Le Figaro Nantes
There is a touch of bitterness in Anthony Fabié's eyes.
Less the start of a difficult week, than the cold anger that torments this cattle breeder.
This Monday morning, around fifty farmers came to share and maintain it in front of the Leclerc brand in Clisson, around twenty kilometers from Nantes.
Disembarked from around fifteen tractors and a swarm of vans, these farmers from Loire-Atlantique came to express their solidarity with the rest of the angry farmers, but also to put words to the stubborn resentments which are gnawing away at the profession.
They are legion.
“We are perhaps not as numerous as the friends mobilized elsewhere, but it was important to show peacefully that we are still here
,” says Anthony Fabié, operator based in Saint-Hilaire-de-Clisson and organizer of the dam filter installed, Monday morning, at the accesses to the Leclerc center of the commune.
The collective action did not dissuade local residents from going shopping, or even from stopping by the store to encourage these wretched people of the earth, to bring them drinks or croissants.
A Post Office agent slows down her vehicle during her tour, time to address the troops.
Small gestures that go straight to the hearts of the farmers gathered, mostly winegrowers.
Also read: Anger of farmers: should we really be worried about a food shortage in Île-de-France?
In the absence of an adequate response from Paris, farmers must for the moment be content with these expressions of solidarity.
Like his comrades, Anthony Fabié does not pay much attention to the first announcements taken on January 26 from the government.
“It’s cat pee, words to try to calm people down
,” he immediately shouts.
He is waiting to see
“something concrete”.
He never stops hoping that
“everyone plays the game”
: manufacturers and distributors, but also foreign countries.
And even the deputies.
The farmer explains.
“We don’t want to annoy people, but to get politicians moving.
We have to bring them back to earth, they are completely disconnected from the terrain.
When we see that they increase by 300 euros net because of inflation, that doesn't really make us laugh,”
he gets angry about the advance on mandate fees recently voted by the Assembly.
A diffuse grumbling
This lack of consideration is shared by those gathered in Clisson.
Within them, the discontent is cold, diffuse, hidden behind the camaraderie of cups of coffee and the friendly ribbing sent to each other by these neighbors, friends and comrades from the Nantes region, who do not all share
“the same ideas”
.
But you just have to dig.
Their time no longer belongs to them.
“We work more than 60 hours a week
, a cowardly, disappointed winemaker who prefers not to identify himself.
At least that spares us the ends of less difficulty: we don't even have time to spend.
“3/4 of the laws are made by people in offices who know nothing about the profession, that’s what’s most annoying”, Simon Cherner, Le Figaro
A winemaker with graying hair and superb outspokenness, Alain Blanchard is two days away from retirement, which he will immediately complete with a salaried contract.
A very particular animosity animates him on the subject of the
“paperwork”
which harasses the producers,
“at least two hours a day, at the very least!”
.
Nor does he pay much attention to those who, on the other side of the administrations, are responsible for writing them.
“3/4 of the laws are made by people in offices who know nothing about the profession, that’s what’s most annoying,”
he complains.
What kind of
“red tape”
are we talking about?
Invoices, customs declarations, bottling registers, salary processing, tirelessly repeated administrative procedures.
All documentation associated with product traceability.
And, for some, the files relating to the CAP.
“Everything we do must be written, signed, recorded, stamped,”
says Alain Blanchard.
Several producers admit to giving up in the face of this deluge of procedures.
“We would need to hire full-time workers to treat everything properly, but we don't have the means
,” summarizes a group of farmers.
Faced with these administrative Leviathans, which are added to the other grievances of the sector, the farmers gathered are struggling to convince new generations to take an interest in their farms.
Half-heartedly, some speak of the end of a world.
The majority of faces are wrinkled.
Several farmers present are close to retirement age.
A few happily crossed it.
And when it's not the flesh, it's the machine.
Installed a stone's throw from the stand where the coffees are buzzing, an old, tired John Deere tractor, its body dented and the cabin completely worn out, raises a few smiles.
It belongs to Florent Gauthier, a young winemaker.
“It’s a machine from my grandfather, who has been in the family since the 1970s!”
, he says, in a burst of pride and modesty.
“It has character, but it still works and starts like clockwork.
A bit like us.”