Several protests from the gilets jaunes to mobilizations against low-emission zones or wind farms reveal a clear pattern: climate policies trigger notably strong opposition in areas outside major cities. This phenomenon is not unique to France; it is observed in several European countries. But where does this discontent originate, and how should it be addressed?
Extensive research over several years has led to a conclusion: dissatisfaction with climate policies stems from the intersection of two dimensions. On the one hand, real structural vulnerabilities. On the other, the way these vulnerabilities are experienced and narrated in daily life.
Territories structurally more exposed
The first explanation is intuitive and perhaps the most important: some territories concentrate characteristics that objectively render them more vulnerable to the effects of the ecological transition.
To verify this, I analyzed responses from nearly 6,000 French respondents by cross-referencing each individual’s opinion with fine-grained territorial data—what jobs exist there, how much weight industry has in the local economy, average daily travel distances, and whether the commune still has proximate public services (such as a post office) that reduce mobility.
First finding: rural respondents live in territories clearly more exposed on these three dimensions. They tend to have more employment in sectors vulnerable to the transition (automotive, metallurgy, chemistry, agriculture, etc.), a local economy more dependent on carbon-intensive industries, and longer daily commutes in communes where proximate public services have often become scarce.
Moreover, cross-referencing these territorial characteristics with expressed support for a set of climate policies (carbon tax, end of internal combustion vehicles, energy renovation, etc.) shows that these structural variables are consistently correlated with weaker support for the transition. This relationship remains strong even when accounting for the simple distinction between rural and urban residence. What is often called the “urban–rural divide” loses much of its explanatory power. In other words, it is not simply living in a rural area that fuels opposition to climate policies, but living in a territory that aggregates these very concrete vulnerabilities—threatened jobs, economically vulnerable area, car dependency, absent public services.
A final point deserves emphasis. While discontent grows as car distances increase, what matters for employment and the local economy is when these distances become structurally significant. In plain terms, a commune with a bit of industry does not differ greatly from a commune with none. It is mainly once a certain level of economic dependence is reached that support for climate policies falls sharply—particularly when more than 10% of workers are employed in sectors vulnerable to the transition, or when manufacturing and construction sectors account for nearly 20% of the commune’s GDP.
What residents say: “we have no choice here”
In-depth field interviews I conducted in Alsace, Lorraine, and Brittany give substance to these statistical results.
Dependence on driving often appears as almost a default condition rather than a choice, especially for work, shopping, or leisure, making cost-related measures or restrictions on car use particularly sensitive. Max, a young construction worker in Lorraine, summarizes the situation regarding the carbon tax increase and the scheduled end of internal-combustion vehicles:
“The countryside consumes more fuel and travel time. We live in a village, so when we want to go to the store, the hairdresser, or elsewhere, we must drive or be driven. In the city, you can do almost everything on foot, by metro, or by bus.”
This constraint is often contrasted with residents of cities, perceived as less exposed to the same costs and obligations.
In addition, there is the progressive disappearance of local services and infrastructures (closures of public services, bus or train lines cuts), experienced not as a geographic fate but as the result of past policy choices, contributing to a broader sense that the state is disengaging from these territories. Alain, a resident of a rural Breton commune, describes this:
“We don’t have the infrastructure, we don’t have access, we don’t have transport, we are poorly served. There used to be lines everywhere. Now there are no more bus lines.”
Finally, in former industrial regions, economic concerns often extend beyond those directly affected: many worry about the broader impact of the transition on the local economy and thus on the jobs of relatives or the community, more than on their own situation. Julie, who mentions plant closures linked to higher energy costs, summarizes a concern widely shared by residents about policies to shutter polluting sites:
“In principle, yes, but behind the factories there are people who work. So is closing the factories really the best plan rather than helping them change and find another solution?”
When climate policy clashes with identity
While material constraints explain much of the discontent, they do not explain everything. Some measures discussed in interviews (such as promoting plant-based diets, higher urban density, or wind power development) sometimes meet resistance even when they do not impose direct economic costs on most respondents.
A second dimension comes into play: the way residents see their territory and what makes it distinctive. Many interviewees claim a rural identity shaped in contrast to urban life, and this identity acts as a filter through which policies are judged—not only by cost but by compatibility with a certain way of life. The house with a garden, the car, and certain local practices (kitchen gardens, neighbor exchanges, barbecues, etc.) evoke autonomy and freedom and deeply rooted local habits.
Policies that directly challenge these elements, even without direct costs (for example, promoting multi-family housing, organic food, or electric mobility), can be perceived as undermining this way of life. Albert, a mayor of a Lorraine village, recalls residents’ reaction to the term “bio”:
“When you talk about ‘bio’ to people in a rural area, who have always had family gardens—not organic, but ‘natural’—it’s a term that comes from the city, from intellectuals, and it does not come from them. The term ‘bio’ is a dispossession of their knowledge…”
Home ownership and personal cars also occupy a central place in these narratives of “normal” rural life, whether in the form of Marie-Jeanne’s description of the “cult of the individual house” or William’s skepticism about electric cars not perceived as truly normal vehicles.
Opposition to wind turbines, in Moselle, October 2023. Author, CC BY
The attachment to the landscape plays a similar role when it comes to energy projects, especially when these installations are seen as primarily benefitting other, more urban territories. Cédric, a school principal in Lorraine, summarizes:
“We won’t put wind turbines everywhere in the countryside just so people in Paris have electricity.”
These two dimensions do not operate in isolation: they reinforce one another. Material constraints gain collective meaning through a sense of territorial belonging, and this belonging can in turn transform policies into perceived threats.
Addressing this discontent thus requires action on both fronts. On one hand, address structural vulnerabilities through concrete measures: support for exposed sectors and employment, financial compensation, maintenance or restoration of nearby services and infrastructures. On the other hand, develop a discourse and policies that recognize attachments, practices, and local identities rather than ignoring them or treating them as obstacles to be overcome. Without this, every new climate measure risks becoming a new grievance at the territorial level.
Theodore Tallent received funding from the National Research and Technology Association for his thesis.
Source: Politique + Société