In the heart of France, where daily visits to the bustling boulangerie and leisurely glasses of wine punctuate existence, labor strikes have become as integral to life as the Eiffel Tower to the Parisian skyline. This nation perennially ranks among the European heavyweights in staging the most prolific general strikes, a tradition deeply ingrained in its social fabric. Certain sectors, like the national rail service, have etched their names in the annals of protest history, steadfastly refusing to let a year pass without their voice being heard—a tradition that dates back to 1947.
Yet, amidst this backdrop of striking fervor, there stands an enigmatic exception: the diplomats of France’s foreign ministry, residing within the venerable Quai d’Orsay. Historically, these elite envoys have shied away from the picket lines, with only one solitary instance of a strike in the annals of the Quai’s history.
However, all that changed with a recent decree, stealthily unveiled by President Emmanuel Macron just a week before his triumphant re-election on April 24. This decree sought to reshape the very essence of the diplomatic corps, igniting the ire of some 500 diplomats who embarked on a one-day strike. Their fear? That their cherished profession would be diminished during a pivotal juncture in French foreign affairs.
This groundbreaking decree entailed the dissolution of France’s 800-strong diplomatic corps, subsuming them into a vast group of 13,500 civil servants. These civil servants, unlike their predecessors, would have the unique opportunity to traverse different ministerial departments throughout their careers. In essence, an agricultural expert could, under this restructuring, aspire to don the robes of an ambassador, ushering in an era of dynamic versatility.
However, this ambitious vision encountered staunch resistance from diplomats, who had, until now, dedicated themselves to an arduous regimen of education and training tailored to secure the illustrious path to a French ambassadorship. “Just as you wouldn’t enlist a plumber to mend your roof,” argues Nathalie Loiseau, a former diplomat now serving in the European Parliament, “a diplomat wouldn’t necessarily make a great deputy director of the Ministry of Agriculture. And vice versa.”
Of particular consternation is the specter of American-style ambassadorships looming on the horizon—an approach that the dissenting voices liken to the American tradition of nominating political appointees, often lacking real foreign policy experience, to prestigious ambassadorial posts. “Diplomats will serve as ambassadors to Burundi,” warns Gérard Araud, former French ambassador to the U.S., foreshadowing a future where Rome or London becomes the domain of personal acquaintances.
Adding fuel to the fire is the notion that these reforms arrive at a crucial juncture for French diplomacy, as Europe grapples with its most profound land war since World War II in Ukraine, and France and its allies engage in delicate negotiations surrounding the Iran nuclear deal.
This reform, slated to take effect next year, forms an integral component of Macron’s broader mission to diversify France’s civil service, dismantling its image as an elitist enclave. Last year, he announced the closure of the Ecole Nationale d’Administration, an elite institution that has nurtured many diplomats, including Macron himself.
In the midst of this fervor, Aurélie Bonal, a deputy ambassador to the U.S. and a participant in the strike, endeavors to dispel romanticized notions of diplomats leading a life of luxury. She underscores the grim realities diplomats face, from morgues to jails, late-night toils in perilous terrains, and the profound sacrifices borne by their families. In her eyes, diplomacy is not a transient stint but a profound vocation.
As diplomats unite in their quest, they clamor for a public hearing to address concerns not only about the impending structural overhaul but also the looming specters of budget cuts and staff reductions. At this pivotal moment, France’s foreign minister, Catherine Colonna, herself a diplomat, remains notably silent, leaving the diplomats to voice their fears in a chorus of unity.
