France, a nation famed for its political drama and revolutionary spirit, is once again at the center of a fiscal and political storm. In just the past two years, five prime ministers have cycled through office, with the most recent, Sébastien Lecornu, resigning on September 6, 2025, after a mere 27 days in power. His abrupt departure, as reported by JoongAng Ilbo, capped a string of failed attempts to steer France out of a deepening fiscal crisis and left President Emmanuel Macron’s ambitious reform agenda in tatters.
Macron, who swept into office in 2017 as a centrist reformer and champion of European values, now finds himself presiding over a country beset by political gridlock, economic stagnation, and social unrest. Despite his prominence on the international stage—especially as Europe’s diplomatic face in the Ukraine conflict—his domestic standing has plummeted. According to recent reports, Macron’s approval rating has fallen to just 17 percent, a historic low even for France’s famously fickle electorate.
The roots of France’s fiscal woes run deep. Macron’s government, aiming to spur growth and modernize the economy, implemented sweeping tax cuts—lowering corporate, income, and property taxes at a cost of 50 billion euros ($54 billion) annually, according to France’s audit office. But the other half of the equation—spending cuts—never materialized. Instead, the government poured 170 billion euros ($197.6 billion) into pandemic response and another 72 billion euros into subsidies after Russian gas supplies were disrupted. The result? France’s fiscal deficit ballooned to 5.8 percent of GDP in 2024, and public debt soared to 113 percent, or as high as 114 percent by early 2025, totaling 3.346 trillion euros.
The political consequences have been swift and severe. Macron’s party, Renaissance, suffered a setback in the 2024 snap elections, which produced a hung National Assembly: Renaissance holds just 166 seats, trailing the left-wing New Popular Front (193 seats) and the far-right National Rally (142 seats). The resulting parliamentary deadlock has made it nearly impossible to pass major legislation. Macron’s efforts to forge cross-party consensus have largely failed, and his government was unable to pass the 2026 budget, forcing France to operate under emergency spending rules.
Meanwhile, French society has grown increasingly restive. Macron’s pension reform, which raised the retirement age from 62 to 64, triggered mass protests and strikes across the country. Austerity plans totaling 44 billion euros in savings—announced by former Prime Minister François Bayrou on September 8—sparked further outrage and led to his resignation. The “Bloquons Tout” movement has organized blockades, and unrest in New Caledonia over voting rights reforms has highlighted deep-seated colonial-era tensions. On October 2, protestors in Nantes and other cities took to the streets as part of a nationwide strike for “social justice” measures, lighting red smoke flares and demanding change.
Despite the chaos, France’s unique constitutional system provides a remarkable degree of stability at the very top. As JoongAng Ilbo and other outlets note, the French Constitution of the Fifth Republic makes it extremely difficult to remove a sitting president. Impeachment is reserved for cases of “breach of duties” and requires supermajorities in both houses of parliament as well as a ruling by a special court. No French president has ever been removed in this way; Charles de Gaulle resigned voluntarily in 1969, and others have left only after electoral defeat. As a result, even as Macron prepares to announce his sixth prime minister on October 10, he is widely expected to complete his term, which ends in spring 2027.
The crisis in France has not gone unnoticed abroad—especially in South Korea, where policymakers and pundits are debating whether Korea could face a similar fate. Korea’s debt-to-GDP ratio stands at 49 percent, with welfare spending at 15.5 percent of GDP and taxes at 22 percent of GDP—far below France’s high-tax, high-welfare model. Yet, as JoongAng Ilbo points out, there are warning signs. Korea’s property taxes, when all related levies are included, amount to 6.3 percent of GDP—triple the OECD average. Income and corporate taxes are highly concentrated among the wealthiest individuals and largest companies. The top 1 percent of earners pay 42 percent of all income tax, and just 65 companies account for 35.6 percent of corporate tax revenue. The National Assembly Budget Office has cautioned that Korea’s tax base is narrow and unsustainable in the long run.
Recent statements from Korean officials suggest a growing willingness to consider new fiscal measures. On September 20, presidential policy chief Kim Yong-bum said, “If it is necessary for stabilizing the real estate market or for housing welfare, any measure must be considered.” Just days later, Land Minister Kim Yun-duk expressed personal support for raising property taxes. Yet, extending the tax burden to low-income workers or owners of modest homes remains politically fraught—a dilemma all too familiar to French leaders.
If taxation is off the table, debt becomes the default option. Under former President Moon Jae-in, Korea’s national debt soared from 600 trillion won to 1,000 trillion won. President Lee Jae Myung has defended further borrowing with a homespun metaphor: “If there are no seeds to sow in the spring, it is frustrating to leave the field idle. If borrowing a bushel of seeds allows us to harvest a sack of grain in the fall, then of course we must borrow to plant.” The Ministry of Economy and Finance projects that government debt will rise by 125 trillion won in 2025 and 115 trillion won in 2026, with the debt-to-GDP ratio expected to reach 71 percent in 10 years, 97 percent in 20 years, and a staggering 156 percent in 40 years.
But as both France and Korea are discovering, borrowing against the future is not a solution without consequences. Younger generations, who will ultimately bear the burden of repayment, are increasingly resistant. A JoongAng Ilbo poll marking the paper’s 60th anniversary found that 60 percent of Koreans in their 20s and 55 percent in their 30s opposed higher taxes to reduce elderly poverty. Among men, the opposition was even stronger—72 percent in their 20s and 58 percent in their 30s said no.
France’s ongoing turmoil offers a sobering lesson: once government spending rises, it is exceedingly difficult to reverse course. Attempts at austerity—such as Bayrou’s 44 billion euro budget cuts—have triggered widespread protests and political instability, yet the alternative of unchecked borrowing risks saddling future generations with unsustainable debt. Macron, politically isolated and economically constrained, has become a symbol of the dysfunction he once pledged to overcome. Yet, paradoxically, the very system he hoped to reform now ensures his survival in office, if not in power.
As Korea weighs its own fiscal future, the events unfolding in Paris serve as a cautionary tale: a nation’s economic choices echo far beyond the halls of government, shaping the lives—and fortunes—of generations to come.