It was a rally for Marine Le Pen billed as a rendez-vous historique. In the end, barely a few thousand people showed up on Sunday afternoon in Paris. In a city where more than a million marched after the Charlie Hebdo attacks, and where hundreds of thousands protested against racism and police violence in recent years, Sunday’s rally for Marine Le Pen barely registered.
The Rassemblement National had promised a great mobilisation to denounce Le Pen’s recent conviction and her five–year ban from public office. What it delivered was a media production surrounded by journalists and padded out by militants bussed in from the provinces. The rally failed to convince or to inspire. The RN had called on supporters to mobilise en masse to defend ‘democracy’ and protest the ‘political elimination’ of their leader. But the promised wave of indignation never came.
The atmosphere at the scenic Place Vauban, with views of the Invalides, was choreographed down to the last chorus. I attended and walked in through security and past a long line of parked coaches. The loudspeakers played a curated mix of patriotic pop: the Marseillaise, and a sweep of French sentimental hits from the 1970s and 1980s. On the big screens came messages from Viktor Orban and Matteo Salvini. It had the feel of a Trump rally – but without the excitement. The stage was set against the Invalides, echoing grandeur but highlighting the mismatch between the setting and the turnout. ‘The hour is grave when we lose television channels,’ said Jordan Bardella, referring to the right–leaning C8 channel recently losing its licence. ‘The hour is grave when we lose candidates.’
When Le Pen took to the stage, she looked exhausted. ‘You are wonderful,’ Marine Le Pen told her supporters. ‘I will not give up.’ The crowd replied with a half–hearted chant: ‘Marine Présidente.’ But the square never filled and there was no excitement whatsoever. TV cameras were positioned to capture the dense centre of the audience and crop out the empty space behind. I was handed a tricolore flag and told to wave it with enthusiasm. I was asked twice by reporters if I wanted to be interviewed.
Le Pen’s remarks were defiant, but flat. ‘This isn’t a legal decision – it’s a political one,’ she said. ‘That decision trampled the rule of law and the democratic state.’ She condemned threats to magistrates and insisted, ‘We are not asking to be above the law – but not beneath it either.’ Before she had finished speaking, many were already leaving.
If this rally was meant to reassert Le Pen’s leadership, it failed. What it highlighted instead was an increasingly urgent question: it raised the question of whether Marine Le Pen’s era is ending, and whether Jordan Bardella has already become the RN’s de facto candidate for 2027.
Across town, Jean–Luc Mélenchon’s La France Insoumise attempted a counter–demonstration at Place de la République. I went there too. It was even smaller – disorganised, meandering, ignored. The Socialists stayed away. The Communists stood around looking uninspired. There were no speeches of note, no clear demands, and no discernible energy. It had the feel of a student protest assembled over WhatsApp – aimless, awkward and instantly forgettable.
If Le Pen’s rally underscored the limits of her appeal, the polls suggest the RN’s momentum may be shifting directly to Jordan Bardella. Although he’s just 29 years old, he has already led the party through European elections and into national prominence. He polls competitively with or higher than Le Pen in first–round scenarios, with Harris Interactive placing him at 35–36 per cent post–ban, compared to Le Pen’s 34–37 per cent from Ifop pre–ban. An Odoxa poll showed that two–thirds of French voters – and 69 per cent of RN supporters – believe Bardella could equal or surpass her performance if he ran in 2027.
Bardella is young, sharp, and social media fluent. He has no legal baggage. And crucially, he seems capable of attracting support beyond the RN’s core electorate. Le Pen’s strength was always her tenacity, her sense of timing, and her ability to rebrand the party her father founded. But now – facing a ban, presiding over a half–empty square, and speaking to cameras rather than citizens – she looked spent, as though the weight of the moment and the years behind it were finally beginning to show.
Marine Le Pen may not be ready to step down. Sunday suggested the public might make that decision for her
Meanwhile, President Macron’s former prime minister Gabriel Attal was in Saint–Denis, trying to claim the middle. His speech was textbook Macronism – earnest, institutional, oddly sterile. But he delivered it to a well–organised, receptive audience. ‘Let us not cede a centimetre of our values… Marine Le Pen and the RN were convicted after ten years of investigation and procedure, after embezzling millions of euros in public money,’ he said. ‘The only thing we should be glad about is that we live in a country where the judiciary can judge political figures independently.’
Attal doesn’t inspire, but he doesn’t implode either. He is betting that by calmly occupying the centre, he can reach the second round – whether that’s against Mélenchon, Le Pen or Bardella.
Marine Le Pen may not yet be ready to relinquish her role. But Sunday suggested that the public might already be making that decision for her. The RN’s narrative of victimhood failed to mobilise. The message didn’t land.
Le Pen’s instinct has been to double down – to claim persecution, to attempt to rally the faithful, to cast herself as wronged. But the faithful barely turned up. Bardella, by contrast, doesn’t need to invoke victimhood. He doesn’t need to shout. He just needs to appear young, presentable, unburdened. Sunday marked not only the failure of Le Pen’s rally, but perhaps the passing of her strategy. If the RN is serious about power, it may soon conclude that its future lies not in relitigating the past, but in letting it go.
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