Le Pen calls embezzlement verdict political persecution, sparking protests and raising questions about law, democracy, and far-right populist narratives.

Marine Le Pen, the legendary head of France’s far-right National Rally (RN), has again dominated national and international headlines—but this time from the defendant’s dock. A French court recently convicted her of embezzling €2.9 million of European Union money from 2004 to 2016. The judgement, which consists of a four-year term (two of which are suspended), a €100,000 fine, and a five-year ban on running for public office, has caused political aftershocks within the French electorate and provoked a sensational reaction from Le Pen herself.

As might be expected, Le Pen has portrayed the verdict as politically motivated. Addressing a sea of people at Place Vauban in Paris, she labeled the conviction a “witch hunt” and refused to give up. Grilled by her party’s president Jordan Bardella and boosted by a sea of flag-waving protesters, she asserted that this judicial ruling undermines the democratic process and not defends it. “We are not requesting to be higher than the law, but not lower than the law,” she stated, highlighting a perceived double standard in the French political and legal establishment.

This case intersects at the point of law, public opinion, and political ideology. Le Pen’s description of the trial as a political grudge serves two purposes. First, it confirms her storyline of being an outsider who breaks the elite ranks. Second, it unites her support base, most of whom already possess strong skepticism regarding the European Union and the judiciary of France. The symbolism is powerful: Le Pen posing before the Eiffel Tower, proclaiming herself innocent, and using the vocabulary of justice and patriotism.

Yet this storyline ignores some crucial facts. The court’s decision was not based on a hastily assembled trial or unclear evidence. The case is a culmination of an extended probe into the alleged abuse of EU funds in which Le Pen and her colleagues diverted parliamentary allowances intended for parliamentary assistants to party staff and political activities. The methodical approach to this fraud raises some serious ethical issues, especially in light of Le Pen’s own demands for law and order and fiscal responsibility throughout her political career.

Even with her judicial trouble, La Pen is still a prominent player in French politics. Indeed, she had long been regarded as one of the favorite horses to win the prestigious 2027 presidential election. Her exclusion from the race risks destabilizing the far-right political landscape, and RN leadership under Bardella now has the daunting challenge of maintaining the party’s control while its most charismatic politician sits in the seat of inactivity.

Surprisingly, whereas the RN had predicted huge demonstrations for Le Pen, Sunday’s protests—though photogenically dramatic—failed to reach the dimensions the party may have been hoping for. This difference between expectation and outcome may mark the start of a change: either a decline in popular enthusiasm for Le Pen himself or a more realistic awareness among voters that the rule of law has to apply, even to populist leaders.

In a nutshell, this episode calls into question the very idea of democratic accountability. Is it possible for a political leader to pose both as champion of national sovereignty and as victim of legal examination? Is it possible for a movement purporting to defend the will of the people to rebuff institutional judgments when they become inconvenient?

Le Pen’s trial is more than a dramatic courtroom proceeding; it is a referendum on how contemporary democracies confront political scandals, particularly when they take place from the very people who say they are standing up for democratic values.