SAINT-ELIX-LE-CHATEAU — It takes a little mental gymnastics to decipher the name of this village. Like many signs in the area, the one that greets visitors at the entrance of Saint-Elix-le-Chateau has been turned upside down. That minor act of vandalism is just one clue as one crosses the surrounding countryside that the “On marche sur la tête” (it’s gone haywire) French farmers’ movement is wildly successful in this southern region of Haute-Garonne, where it was launched several weeks ago.
That seed of discontent has now spread across France, like it has in other countries around the world, with some farmers’ associations threatening Monday an indefinite “siege” of Paris to get the attention of lawmakers and citizens alike.
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In a hamlet some 50 kilometers southwest of the French city of Toulouse, Laurent Abadie is busy feeding his cows. Under a large barn overlooking the distance, snow-capped Pyrenees, a hundred or so “blondes d’Aquitaine” cattle rush to devour the meslin specially prepared for them. This year, this mixture of fermented plants demanded a special effort from the 47-year-old farmer: laboratory analysis showed that his own cereal, due to heavy rainfall, did not contain sufficient protein. To ensure that his cattle could produce quality milk for their calves’ full growth, he had to add a feed supplement based on alfalfa, soy, corn, barley and some vitamins.
“It’s an extra cost, but this is the normal life of a farmer,” he says. “You spend your time adapting to the unexpected.”
But some unforeseen events weigh more heavily than others. This year, the threat that Laurent Abadie fears is EHD, or epizootic hemorrhagic disease, which arrived last summer and is already affecting 60% of the department’s livestock. Transmitted by a fly from Spain, the disease causes a variety of symptoms, and can be fatal. Up until now, the farmer has only lost one cow. But like all the farmers in the region, he’s worried about the arrival of spring, when the flies will start to strike again — and could kill off his livestock.
Blockades and solidarity
Any new cost is a real risk for a farmer who says he earns an average of 800 euros a month. And who adds with a modest laugh, like the vast majority of farmers in the region when asked about their income: “If my wife didn’t earn a decent salary, I wouldn’t be able to get by.”
New diseases are just one of many factors in the region that help explain why the uproar gripping the French agricultural world started here. Chatting at the A64 freeway junction, where a lively gathering has been a constant since January 18, when the first-ever blockade in France was set up.
There’s a spirit of solidarity that seems to have taken the protagonists themselves by surprise. It’s a solidarity among farmers who “now understand that everyone else is suffering too”, explains a 32-year-old cereal farmer. But it’s even wider than that: as joyful honks of passing motorists testify to the support of part of the local population.
Running out of water
The long list of local residents and businesses who have come to provide food is written in marker on the large green plastic sheets usually used to wrap hay. And local products are shared and eaten with pride and joy. “This, at least, is real food!,” says one farmer, savoring a slice of local ham. “(Not like) Ukrainian chickens made in deplorable conditions and sold duty-free. “We should replace our government officials with Ukrainians, so that they understand.”
There are rants about supermarket profits.
In the improvised conversations between the tractors blocking the highway, the same words come up again and again. Topics that have since been the subject of commitments from the new French Prime Minister, Gabriel Attal. They complain about the price of farm diesel, which is putting a strain on budgets. CAP (Common Agricultural Policy) subsidies from the European Union that are being eroded. The explosion in production costs, while grain prices have eased — and no shortage of rants against supermarket profits.
But certain issues take on a particular resonance in this department of Haute-Garonne, where the average income of farmers, at around 5,000 euros a year, among the lowest in France. First and foremost, the question of irrigation. The region has a front-row seat to global warming, experiencing not only rising temperatures but also a shift towards a much drier climate. The year 2022, in particular, resulted in a serious drought and a drop in yields for many crops.
“Growing wheat without irrigation here means running the risk of having a satisfactory harvest in only two years out of five,” explains one farmer.
Water shortages and the rising cost of water are a direct impact of climate change on the viability of running a farm in France today. Most here believe a solution would be building dikes to retain some of the winter rainfall, but one farmer quips that some are opposed: “You see, we wouldn’t want to harm the butterflies and insects…”
Organic loses its mojo
Are environmental regulations putting French agriculture at risk? According to François Purseigle, professor of sociology at the Toulouse School of Agronomy and author of Une agriculture sans agriculteurs (“Agriculture without farmers”), the current crisis is driven by “those who see themselves dying.”
He says the region’s enthusiasm for organic farming production may have backfired: “Occitanie was the first region in France to invest in this transition.” By 2021, the Occitanie region will have almost 20% of its farmland in organic production, around twice the national average. It’s a costly intervention that is not paying off.
On his cereal farm, Francis Politano admits he’s wondering whether he should stay with the organic label he chose eight years ago: “It’s a label that’s rotting away.” Prices have collapsed: his organic wheat is currently worth less than conventional wheat! Fortunately, he provides other farmers with agricultural services: “Without that, I would have stopped a long time ago.”
People think they know about our business.
Cédric Daure says he doesn’t even label his milk organic any more, because “it no longer has any impact on consumers.” He will continue to insist on the quality of his products, but will free himself from a restrictive label whose commercial impact seems to have waned. At 48, he earns no more than he did when he started in the business 24 years ago.
Getting shouted at
Gaëtan Pages, a 33-year-old farmer who will be returning to conventional production, admits that his main fear is “people shouting at us, telling us that we’re going to kill them with our products, whatever precaution we take”
Another farmer standing nearby adds: “How many times have I been harassed while spraying!? People think they know everything about our business.” Nearby a third protester jumps in: “The urban world sees nature as a leisure space, they just want us to ensure the pastures so that those who have the time and the means can go skiing”.
Nowhere, adds François Purseigle, is this friction with local populations more perceptible than in a region that attracts tourists for its sunshine. “Last summer, in the Pyrenees-Oriental, the dramatic water crisis raised the question of whether to fill vacationers’ pools or farmers’ reserves.” These are societal and economic tensions — and thus a crisis that will force some real political choices.
