Inside France’s rural rising – POLITICO

This article is also available in: French

Standing on the stage, Serge Bousquet-Cassagne looked down solemnly at his protégé, pointing his arm at him for all the farmers and their families to see.

“I make you general of the army of the serfs,” the 65-year-old leader said in a makeshift ceremony organized to honor regional leader Lionel Candelon, who stood before him in a large concrete hall on the outskirts of Auch, southwestern France.

Hundreds had gathered to celebrate a landmark victory for their movement: the Coordination rurale union, known for its signature yellow hats, had made unprecedented gains in February’s farming union elections, breaking the hegemony of the establishment FNSEA in representing farmers in France and Brussels.

Bousquet-Cassagne’s grand gesture — elevating Candelon to general — was both a nod to his military background and suited the farming union’s muscular style.

The movement has been at the forefront of recent farmers’ protests in France, outflanking the FNSEA with hard-hitting action, ranging from confrontations with President Emmanuel Macron to setting manure on fire in front of government buildings, drawing criticism for what rivals say are intimidation tactics.

That evening however, the crowd was in a cheery mood, celebrating past coups d’éclat and triumphs yet to come at long banquet tables decked out with yellow paper napkins and soon laid with roasted duck breast and red wine.

Deep south

The movement was born 40 kilometers from Auch, in the heart of Gascony, a land of soft hills and green pastures just to the north of the Spanish border that is famed for its foie gras, Armagnac brandy — and strong headed people.

Bousquet-Cassagne has made a trademark of his bullish manners and disregard for the law, boasting 17 court appearances over the years for actions ranging from vandalizing supermarkets to illegally constructing water basins used for irrigation.

“In this country if you don’t burn cars you don’t get acknowledged,” he said at the rally. “And you get fucked.”

Bousquet-Cassagne is also one of the union’s figures most closely associated with the French political far right, having called National Rally President Jordan Bardella “their last hope.”

His outspoken support for the party, along with that of other Coordination rurale figures, has fueled speculation about the union’s symbiotic relationship with Marine Le Pen’s party as large chunks of the French countryside have swung to the far right over the last couple of years.

France’s rural heartlands have been a big reservoir for growth for the National Rally over the past couple of years. After winning over disaffected industrial areas, the party has sought to capitalize on rural discontent and hardship, blaming mainstream parties for failed farming policies and accusing Brussels of exposing EU markets to cheaper and inferior foreign produce.

Support for nationalist parties is especially high among the ranks of the yellow hats: Sixty-two percent of them expressed support for the National Rally or the more extreme Reconquête in a poll conducted ahead of last June’s European election by research institutes Cevipof and INP Ensat. That compared with 31 percent of supporters of the FNSEA — the National Federation of Agricultural Holders’ Unions — slightly below the far right’s actual vote share of the voting public.

While not everyone in the movement approves of Bousquet-Cassagne’s style and outspoken support for the far right, most see him as a strong leader and a role model.

As he sipped his drink and greeted union members in Auch, Bousquet-Cassagne constantly interrupted himself to greet supporters, calling them “thugs!” and “terrorists!” in jest. Many approached for advice, especially on building water basins for irrigation, as access to water has become a huge point of contention with environmentalists and local authorities as the weather grows drier and hotter in the region due to climate change.

“When you’ll have built one the rest will follow,” he told one of them, “even if jail time is what it takes.”

Other yellow hat leaders have been at pains to soften its image in recent months and push back against the idea that the union has ties to the far right.

“They are using us, and we are maybe using them too, that’s part of the game” said Coordination rurale Vice-President Sophie Lenaerts. “If we can push our values and our positions… We will do that with everyone. Some are just taking in more than others.”

Le Pen has gained support among farmers, a traditionally moderate constituency, and more broadly in rural areas where farming and food issues carry political weight way beyond farmers themselves. Even as the far right struggles to build support in urban areas, the French countryside is shaping up to be a battleground ahead of the 2027 presidential election.

As she crisscrossed Paris’ annual Salon International de L’Agriculture in February, lending a sympathetic ear to farmer’s economic struggles and vowing to support them, visitors greeted Le Pen with cheers, asking for selfies and shouting “Marine Présidente!” as she walked between cow pens to pet the salon’s other star, Oupette, a one-ton brown Limousine heifer.

Days before, Bardella also made sure to pay a visit to the Coordination rurale stand in the corner of one of the seven giant halls, a must for politicians this year.

Anti-establishment push

The movement was born in the early 1990s to protest a landmark reform of the EU’s flagship Common Agricultural Policy that introduced direct subsidies for farmers in lieu of guaranteed prices, tying them to environmental protection measures.

Long in the shadow of the dominant FNSEA, Coordination rurale seized the initiative during last year’s large-scale farmers’ protests, with tractor convoys rolling into cities to protest against environmental rules, as well as a hike in fuel prices and cheap agricultural imports coming from other European countries, including Ukraine.

The union came out on top in 14 of the country’s 101 agricultural chambers in February’s farming elections, up from just three in the last election in 2019, giving it a much more prominent voice in discussions with the government over farming policy, where FNSEA used to be the dominant player. Agriculture chambers also have wide-ranging prerogatives at the local level, ranging from administrative support to farmers to supporting the implementation of farming and environmental policies.

While aligned with the FNSEA on some issues, including opposing free trade agreements, the Coordination rurale has taken a more radical stance on others, clashing with environmentalists on water use or reducing the use of pesticides, and slamming what they say is overregulation from the EU and the central government. The union’s leaders have repeatedly framed the FNSEA as part of the establishment, working hand in hand with politicians in Paris and Brussels.

Yellow hat candidates have made huge gains in farmlands facing intense economic hardship, including the Bordeaux region, where winemakers who produce for export face another hit from Donald Trump’s trade war. The American president threatened to hike duties on EU exports of wines and spirits to 200 percent if Brussels retaliated against his own duties by hitting U.S. whiskey. Brussels backed down.

Trump’s trade aggression and competition from countries such as Ukraine were major talking points at the agri fair, with the union’s leaders calling for more protectionist measures.

“It’s a dream to hear a head of state saying he wants to protect producers and his citizens,” said Lenaerts, speaking of Trump’s protectionist push ahead of his wine tariffs announcement. “The character in itself doesn’t make me dream … but I like his attitude towards his country.”

Surge in the polls

Support for both the yellow hats union and Marine Le Pen’s party has surged in many parts of rural France, including in Gers, the administrative district to which Auch belongs. The National Rally got 35 percent of the vote in last June’s snap parliamentary election, called by Macron after his liberals were wiped out in the European vote. That was up 15 percentage points from two years ago in a region that used to be a stronghold of the Social Democrats.

Beyond the scenic view over limestone farmhouses and villages, there is one extra perk to driving around the countryside here: you won’t get a speeding ticket.

Local yellow hat protesters covered all of the area’s speed cameras with tractor tires and fertilizer bags, a signature move that Candelon boasted about on stage at the union’s gathering, saying he and his supporters had disabled 179 of them.

Candelon, a former soldier turned duck farmer and father of three, rose to local fame in 2017 when he mounted protests against what he said was unfair competition from Central European countries, protesting against Bulgarian duck meat imports on local supermarket shelves in front of TV cameras.

He quickly rose through the ranks after joining the local Coordination rurale section, and was elected as president of the local agriculture chamber under the union’s banner in February’s farming election.

The 38-year-old has also had his share of legal troubles. In 2023, he was fined over online death threats made against local veterinary officials — which Candelon called a one-time slip-up linked to intense pressure after repeated cullings linked to bird flu outbreaks at his farm. He was also questioned by police last year after he and several union members sealed the entrance of the local French Biodiversity Office’s building.

The environment agency, in charge of upholding rules on pesticides use and water protection, has been among the union’s recurring targets. The agency denounced the attacks on its agents as “unacceptable” after a member of the Coordination rurale reportedly threatened to torch its vehicles if they set foot on a farm.

Sylvie Colas, a spokesperson for the left-leaning union Confederation paysanne and local opponent of Candelon who filed a complaint against him over alleged verbal threats — which he denies — says the union leaders’ “intimidation” tactics have had a chilling effect on locals and public agents alike.

“I can’t imagine an agent [from the French Biodiversity Office] making an inspection visit to a farmer in Gers these days,” she said. “It’s Trumpism. There is a constant escalation, to the point where you get the impression that the administration just lies down, says nothing and lets it happen,” she added.

Candelon says he rejects physical violence, but that punchy actions are necessary to make farmers’ voices heard, standing by the targeting of speeding cameras and other stunts aiming at “emmerder l’État” (pissing off the government).

“We know that when we piss off the government, things start moving. So we are going to keep it up.”

‘Leave us the hell alone’

Local farmers praise Candelon’s leadership and visibility, saying it contrasts with the FNSEA’s inability to improve their working conditions over the years.

David Palacin, a 47-year-old cattle farmer from the village of Dému, near Auch, says he was never unionized before seeing Candelon in action. A blockade on a local road during last year’s protests was the rallying moment for him and several of his neighbors.

“We stayed for 15 days, day and night,” he recalls, with neighbors and family members taking over during the day when farmers had to get some work done in the fields.

Palacin says he was unaware of connections with the far right at the top of the movement, which he doesn’t endorse, but that exasperation over the status quo led many to turn to the communication-savvy activists of Coordination rurale.

“We’re not being heard,” said Palacin in his office, a stone’s throw away from his farm’s large open air stalls that house some 200 brown Limousine cows.

Unlike some of his struggling neighbours, Palacin has built a diversified business employing 15 people, breeding cattle, selling their meat in his two local butcher shops and shipping young males to Spain and Italy.

He is acutely aware of upcoming challenges for local farmers, who face competition from neighbouring countries as well as the EU’s trade partners.

“Soy from Brazil is getting in, [while] we’ll soon be banned from even using glyphosate,” Palacin said. “At some point you have to be coherent,” pointing at the deal reached between the EU and the Latin American Mercosur trade bloc which French farmers say will open the floodgates to cheaper products that don’t meet the environmental standards that they have to meet.

Palacin says French farmers should also be encouraged to compete for mass agricultural markets.

“Everyone going organic is not going to feed the planet,” he adds, pointing at local opposition to a large-scale poultry farm project in the village of Lannepax. “If we don’t produce it, other countries will, and it will get in.”

A short drive down the hill, Grégory Julien, a fellow Coordination rurale member and cereal producer, says top-down environmental rules play a big part in the local farmers’ revolt. “Rules are being imposed on us that make no sense on the ground,” he says, citing periodic bans on hedge trimming meant to protect bird nesting.

Opposition to environmentalists and what they say is a government overreach is a regular theme in the union’s slogans, with many of its members standing opposite to green activists in local conflicts around water management.

Standing on the stage, Serge Bousquet-Cassagne looked down solemnly at his protégé, pointing his arm at him for all the farmers and their families to see.

“I make you general of the army of the serfs,” the 65-year-old leader said in a makeshift ceremony organized to honor regional leader Lionel Candelon, who stood before him in a large concrete hall on the outskirts of Auch, southwestern France.

Hundreds had gathered to celebrate a landmark victory for their movement: the Coordination rurale union, known for its signature yellow hats, had made unprecedented gains in February’s farming union elections, breaking the hegemony of the establishment FNSEA in representing farmers in France and Brussels.

Bousquet-Cassagne’s grand gesture — elevating Candelon to general — was both a nod to his military background and suited the farming union’s muscular style.

The movement has been at the forefront of recent farmers’ protests in France, outflanking the FNSEA with hard-hitting action, ranging from confrontations with President Emmanuel Macron to setting manure on fire in front of government buildings, drawing criticism for what rivals say are intimidation tactics.

That evening however, the crowd was in a cheery mood, celebrating past coups d’éclat and triumphs yet to come at long banquet tables decked out with yellow paper napkins and soon laid with roasted duck breast and red wine.

Deep south

The movement was born 40 kilometers from Auch, in the heart of Gascony, a land of soft hills and green pastures just to the north of the Spanish border that is famed for its foie gras, Armagnac brandy — and strong headed people.

Bousquet-Cassagne has made a trademark of his bullish manners and disregard for the law, boasting 17 court appearances over the years for actions ranging from vandalizing supermarkets to illegally constructing water basins used for irrigation.

“In this country if you don’t burn cars you don’t get acknowledged,” he said at the rally. “And you get fucked.”

Bousquet-Cassagne is also one of the union’s figures most closely associated with the French political far right, having called National Rally President Jordan Bardella “their last hope.”

His outspoken support for the party, along with that of other Coordination rurale figures, has fueled speculation about the union’s symbiotic relationship with Marine Le Pen’s party as large chunks of the French countryside have swung to the far right over the last couple of years.

France’s rural heartlands have been a big reservoir for growth for the National Rally over the past couple of years. After winning over disaffected industrial areas, the party has sought to capitalize on rural discontent and hardship, blaming mainstream parties for failed farming policies and accusing Brussels of exposing EU markets to cheaper and inferior foreign produce.

Support for nationalist parties is especially high among the ranks of the yellow hats: Sixty-two percent of them expressed support for the National Rally or the more extreme Reconquête in a poll conducted ahead of last June’s European election by research institutes Cevipof and INP Ensat. That compared with 31 percent of supporters of the FNSEA — the National Federation of Agricultural Holders’ Unions — slightly below the far right’s actual vote share of the voting public.

While not everyone in the movement approves of Bousquet-Cassagne’s style and outspoken support for the far right, most see him as a strong leader and a role model.

As he sipped his drink and greeted union members in Auch, Bousquet-Cassagne constantly interrupted himself to greet supporters, calling them “thugs!” and “terrorists!” in jest. Many approached for advice, especially on building water basins for irrigation, as access to water has become a huge point of contention with environmentalists and local authorities as the weather grows drier and hotter in the region due to climate change.

“When you’ll have built one the rest will follow,” he told one of them, “even if jail time is what it takes.”

Other yellow hat leaders have been at pains to soften its image in recent months and push back against the idea that the union has ties to the far right.

“They are using us, and we are maybe using them too, that’s part of the game” said Coordination rurale Vice-President Sophie Lenaerts. “If we can push our values and our positions… We will do that with everyone. Some are just taking in more than others.”

Le Pen has gained support among farmers, a traditionally moderate constituency, and more broadly in rural areas where farming and food issues carry political weight way beyond farmers themselves. Even as the far right struggles to build support in urban areas, the French countryside is shaping up to be a battleground ahead of the 2027 presidential election.

As she crisscrossed Paris’ annual Salon International de L’Agriculture in February, lending a sympathetic ear to farmer’s economic struggles and vowing to support them, visitors greeted Le Pen with cheers, asking for selfies and shouting “Marine Présidente!” as she walked between cow pens to pet the salon’s other star, Oupette, a one-ton brown Limousine heifer.

Days before, Bardella also made sure to pay a visit to the Coordination rurale stand in the corner of one of the seven giant halls, a must for politicians this year.

Anti-establishment push

The movement was born in the early 1990s to protest a landmark reform of the EU’s flagship Common Agricultural Policy that introduced direct subsidies for farmers in lieu of guaranteed prices, tying them to environmental protection measures.

Long in the shadow of the dominant FNSEA, Coordination rurale seized the initiative during last year’s large-scale farmers’ protests, with tractor convoys rolling into cities to protest against environmental rules, as well as a hike in fuel prices and cheap agricultural imports coming from other European countries, including Ukraine.

The union came out on top in 14 of the country’s 101 agricultural chambers in February’s farming elections, up from just three in the last election in 2019, giving it a much more prominent voice in discussions with the government over farming policy, where FNSEA used to be the dominant player. Agriculture chambers also have wide-ranging prerogatives at the local level, ranging from administrative support to farmers to supporting the implementation of farming and environmental policies.

While aligned with the FNSEA on some issues, including opposing free trade agreements, the Coordination rurale has taken a more radical stance on others, clashing with environmentalists on water use or reducing the use of pesticides, and slamming what they say is overregulation from the EU and the central government. The union’s leaders have repeatedly framed the FNSEA as part of the establishment, working hand in hand with politicians in Paris and Brussels.

Yellow hat candidates have made huge gains in farmlands facing intense economic hardship, including the Bordeaux region, where winemakers who produce for export face another hit from Donald Trump’s trade war. The American president threatened to hike duties on EU exports of wines and spirits to 200 percent if Brussels retaliated against his own duties by hitting U.S. whiskey. Brussels backed down.

Trump’s trade aggression and competition from countries such as Ukraine were major talking points at the agri fair, with the union’s leaders calling for more protectionist measures.

“It’s a dream to hear a head of state saying he wants to protect producers and his citizens,” said Lenaerts, speaking of Trump’s protectionist push ahead of his wine tariffs announcement. “The character in itself doesn’t make me dream … but I like his attitude towards his country.”

Surge in the polls

Support for both the yellow hats union and Marine Le Pen’s party has surged in many parts of rural France, including in Gers, the administrative district to which Auch belongs. The National Rally got 35 percent of the vote in last June’s snap parliamentary election, called by Macron after his liberals were wiped out in the European vote. That was up 15 percentage points from two years ago in a region that used to be a stronghold of the Social Democrats.

Beyond the scenic view over limestone farmhouses and villages, there is one extra perk to driving around the countryside here: you won’t get a speeding ticket.

Local yellow hat protesters covered all of the area’s speed cameras with tractor tires and fertilizer bags, a signature move that Candelon boasted about on stage at the union’s gathering, saying he and his supporters had disabled 179 of them.

Candelon, a former soldier turned duck farmer and father of three, rose to local fame in 2017 when he mounted protests against what he said was unfair competition from Central European countries, protesting against Bulgarian duck meat imports on local supermarket shelves in front of TV cameras.

He quickly rose through the ranks after joining the local Coordination rurale section, and was elected as president of the local agriculture chamber under the union’s banner in February’s farming election.

The 38-year-old has also had his share of legal troubles. In 2023, he was fined over online death threats made against local veterinary officials — which Candelon called a one-time slip-up linked to intense pressure after repeated cullings linked to bird flu outbreaks at his farm. He was also questioned by police last year after he and several union members sealed the entrance of the local French Biodiversity Office’s building.

The environment agency, in charge of upholding rules on pesticides use and water protection, has been among the union’s recurring targets. The agency denounced the attacks on its agents as “unacceptable” after a member of the Coordination rurale reportedly threatened to torch its vehicles if they set foot on a farm.

Sylvie Colas, a spokesperson for the left-leaning union Confederation paysanne and local opponent of Candelon who filed a complaint against him over alleged verbal threats — which he denies — says the union leaders’ “intimidation” tactics have had a chilling effect on locals and public agents alike.

“I can’t imagine an agent [from the French Biodiversity Office] making an inspection visit to a farmer in Gers these days,” she said. “It’s Trumpism. There is a constant escalation, to the point where you get the impression that the administration just lies down, says nothing and lets it happen,” she added.

Candelon says he rejects physical violence, but that punchy actions are necessary to make farmers’ voices heard, standing by the targeting of speeding cameras and other stunts aiming at “emmerder l’État” (pissing off the government).

“We know that when we piss off the government, things start moving. So we are going to keep it up.”

‘Leave us the hell alone’

Local farmers praise Candelon’s leadership and visibility, saying it contrasts with the FNSEA’s inability to improve their working conditions over the years.

David Palacin, a 47-year-old cattle farmer from the village of Dému, near Auch, says he was never unionized before seeing Candelon in action. A blockade on a local road during last year’s protests was the rallying moment for him and several of his neighbors.

“We stayed for 15 days, day and night,” he recalls, with neighbors and family members taking over during the day when farmers had to get some work done in the fields.

Palacin says he was unaware of connections with the far right at the top of the movement, which he doesn’t endorse, but that exasperation over the status quo led many to turn to the communication-savvy activists of Coordination rurale.

“We’re not being heard,” said Palacin in his office, a stone’s throw away from his farm’s large open air stalls that house some 200 brown Limousine cows.

Unlike some of his struggling neighbours, Palacin has built a diversified business employing 15 people, breeding cattle, selling their meat in his two local butcher shops and shipping young males to Spain and Italy.

He is acutely aware of upcoming challenges for local farmers, who face competition from neighbouring countries as well as the EU’s trade partners.

“Soy from Brazil is getting in, [while] we’ll soon be banned from even using glyphosate,” Palacin said. “At some point you have to be coherent,” pointing at the deal reached between the EU and the Latin American Mercosur trade bloc which French farmers say will open the floodgates to cheaper products that don’t meet the environmental standards that they have to meet.

Palacin says French farmers should also be encouraged to compete for mass agricultural markets.

“Everyone going organic is not going to feed the planet,” he adds, pointing at local opposition to a large-scale poultry farm project in the village of Lannepax. “If we don’t produce it, other countries will, and it will get in.”

A short drive down the hill, Grégory Julien, a fellow Coordination rurale member and cereal producer, says top-down environmental rules play a big part in the local farmers’ revolt. “Rules are being imposed on us that make no sense on the ground,” he says, citing periodic bans on hedge trimming meant to protect bird nesting.

Opposition to environmentalists and what they say is a government overreach is a regular theme in the union’s slogans, with many of its members standing opposite to green activists in local conflicts around water management.

At the Auch gathering, Bousquet-Cassagne repeated one of his favorite mantras as he greeted supporters and harangued the crowd : “We are the best peasants in the world. Leave us the hell alone.”