The French right’s long-discussed project of unification has resurfaced with renewed urgency amid the run-up to the next presidential election in May 2027. On the surface, such a project may appear achievable, even inevitable. In reality, however, it confronts something closer to a structural constraint: the ideological distance separating its various components remains substantial, making the construction of a coherent and unified program exceedingly difficult.

A fusionist right could, in theory, exist within the realm of ideas, anchored in a liberal consensus rooted in Montesquieu’s principles of checks and balances, the free market, open trade, and the broader notion of an open society. Yet that consensus, once taken for granted, appears to have eroded. In its place, the possibility has emerged of a right-wing coalition built not on liberalism, but on a shared rejection of it—an illiberal platform that unites more through opposition than agreement.

The institutional framework within which this project unfolds further complicates matters. France’s political system, shaped by a “winner takes all” logic, discourages cooperation among parties that believe they might instead secure power independently. Another, less frequently discussed factor lies in the constitutional evolution of the Fifth Republic itself. The shift from a seven-year presidential term to a five-year term—synchronized with elections to the National Assembly—has subtly but significantly altered the political balance envisioned at the Republic’s founding under Charles de Gaulle.

What was once a carefully calibrated system of counterweights now risks tilting toward instability. The result is a presidency that appears increasingly constrained when faced with a fragmented parliament, where competing blocs—far-right, center-right, and left—struggle to find common ground. In this sense, contemporary France shows faint echoes of the Fourth Republic’s chronic paralysis.

Understanding the challenges of unification also requires a clearer view of what the right actually is—not as a historical lineage, but as a constellation of ideological tendencies.

At its foundation lies the liberal right, built upon principles that span the political, economic, and social spheres. Just as capitalism defines its economic orientation and liberal democracy its political form, the concept of an open society represents its social extension. At its core, this current elevates freedom as the highest national value, defending individual liberties alongside economic and political rights, both domestically and internationally. Its intellectual authority derives not only from deep academic traditions but also from the tangible successes of regimes that have embraced these principles. It is important, however, to distinguish between genuine liberalism and mere economic liberalization. Many actors labeled as liberals in Europe—or libertarians in the United States—are, in practice, simply proponents of capitalism. While liberalism implies capitalism, the reverse is not true: capitalism has proven compatible with illiberal and even authoritarian systems.

Alongside this tradition stands the conservative right, which resists easy definition precisely because it is less an ideology than a governing disposition shaped by convictions. It typically combines social and fiscal conservatism with an emphasis on tradition, national identity, and continuity. At times, it positions itself as a counterweight to modernity, invoking patriotic values and historical memory. Yet conservatism can also slip into reaction when it relies on narratives of fear and vulnerability in an effort to restore a perceived lost order.

In France, this strand has undergone a noticeable transformation. What might be called post-Gaullist conservatism has drifted from the doctrinal foundations that once anchored it, particularly in areas such as foreign and defense policy. In doing so, it has gradually ceded ground, both intellectually and electorally. Its attempt to replicate elements of far-right rhetoric—especially on cultural and identity issues—has proven costly. Voters inclined toward traditional conservatism often prefer leaders who project authenticity and conviction, rather than those who appear to follow rather than lead.

Further complicating the landscape is the populist right, a current defined less by a coherent ideology than by its responsiveness to social sentiment. Its discourse centers on everyday concerns that resonate broadly with the public, but it is often more clearly defined by what it opposes than by what it proposes. Its programmatic vision tends to emerge as a patchwork of rejections rather than a structured doctrine. Nevertheless, its political potency should not be underestimated.

Populism draws strength from its psychological appeal and its capacity to channel discontent, often with the tacit or explicit support of segments of the elite. In this way, it frequently advances at the expense of the conservative right, competing for the same electorate while offering a more emotionally charged narrative.

Closely related, yet distinct, is the nationalist right. This current places the state at the center of its vision, emphasizing sovereignty, territorial control, and the assertion of national identity. Social issues are often treated as secondary, presumed to be resolvable through authority and order. Nationalism, in this sense, tends toward ethnocentrism and a suspicion of individualism, favoring instead a collectivist conception of society. Though often grouped together under the label of the extreme right, populist and nationalist currents are not identical. What they share, however, is a common orientation toward using the state as an instrument of control over society, rather than as a guarantor of individual liberty.

Taken together, these divisions reveal the difficulty of forging a unified right. While a coalition grounded in illiberalism remains conceivable—perhaps even increasingly plausible—the same cannot be said for a return to a shared liberal framework. Paradoxically, the left may find unity more easily, not because its differences are less significant, but because its components are bound by a stronger egalitarian culture and a broadly shared commitment to socialist principles, even if expressed in varying degrees.

In this evolving political landscape, the question is not simply whether the French right can unite, but on what terms—and at what cost.