It is now a distant memory that some look back on with nostalgia, while others raise their eyes to the heavens as soon as it is brought up. It is a memory that no one dares talk about too much since pension reform came back on the political agenda, but one which looms over all the government's discussions and those of Members of Parliament in the ruling majority. It is also a memory that tells us a great deal about 'Macronism', its bad habits, its political flip-flops and its internal disputes.
At the end of a week when the initial discussions on President Macron's pension reforms at the National Assembly ended in confusion, and with the protests against the measures continuing in the streets, one key issue still remains unresolved. Why did Emmanuel Macron decide to abandon the systematic root and branch pension reform that he had proposed during his successful 2017 election campaign – a reform that was supported by the major CFDT trade union – and instead founder with a reform which simply changes certain parameters (in this case moving the retirement age from 62 to 64) and which is opposed by every trade union?
In particular, what changed between the day in April 2019 on which the head of state described pushing back the retirement age as “hypocritical” and the speech given by his then prime minister Édouard Philippe to the economic consultative and advisory body, the Conseil Économique, Social et Environnemental (CESE), the following December, which stated that the basic retirement age needed to ensure a full pension would be 64? And why was the work carried out by the former high commissioner on pensions, Jean-Paul Delevoye, not included in the 2022 reform plans?
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To find out the answers, Mediapart spoke to several protagonists from President Macron's previous term of office (2017 to 2022), people on the inside who either had to accept or actively sought the shelving of the “universal” pension regime reform that the president had initially favoured. Under such root and branch reform, the president had said, “one euro contributed earns the same benefit” for all. For a long time these two groups belonged to two opposing camps: one containing “proponents of disruptive reform” and the other “defenders of budgetary orthodoxy”, to adopt the words of one of them.
The first group – who backed systematic reform - had been involved in drawing up the 2017 election manifesto, in which the pension proposals were largely inspired by the work of the Franco-Swiss economist Antoine Bozio. As a candidate, they now recall, Emmanuel Macron did not really have an opinion on the issue. What he did want, however, was to be able to start his campaign with a major social reform that would set him apart from what had gone before. The actual content and details were less important.
Strong internal resistance
Plans for a systematic reform of the pension system were thus launched, picking up on an argument developed by the authors of Emmanuel Macron's book 'Revolution' (published by XO Éditions) which stated: “We can no longer be content with tinkering or yet another discussion about such and such a parameter [editor's note, in the pension rules].” Yet some of those close to the candidate were reluctant about the reform plan. Very close in some cases, as one of the most sceptical was Alexis Kohler who went on to become Macron's chief of staff and right-hand man.
When they joined the government set up after Macron's victory, the new recruits from the rightwing Les Républicains rammed their own scepticism home. Very quickly the centre-right prime minister Édouard Philippe, supported by the rightwing public accounts minister Gérald Darmanin, asserted that the government's budget could not be met without making some savings. So, they argued, why not reconsider the idea of increasing the age of retirement? The head of state himself was opposed. It was too soon to abandon one's convictions.
Over a period of two years Emmanuel Macron tasked one of his most trusted supporters, Jean-Paul Delevoye, with overseeing the work and the consultations that would supposedly enable the state's 42 different pension regimes to be merged (currently many of France's professions and trades have their own special pension system which often allows for retirement before the normal age of 62).
However, the team working for Jean-Paul Delevoye, whose title was high commissioner for pensions, felt they were being closely watched by the prime minister's office. This was filled by one-time supporters of former prime minster Alain Juppé, and they were terrified of chance leaks. They took the view that pension reform had always – at least, ever since Juppé felt obliged to abandon his own social security reforms back in 1995 – been an explosive issue.
It was the start of an internal struggle in the government that would reach its peak in 2019. It saw the three most powerful state figures after the president - Alexis Kohler, the prime minister and the latter's own chief of staff Benoît Ribadeau-Dumas – ranged against those who still had 'Macronist' political DNA in their bones. These included presidential adviser Philippe Grangeon, a former director of communications at the CFDT trade union, and a large section of MPs in the ruling majority.
The former group were certainly less numerous but their voice – and they spoke with one voice – carried more clout. They were also able to point to the latest reports from the government's own pensions advisory body, the Conseil d'Orientation des Retraites (COR), from 2017 and 2018, which on the face of it were more alarming than previous years. The latter group, who backed root and branch reform of the pension system, reminded Emmanuel Macron of the dangers of a presidency that forgets its promises and the fundamentals of social democracy.
As for the president himself, he agreed with everyone. Those who saw him in action at the time are still struck, years later, by his ability to make contradictory arguments depending on who he was talking to and when, and with disconcerting sincerity. They describe a malleability which inevitably blurred the message. Each visitor left the Élysée bolstered but deceived.
Two irons in the fire
In 2019 those who worked on the issue every day used to hang on the head of state's public utterances in a bid to understand what he really thought. When at the end of August that year President Macron declared that he favoured an “agreement on the number of years of [pension] contributions rather than on age”, no one had expected that. And when in early October he stated that he did not like the term “onerous” - in France's different pension regimes jobs that are officially classified as physically onerous can benefit from a lower retirement age - many were taken aback.
In fact, the president continued to have two irons in the fire, to use an expression of a former government adviser. For his part, the prime minister Édouard Philippe told anyone who would listen that he would not bring forward systematic reform of the pension without some adjustment of the parameters involved, in other words increasing the retirement age or the number of years of pension contributions needed. More and more in the government and the wider administration thought that the initial reform plan was too complex. Many in fact considered that the 'great social reform' had now become a huge millstone.
The end of the consultation period led by Jean-Paul Delevoye was approaching but the prime minister's office, which was very critical of the high commissioner's work, delayed the timetable again. Yet another consultation was launched. Conditions over the financial stability of the future pension regime were slipped into the report. The groundwork now needed to be done to prepare people for the fact that these conditions would also feature in the bill.
Doubts crept in. The trade unions were more and more dismayed, the ruling majority had still not forgotten the protests of the 'yellow vest' movement and a majority of government ministers wanted to avoid additional complications. As a result of special dispensations being granted, the exception became the rule and the reform plan became full of holes. The high commissioner for pensions became more and more isolated. For many the project involved too much “hassle” - a word that was on everyone's lips.
Between September and December 2019 four men decided on the issue: Emmanuel Macron, Alexis Kohler, Édouard Philippe and Benoît Ribadeau-Dumas. But outside this small circle voices of discord dominated public debate. The press reflected an interpretation of events that was, to say the least, surprising given the balance of power in the French political system: it was said that the head of state was having his “arm twisted” by the prime minister to bring in a new retirement age.
However, no one doubted that the prime minister's speech to the CESE in December 2019 was approved by the Élysée and that the final decision was made by the president himself. Fifteen days earlier Jean-Paul Delevoye had capitulated in his fight against setting a new age limit. And it was certainly not Édouard Philippe who made him give way. Meanwhile, the general secretary of the CFDT trade union, Laurent Berger, was furious: he had also clearly been badly informed as to Emmanuel Macron's real intentions.
The true face of Emmanuel Macron
What happened next was well-documented in the media: the departure of Jean-Paul Delevoye after “lapses” in declaring some personal interests; the first large-scale demonstrations against the pension reforms; the unveiling - just a few days before the first Covid lockdown – of plans to push through those reforms by a constitutional device (article 49-3 of the Constitution) to avoid a Parliamentary vote. Then on March 16th 2020, in the middle of the global pandemic, Emmanuel Macron announced the suspension of “all current reforms”, starting with the pension proposals. They would never return in their initial form.
The 2022 presidential campaign manifesto was written directly at the Élysée. Those who favoured root and branch pension reform were sidelined in a campaign whose mantra was very different from that of 2017. Gone were the great disruptive and expensive ideas, it was now about getting money back into the state coffers that Macron's “whatever it takes” approach to the Covid pandemic in France had emptied.
Around the president the mentality had also changed. “We had become more like Giscard,” admits one former minister, referring to President Valéry Giscard d'Estaing a centre-right liberal who was in the Élysée from 1974 to 1981, and who cut spending to avoid budget deficits. “With the good sides of Giscard but also quite a standard rightwing economic vision,” said one. Those behind the new proposals decided to make the reform simpler, opting for a financial solution which perfectly suited the conservative reflexes of the “technocrats” who surround Emmanuel Macron.
While some close to the head of state say they are still very attached to the “Macronian draft” of the pension plan, which for them means the idea of a new universal pension regime, they are also very well aware that such talk belongs to the past. For those who are disappointed by his previous term of office, the head of state is finally showing his true face in 2022; that of a man driven by values that completely distance him from the Left. For those rare individuals who still want to believe in him and his political balancing act, events forced him to change.
The president's supporters are now having to back a pension reform that is purely about budget savings, adopting language that is diametrically opposed to what they were touting a few years ago. This situation has inevitably led to some high-risk presentation strategies which, as supporters privately admit, help mask the profoundly unfair nature of pushing back the retirement age.
In the space of six years the changes in the pension reform have cast an unforgiving light on the Macron government, its absence of a backbone, its internal oppositions, its power games and its approximations with the truth. Today all that remains is a dangerous stubbornness, which is leading members of a Parliament that lacks an absolute majority to do the precise opposite of what the majority of French people want. Without them even believing in it themselves.
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- The original French version of this article can be found here.
English version by Michael Streeter