In his frantic race to regain control of a country plagued by crime, French Justice Minister Gérald Darmanin has proposed getting rid of cash in order to fight drug traffickers more effectively. The measure is causing concern, as it risks making life difficult for honest citizens and further confirming the state’s control over their lives—while drug dealers will always find a way to defy the authorities and continue their lucrative trade.
During a Senate hearing on Thursday, May 22nd, on the fight against drug trafficking, which is booming in France, Darmanin made an explosive statement: “How do we stop drugs in our neighbourhoods? There is a fairly simple measure: the end of cash will prevent the establishment of drug dealing spots.”
This is not a new tune. In this age of digital identity, intangible telephone lines, and contactless payment, the temptation to abolish coins and banknotes regularly resurfaces in the minds of our leaders. Cash has a bad reputation. It is accused of being dirty—we don’t know where it comes from nor where it goes—and of facilitating odious trafficking. According to the minister of justice, anyone who prefers the reassuring feel of paper money to microchips is necessarily a potential criminal. The minister hopes that digital rationality will take control of this outdated remnant of a bygone era.
When it comes to cash, although not quite reaching German levels, the French are putting up resistance and do not like the idea of the state sticking its nose into their wallets. A recent survey reveals that the French still use cash for 51% of their purchases, although the trend has been declining for several years. In Denmark, cash has almost disappeared and is now used in only 8% of transactions.
Why this resistance to progress? Is it a sign of the incorrigible Gallic spirit?
Instead of delving into monetary and political considerations, we would like to point out that there is a poetry to cash—even a mystique, which has to be appreciated from an early age.
For the little French boy immortalised by photographer Willy Ronis, coins are the first step into the adult world—when his loving mother entrusts him with the oh-so-important task of going to the shop across the street to buy a crusty baguette, which, topped with butter and jam, will make the family’s breakfast a delight. The cold touch of the coin in his little fist clenched deep in his pocket is both reassuring and impressive. Cash allows him to take on one of his very first real responsibilities: he has to bring home the exact change, which will earn him the trust of the adults. A few days later, the success of the operation will guarantee a new errand to the bakery, which this time may be rewarded with a sweet or a croissant.
Later on, banknotes and coins reward the first jobs done for the community and the family. As a child, I built up my little treasure trove, carefully stored in a piggy bank decorated with the mischievous Peter Rabbit—by raking leaves and weeding the paths. For others, it’s babysitting: you earn a few pounds changing the neighbours’ babies’ nappies so that one day you can do it—this time, for free—for your own children. It’s a lesson in life.
Cash is also the small amounts received as New Year’s gifts, those thoughtful presents handed over by grandparents for the New Year. They are promising endless happiness: playing cards, industrial sweets, or silly comic books that mum will never buy, but which we can treat ourselves to with our jealously guarded savings.
Once we reach adulthood, cash reminds us, like the powder in an hourglass, that it slips away inexorably for those who do not pay attention to it. In everyday life, shopping with coins and notes is the best way to learn the difficult exercise of moderation and budget control. When your wallet is empty and you can see the seams, there’s no point hoping for a deferred payment plan negotiated with a shady bank advisor who is concerned about his company’s performance on the financial markets but not so about your ability to make ends meet.
Finally, coins are essential for everyday acts of charity. While it is always possible to make a tax-deductible, digitally verified donation to the charity of your choice in just three clicks, nothing will ever replace the coin slipped into the dirty hand of the man who has been living on the street a stone’s throw from your home for the past ten years. He doesn’t have a contactless card reader. He wants human contact just as much as he wants the lonely little coin you forgot in your pocket.
In the public arena, few voices have been raised to curb the justice minister’s enthusiasm. Yet behind this hunt for cash lies a whole battle of civilisations. Darmanin’s mistrust of cash stems from the fact that it cannot be traced. But there is something disturbing about the idea that every transaction can be tracked and recorded somewhere, in a bank or government office. Let’s not forget that fans of fictitious money are also promoters of universal social credit.
Deep in Our Pockets, Freedom Is Bought With Coins
Photo: Oleksandr Pidvalnyi de Pixabay
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In his frantic race to regain control of a country plagued by crime, French Justice Minister Gérald Darmanin has proposed getting rid of cash in order to fight drug traffickers more effectively. The measure is causing concern, as it risks making life difficult for honest citizens and further confirming the state’s control over their lives—while drug dealers will always find a way to defy the authorities and continue their lucrative trade.
During a Senate hearing on Thursday, May 22nd, on the fight against drug trafficking, which is booming in France, Darmanin made an explosive statement: “How do we stop drugs in our neighbourhoods? There is a fairly simple measure: the end of cash will prevent the establishment of drug dealing spots.”
This is not a new tune. In this age of digital identity, intangible telephone lines, and contactless payment, the temptation to abolish coins and banknotes regularly resurfaces in the minds of our leaders. Cash has a bad reputation. It is accused of being dirty—we don’t know where it comes from nor where it goes—and of facilitating odious trafficking. According to the minister of justice, anyone who prefers the reassuring feel of paper money to microchips is necessarily a potential criminal. The minister hopes that digital rationality will take control of this outdated remnant of a bygone era.
When it comes to cash, although not quite reaching German levels, the French are putting up resistance and do not like the idea of the state sticking its nose into their wallets. A recent survey reveals that the French still use cash for 51% of their purchases, although the trend has been declining for several years. In Denmark, cash has almost disappeared and is now used in only 8% of transactions.
Why this resistance to progress? Is it a sign of the incorrigible Gallic spirit?
Instead of delving into monetary and political considerations, we would like to point out that there is a poetry to cash—even a mystique, which has to be appreciated from an early age.
For the little French boy immortalised by photographer Willy Ronis, coins are the first step into the adult world—when his loving mother entrusts him with the oh-so-important task of going to the shop across the street to buy a crusty baguette, which, topped with butter and jam, will make the family’s breakfast a delight. The cold touch of the coin in his little fist clenched deep in his pocket is both reassuring and impressive. Cash allows him to take on one of his very first real responsibilities: he has to bring home the exact change, which will earn him the trust of the adults. A few days later, the success of the operation will guarantee a new errand to the bakery, which this time may be rewarded with a sweet or a croissant.
Later on, banknotes and coins reward the first jobs done for the community and the family. As a child, I built up my little treasure trove, carefully stored in a piggy bank decorated with the mischievous Peter Rabbit—by raking leaves and weeding the paths. For others, it’s babysitting: you earn a few pounds changing the neighbours’ babies’ nappies so that one day you can do it—this time, for free—for your own children. It’s a lesson in life.
Cash is also the small amounts received as New Year’s gifts, those thoughtful presents handed over by grandparents for the New Year. They are promising endless happiness: playing cards, industrial sweets, or silly comic books that mum will never buy, but which we can treat ourselves to with our jealously guarded savings.
Once we reach adulthood, cash reminds us, like the powder in an hourglass, that it slips away inexorably for those who do not pay attention to it. In everyday life, shopping with coins and notes is the best way to learn the difficult exercise of moderation and budget control. When your wallet is empty and you can see the seams, there’s no point hoping for a deferred payment plan negotiated with a shady bank advisor who is concerned about his company’s performance on the financial markets but not so about your ability to make ends meet.
Finally, coins are essential for everyday acts of charity. While it is always possible to make a tax-deductible, digitally verified donation to the charity of your choice in just three clicks, nothing will ever replace the coin slipped into the dirty hand of the man who has been living on the street a stone’s throw from your home for the past ten years. He doesn’t have a contactless card reader. He wants human contact just as much as he wants the lonely little coin you forgot in your pocket.
In the public arena, few voices have been raised to curb the justice minister’s enthusiasm. Yet behind this hunt for cash lies a whole battle of civilisations. Darmanin’s mistrust of cash stems from the fact that it cannot be traced. But there is something disturbing about the idea that every transaction can be tracked and recorded somewhere, in a bank or government office. Let’s not forget that fans of fictitious money are also promoters of universal social credit.
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