While approximately 10% of the French population comes from African diasporas and their representatives shine in sport, culture, and economics, no name of African origin appears in the lists to succeed François Bayrou at Matignon. A paradox that calls into question the representativeness at the highest levels of government.

François Bayrou's resignation, after losing a confidence vote, opens a new political page. Emmanuel Macron consults, names circulate—Catherine Vautrin, Sébastien Lecornu, Roland Lescure, and Xavier Bertrand—but one constant remains: no figure of African descent is mentioned. This absence is all the more striking given that France has a population of African immigrant origin estimated at nearly 10% of its total population. A diverse and dynamic community, omnipresent in French society, but invisible when it comes to the highest political offices.

A representation that stops at the gates of Matignon

In sports, the evidence is clear: Kylian Mbappé, a Cameroonian father and Algerian mother, is captain of the French national football team and one of the most influential players in the world; Victor Wembanyama, of Congolese origin, already embodies the future of global basketball in the NBA. In business, several French executives of African origin sit at the head of major companies or on the executive committees of CAC 40 groups. In culture, many artists, writers, and intellectuals of African origin contribute to France's influence.

But in the political sphere, the glass ceiling seems insurmountable. In the Fifth Republic, a Prime Minister of African origin was never mentioned. Yet, African figures emerged during the colonial era, with Blaise Diagne, Under-Secretary of State for the Colonies in 1930 and 1931, who was also France's first Black MP in 1914, or Félix Houphouët-Boigny, Minister of State before becoming Ivorian President, or Léopold Sédar Senghor, Minister Counselor to Michel Debré and prominent member of the commission responsible for drafting the current French Constitution before becoming President of Senegal. Since then, there has been no notable change.

How can such a paradox be explained? First, by a locked-down political career path: key positions pass through the National Assembly, the grandes écoles, and networks of local elected officials—sectors still largely dominated by the same socio-cultural profiles.

From sport to business, a visible presence everywhere except in politics

Then, by the prudence of presidents: in times of crisis, the choice of Prime Minister favors parliamentary solidity rather than symbolic openness. Finally, by media invisibility: few political figures from diverse backgrounds manage to emerge at the national level, even if they are well represented locally as mayors, deputies, or regional councilors.

The absence of a Prime Minister of African origin is therefore not a coincidence, but a systemic one. Yet, in a country where diversity is one of the most visible realities of daily life, the question becomes pressing: when will France give itself a face at Matignon that reflects its own society? Appointing a head of government of African origin would not alone resolve social divides, but it would send a strong signal, comparable to the election of Barack Obama in the United States. A symbolic and political gesture that would say: the Republic fully recognizes all its children.

Today, however, a figure is emerging in the French political landscape: a woman of Moroccan origin who has proven herself at every level. Audrey Azoulay is due to leave her position as Director-General of UNESCO shortly. A profile that would tick all the boxes.