[1962-1968] Gaullist France and the 'Trente Glorieuses'

In the year 1962, a profound quiet settled over France. For the first time since 1939, the nation was not at war. The bloody, divisive Algerian conflict was finally over, and a collective sigh of relief echoed from the farms of Normandy to the docks of Marseille. At the center of this newfound peace stood a figure of almost mythical stature: Charles de Gaulle. He had guided France out of the chaos of the Fourth Republic and into the stability of the Fifth, his authority seemingly absolute. This moment marked the true beginning of the zenith of a remarkable era the French would later call 'Les Trente Glorieuses'—the Thirty Glorious Years of unprecedented economic expansion. The period from 1962 to 1968 was its dazzling, confident, and ultimately deceptive peak.

The economic engine of France roared with a power few had ever imagined possible. The nation’s Gross Domestic Product surged at an average rate of 5.5% per year, a figure that would be the envy of most developed nations today. Unemployment was practically non-existent, hovering below 2%. This wasn't just abstract economics; it was a revolution in daily life. Millions of French citizens left the hardscrabble existence of the family farm for steady, better-paying jobs in factories and offices. The symbols of this new France were proudly on display on its roads: the quirky, affordable Renault 4 and the futuristically sleek Citroën DS, a car that looked like it had landed from another planet. In 1963, a new kind of cathedral to commerce opened its doors in a Parisian suburb: the first Carrefour hypermarket. It was a dizzying palace of choice and abundance, where a family could buy everything from fresh baguettes and Camembert to a washing machine and new clothes, all under one colossal roof.

This new wealth transformed the French home. In 1962, only about a quarter of households owned a refrigerator; by 1968, that number had soared to over two-thirds. The television set, once a rare luxury, became the centerpiece of the living room, with the number of sets in the country exploding from three million to nearly nine million in just six years. To house the booming population and the influx of workers, vast new cities of concrete sprang from the ground. These were the 'grands ensembles', massive housing projects on the peripheries of major cities. Influenced by the modernist ideals of architects like Le Corbusier, their towering blocks and geometric layouts promised clean, efficient, light-filled living for all. They were a stark, brutalist rejection of the old, cramped city centers, a testament to a society confidently building its future. For a generation that had known occupation and rationing, this world of consumer goods and modern apartments felt like a miracle.

The rhythm of life itself began to change. With a car in almost every driveway, the weekend exodus, or 'le grand départ', became a national ritual. On Friday evenings, the roads leading out of Paris would clog into the infamous 'bouchons', or traffic jams, as families escaped to the countryside or the newly accessible seaside. In the cities, a cultural revolution was underway, driven by the young. The miniskirt, an import from London's Carnaby Street, scandalized the establishment and thrilled a new generation of women. The airwaves pulsed with a new sound, 'Yé-yé' pop, a distinctly French take on American rock and roll. Its idols, like the leather-clad rocker Johnny Hallyday and the impossibly chic singer Françoise Hardy, became the faces of a youth culture that was beginning to feel profoundly different from that of its parents.

Presiding over this glittering transformation was the seventy-year-old Charles de Gaulle. He governed not as a mere politician, but as a republican monarch, a father to the nation. His televised addresses were national events; families would gather in hushed silence to watch 'le Général' speak directly to them from the Élysée Palace. With his towering height, imposing presence, and sonorous voice, he embodied his own vision of France: proud, strong, and destined for 'grandeur'. He spoke of France as a great power, not beholden to any other, and for a time, the economic and technological progress of the nation seemed to prove him right.

This quest for grandeur was projected onto the world stage with dramatic flair. De Gaulle was determined to carve out a path for France independent of the two Cold War superpowers. He poured immense resources into developing France's own nuclear deterrent, the 'force de frappe', culminating in the first successful hydrogen bomb test in 1968. He launched the nation into the space race, with the Astérix satellite making France the third country in the world to have its own orbital presence in 1965. In a move that stunned his allies, he withdrew France from NATO’s integrated military command in 1966, forcing American troops and headquarters off French soil. He was a constant thorn in the side of the United States, and his thunderous declaration, 'Vive le Québec libre!', during a state visit to Canada in 1967, was a deliberate and shocking challenge to the established order.

Yet, beneath the gleaming chrome of the new cars and the concrete facades of the new housing blocks, a deep-seated tension was building. The prosperity was not shared equally. While corporate profits soared, many industrial workers felt their wages stagnated. The old social structures remained stubbornly in place—a society governed by a rigid, bourgeois elite. Universities, built for a fraction of their student body, were dangerously overcrowded, with students chafing under an antiquated and paternalistic system. A new generation had been born after the war, a generation that had no memory of deprivation or defeat. They had been raised on prosperity and the promise of a bright future, but they found themselves in a society they viewed as stifling, conservative, and uninspired.

This was the central paradox of Gaullist France in the mid-1960s. The nation was more prosperous and modern than ever before, yet a profound sense of malaise, a feeling that one philosopher famously termed 'boredom', was taking hold, especially among the young. The very stability and order that de Gaulle had so carefully constructed began to feel like a cage. The glorious peace and predictable prosperity were no longer enough. The air grew thick with a yearning for something more, for a different kind of revolution—not for bread, but for meaning, for freedom, for a voice. The dazzling edifice of the Trente Glorieuses stood tall and proud, but its foundations were beginning to tremble, on the verge of a seismic event that would shake France to its core and change it forever: the explosive, chaotic, and revolutionary month of May, 1968.