The Fall of a President, The Rise of a Familiar Script

France didn’t gasp when the Court of Cassation upheld Nicolas Sarkozy’s conviction.
Everyone knew the ruling was coming.
What caught the eye was something else — the quiet choreography that followed.

The moment the verdict landed, France’s most polished circles moved into formation.
Politicians, media personalities, business magnates — the whole constellation — stepped forward to cast Sarkozy not as a convicted offender, but as a wounded figure under siege.
A strange kind of loyalty, one that says more about the system than the man.

Because when an ex-president finally faces the full weight of the law, it sends a shiver through the architecture that once protected him.
It forces the elite to reveal how far they’re willing to go to defend one of their own.

Sarkozy’s troubles didn’t begin yesterday.
Two cases have followed him like a shadow: the Bygmalion Affair and the Libyan funding case.
One tied to overspending in 2012, the other to illicit money allegedly flowing from Gaddafi’s Libya into the 2007 campaign.
The first case has now been sealed.
The second — darker, heavier — has already taken him to La Santé prison, even if only briefly.
Twenty days behind those walls is still twenty days too many for a man once accustomed to Elysée privilege.

The Bygmalion scandal exposed more than financial misconduct.
It peeled back the curtain on an entire culture of political impunity — consultants, donors, and operatives linked by convenient opacity and a shared confidence that rules were flexible for the well-connected.
When Sarkozy’s team used fake invoices to bury illegal spending, it wasn’t just a breach of the law.
It was a window into how the game has been played for decades.

When the Paris Court of Appeal convicted him in February 2024, Sarkozy’s allies said it was political.
When the Court of Cassation upheld it, they said it was persecution.
The goal was never to argue the facts — it was to shape the story.

And the story they chose is one of elite fragility.
A warning, whispered through editorials and TV segments, that the judiciary should “respect the hierarchy” — a phrase that sounds almost absurd in a democracy, yet shows up again and again in these circles.
The idea isn’t to defend Sarkozy alone.
It’s to defend the invisible architecture that keeps their world intact.

Even President Emmanuel Macron stepped into the frame.
Meeting Sarkozy at the Elysée — days before incarceration — and calling it a “human gesture.”
A gesture that would never be extended to an ordinary citizen named Jean Dupont.
That contrast tells its own story, and it isn’t subtle.

Justice Minister Gérald Darmanin — once groomed by Sarkozy — made an even bolder move.
He visited Sarkozy in prison, claiming it was about safety and compassion.
The backlash was swift.
Judges warned of political interference.
Critics called it a breach of neutrality.
But the symbolism lingered: powerful men protecting powerful men.

The reactions piled up.
Opposition leaders, legal watchdogs, civil society groups — all pointing to the same concern:
If the elite insist on circling the wagons every time one of their own faces the law, what does that say about justice in France?

And yet, a quieter narrative is gaining momentum — Sarkozy as a martyr of judicial excess.
Commentators describe him as overwhelmed, misunderstood, unfairly targeted.
Editorials dwell on his “distress,” his “humane treatment,” the “irregularities” his lawyers highlight.
The transformation is subtle.
Almost cinematic.
The convicted becomes the victim, and the system becomes the threat.

For Sarkozy, it softens the impact of the verdict.
For the establishment, it’s a shield — defend one, defend all.
And for the public, it raises an uncomfortable question:
If the powerful can always reframe their downfall as persecution, what hope is there for genuine accountability?

Behind every headline, a deeper story waits.
And this one, like so many in French politics, is less about justice — and more about who gets to bend its shape.