French Language Debate Erupts Over Inclusive Writing Ruling

On January 19, 2026, France’s highest administrative court, the Conseil d’État, set off a firestorm by accepting the use of inclusive writing on visible plaques in Paris. The decision, which allows forms such as "conseiller.e.s" and "président.e.s" to appear on commemorative signs, has reignited the country’s passionate debate about language, identity, and the boundaries of political intervention in cultural traditions.

The ruling did not come out of thin air. According to Breizh-info.com, the Conseil d’État’s move was met with sharp criticism from commentators who see it as a political and legal overreach. The author of a recent editorial described the court as acting "not as a neutral and impartial body, but as a legal and political instrument serving the most foolish minorities, pursuing with delight the Europeanist will to burn the soul of France." For those holding this view, the decision is not just about grammar—it’s about the very heart of French civilization.

This is not the first time France has struggled with the question of language reform. The French language, with its centuries-old literary heritage and carefully codified rules, has long been seen as a pillar of national identity. Article 2 of the French Constitution states unequivocally, "The language of the Republic is French." For many, this is more than a legal stipulation; it’s a matter of cultural pride and continuity. With the worldwide French-speaking population estimated at 583.7 million as of July 1, 2024, according to detailed UN demographic statistics cited by Breizh-info.com, the stakes feel especially high.

Critics of the Conseil d’État’s decision argue that inclusive writing—often employing the median point or dot to simultaneously indicate masculine and feminine forms—disrupts the structure of the French language. They claim it breaks the essential continuity between written and spoken French, making texts difficult to read aloud and undermining the language’s clarity. "It is pointless to try to read aloud a text written in this gibberish," the Breizh-info.com editorial contends, echoing a widespread concern that inclusive writing may render the language less accessible, especially to newcomers and children.

For some, the issue goes even deeper. The editorial laments, "France is not just an exceptional land carried by all latitudes...She is also, merging these qualities, a civilization." The author insists that France’s role as the originator of the French language confers a special responsibility: "She is no longer the owner of the French language. However, being its origin gives her an exemplary duty and a deep respect towards it." The fear is that by tampering with the language’s structure, France risks marginalizing itself within the broader Francophone world—a world that, according to the same editorial, now defends the French language more vigorously in Africa and Quebec than within France’s own borders.

This anxiety is not limited to anonymous commentators. Philosopher, writer, and Académie Française member Alain Finkielkraut voiced similar concerns in a recent interview with Benjamin Duhamel and Florence Paracuellos. Finkielkraut did not mince words: "Inclusive writing is a deadly peril for the language," he declared, referencing the Conseil d’État’s decision to authorize such forms in official documents. He reminded listeners that the Académie Française—the body entrusted for nearly four centuries with regulating and perfecting the French language—had previously warned against inclusive writing, calling it "the coup de grâce delivered to the language."

Finkielkraut’s critique went beyond grammar. He lamented what he sees as the loss of French’s literary character amid ideological and political pressures. "The French language is evolving, all right, but what does that mean? Does it mean there’s no longer proper usage, that we can’t judge this evolution? Does it mean everything is fine just because it’s changing? France was a literary homeland," he said. He expressed regret that the language once "inhabited by literature" is now being "dismantled" by a process that, in his view, leaves little room for dissent or reflection.

To illustrate his point, Finkielkraut cited actress Adèle Haenel’s call for self-deconstruction to avoid perpetuating racism. He described her statement as "ideological gibberish, this collapse of syntax," and suggested it epitomizes the confusion besetting the French language today. For Finkielkraut and those who share his perspective, the rise of inclusive writing is a symptom of broader social and political trends that threaten to erode the foundations of French culture.

At the heart of the controversy lies a question of authority. Traditionally, the Académie Française has been charged with "perfecting, fixing, and regulating the French language," as spelled out in Article 24 of its statutes. Its decisions have long set the standard for what is considered correct usage. Critics argue that by authorizing inclusive writing, the Conseil d’État has overstepped its role, interfering with constitutional principles and usurping the Académie’s prerogative. "The Conseil d’État has committed an abuse by interfering in the Constitution and substituting itself for the Académie Française," the Breizh-info.com editorial asserts. The court, it is pointed out, is supposed to judge the legality of administrative measures, not to set linguistic standards.

Yet others see the evolution of language as both natural and necessary. Proponents of inclusive writing argue that it reflects a more equitable and representative society, giving visibility to women and non-binary individuals who have long been rendered invisible by the masculine default. They point out that language is always in flux, adapting to social realities and new forms of expression. For them, the Conseil d’État’s decision is a modest step toward a more inclusive and just France.

The debate is far from settled. For some, the specter of "Anglo-Saxon" influence and "Euro-globalist" agendas looms large, with fears that France’s linguistic heritage is being sacrificed to the demands of a homogenized, mass society. Others, however, see efforts to preserve the purity of the language as reactionary, out of step with the values of equality and progress. The controversy over inclusive writing has thus become a proxy for larger battles about identity, sovereignty, and the future of the French nation.

Amid the heated rhetoric, one thing is clear: language matters deeply to the French. Whether seen as a vessel of literary greatness, a marker of national identity, or a tool for social change, the French language remains a source of pride, anxiety, and fierce debate. As France confronts the challenges of a changing world, the question of how—and by whom—its language should evolve is likely to remain at the center of public life for years to come.