Have fifty years of French ties with the Arab world already been consigned to history?

The fundamental crux of the issue at the heart of France’s current diplomatic dearth seems to at least be partly due to Emmanuel Macron’s mantra of governing alone. His diplomatic corps, who advocate a more nuanced position regarding Palestine and Israel, seem to have been sidestepped (Malbrunot, 2023). Dominique de Villepin, who has reemerged from the sidelines, has taken to the airwaves to voice his concern with France’s position, warning that the right to self-defence does not constitute the right to indiscriminate vengeance (France Inter, 2023). His calls, so far, have fallen on deaf ears. Though they have been very popular on the internet, perhaps showing how out of touch Macron is with the French population’s opinion on the issue (Le Parisien, 2023). De Villepin seems to have touched a nerve though, as he has been accused of making antisemitic comments (Théo Bourrieau, 2023). An accusation all too common in France levelled at those who do not toe the official line regarding Israel (Schofield, 2023).

Macron’s problems with listening to advice is also reflected in the reforms he is currently undertaking to transform the country’s diplomatic corps. As part of his plans, two highest ranking positions among all diplomatic personnel, usually viewed as a pathway to becoming an ambassador, will be scrapped (franceinfo, 2022). Instead, diplomats will be pooled together with other senior members of the civil service. The reform is defended by the government as being a way to fight against ‘corporatism’, to diversify the ranks of diplomats and to encourage mobility across the civil service as a whole. Opposition from the current diplomatic corps has been fierce, with diplomats going on strike in June 2023 for the first time in twenty years (Ricard, 2022). The reforms have also been slammed by big names. Dominique de Villepin for instance warned that the changes would penalise France’s independence, competency, and lead to a loss of experience. He pointed out that the diplomatic corps were instrumental in the country’s opposition to the US invasion of Iraq and signing of the 2015 Paris Climate Agreement (franceinfo, 2022). Former Ambassador to the United States Gérard Araud claimed that the changes would pave the way for American-style appointments of personal friends and allies in key diplomatic posts, rather than experienced diplomats (ibid). The president would indeed be able to nominate from a wider pool of candidates across the senior civil service rather than a smaller cohort of diplomatic staff, making it easier for him to cherry pick allies and friends. 

Macron had already attracted the ire of the diplomatic corps as early as 2018 when he tried and failed to appoint a close ally, Philippe Besson – a writer, with no prior diplomatic experience as consul general in Los Angeles (Aïssaoui, 2018). The president defended the appointment, stating that having a writer as a diplomat was a ‘French tradition’ (Le Figaro, 2018). Whilst Besson may indeed be a figure of French modern literature, he is certainly no Chateaubriand, Paul Claudel, or Stendhal, who all served as diplomats. In 2017, his book retracing Emmanuel Macron’s journey on the campaign trail has been likened to a hagiography by the press – the now-president being portrayed as if he were a saint. Perhaps Macron may have misunderstood the Gaullist « politique de grandeur » which guided the foreign policy of yesteryear. Whilst De Gaulle very much referred to France’s greatness, Macron seems to only be thinking of his own.