By Christine Mirre, Vice-President of CAP Liberté de Conscience (CAP LC)
An memwa papa an mwen
A 341-year-old ghost law
On 28 May 2026, the French National Assembly voted unanimously to repeal the Code Noir (Black Code -T/N), an edict of March 1685 drafted under Colbert and signed by Louis XIV. This text of sixty articles had regulated slavery in the French colonies for nearly two centuries. Article 44 declared slaves to be ‘movable property’ — movable assets that could be bought, sold or seized. Article 38 provided for branding and the death penalty for repeat fugitives. Article 12 established the principle of partus sequitur ventrem: children took the status of their mother, ensuring the hereditary perpetuation of servitude.
The abolition of slavery in the French colonies on 27 April 1848 by Victor Schœlcher’s decree—which, it should be noted, was not the result of humanitarian concern but rather the fear of a massive slave uprising in Martinique and Guadeloupe, which prompted the provisional government of the Second Republic to ratify the decree.
But the Code Noir was never formally repealed. It had become, according to legal historian Jean-François Niort, a ‘ghost text’ — effectively unenforceable, yet still present in the French legislative corpus. For 178 years, the Republic had lived with this monarchical relic in its archives, without ever performing the symbolic act of erasing it.
Why had the legislators of 1848 not made a clean sweep? The legal logic of the time dictated that the abolition of the institution would tacitly render the texts regulating it obsolete. But this logic overlooked a crucial aspect: French positive law does not automatically repeal obsolete laws. The Code Noir thus survived, forgotten in the labyrinth of colonial law, whilst France moved on to other forms of domination — the Indigenous Code, forced labour, segregation.
An emotional vote, words that matter
The debate on 28 May 2026 in the National Assembly was marked by deep emotion. MP Max Mathiasin (Guadeloupe, LIOT), rapporteur for the bill, spoke words that brought the chamber to silence: “Today’s vote is a further step forward, a tribute to the men and women, to the children who were enslaved, to those men and women who were enslaved and from whom I come.” He thanked his mother, with tears in his eyes.
MP Steevy Gustave (Guadeloupe) corrected a recurring phrase with restrained force: “We are not the descendants of slaves. We are the descendants of human beings born free and then enslaved.” His broken voice drew a standing ovation from all political groups.
The Minister for Overseas Territories, Naïma Moutchou, expressed her support for the text, acknowledging that “the Code Noir has long since ceased to have any effect, but its mark and its weight are still there.”
For me, this vote resonates beyond the chamber.
I am a descendant of a family that has lived on La Désirade—a dependency of Guadeloupe—since the 17th century. Under the regime of the Code Noir, my family carries a memory that goes beyond mere symbols. My ancestors, some of whom were freed from their chains with the abolition of 1848, had to slowly rebuild their freedom within a system that had initially classified them as ‘movable property’.
I was shocked when, as a teenager, my father told me my family’s story and showed me the civil registers. My grandfather’s grandfather, Montrose Mirre, was listed as a piece of property that could be bought, sold and bequeathed in the slave register, in accordance with the provisions of Article 44 of the Code Noir. He was the illegitimate son of a settler and a slave, whose name he bore due to the principle of partus sequitur ventrem (see paragraph 1), and was subsequently manumitted by order of the Governor of Guadeloupe, the session of the Privy Council of Guadeloupe recording that his freedom had been requested by his father, Jean Bontemps Mirre, whose name he would henceforth take, as he was now a ‘new free person of colour’. His mother, Adélaide Cocote, was freed by her owner, François Poullin, in accordance with the request of his deceased wife. Later, Montrose Mirre’s son, Abraham, married a certain Marie Eulalie Zamia, whose mother, Louisonne, is listed in the 1843 slave register as a mixed-race slave belonging to the widow Locquet; she was entered in the register of newly freed people in 1850.
“It is history, but it feels so close and very much alive when I think to myself that he was my grandfather’s grandfather!”
“The Code Noir did not die in 1848”
While the repeal was unanimous in substance, the debates revealed deep divisions over the significance of the gesture. Several overseas MPs emphasized a truth that the symbolic vote does not resolve: the Code Noir has mutated, infiltrating contemporary structures.
Émeline K/Bidi (Réunion, GDR) offered an analysis that goes beyond the legal framework: “The Code Noir did not die in 1848; it has mutated, it has crept into job assignments, glass ceilings, racial profiling… This vote is a start; let it also be a warning!”
Sabrina Sebaihi – Green Party and Ludovic Mendes – Ensemble (Together N/T) echoed this demand. Mendes posed the central question: “What good are symbols if they are not followed by action? Racism is not a relic of the past. It is a living, insidious reality that lurks within institutions, discourse, stares, and denied opportunities.”
K/Bidi added an economic dimension that is often overlooked: “Former slaves were freed without land, without capital, without reparations, whilst the former owners were compensated.” The law of 30 April 1849 had indeed provided for compensation for planters — a provision repealed only in 2017, 168 years later.
Repeal or annulment? The fundamental legal debate
A structural tension ran through the debates: should the Code Noir be repealed (declared to have no effect from a given date) or annulled (declared null and void from its inception)?
La France Insoumise-LFI Party (Rebellious France – N/T) tabled amendments calling for abolition “ab initio” – from the outset. Alexis Corbière argued: “To abolish ab initio is to declare that the Code noir was illegitimate from the very beginning.” Simple repeal, they argued, legitimizes a text a posteriori that should never have existed.
Maître Georges-Emmanuel Germany, former President of the Martinique Bar Association and Benin’s Ambassador for the African Diaspora, draws the distinction with legal precision: repeal removes a text that is still in force; annulment declares a legal act null and void ipso jure, as if the author had never had the authority to sign it. For the Code Noir of 1685, signed by an absolute monarch, annulment would call into question the very legitimacy of royal power over the colonies.
Parliament ultimately opted for standard repeal — a pragmatic choice, but one that leaves the question of historical justice unresolved.
The Rassemblement National party’s double game
The unanimous vote masks striking political contradictions. The Rassemblement National – RN party (National Rally N/T) voted in favour of repeal in the National Assembly. Yet, in the European Parliament, Jordan Bardella had voted against a resolution declaring slavery “a crime against humanity” on 19 June 2020.
RN MPs have made a series of ambiguous statements. Julien Odoul condemned “constant repentance” and “the deterioration of law and order in certain overseas territories”. Sébastien Chenu stated: “We reject the blame placed on the French people and political exploitation.” Cyril Tribuiani added: “The RN will remain vigilant against any ideological exploitation of this history.”
Mathilde Panot (LFI) revealed a revisionist statement: a far-right MP had complained that “anti-white racism” was not on the agenda. Gabrielle Cathala (LFI) condemned the cancellation by the new RN mayor of Vierzon of the ceremony commemorating the abolition of slavery.
This double standard—voting in favour, speaking out against—illustrates France’s difficulty in coming to terms with a history that is uncomfortable.
A unique case in the world?
France is not alone in having retained legal traces of slavery, but its case is unique due to the age of the text (1685) and its formal persistence in positive law for 178 years after abolition.
In Qatar, the sponsorship law (kafala) continues to bind migrant workers to a sponsor-employer who controls their work permit and freedom of movement — a system denounced as modern slavery, even though slavery was officially abolished in 1952. In Mauritania, the 1980 abolition was not implemented until much later; there were still at least 100,000 slaves in the country in the year 2000. In Pakistan, the 1992 abolition was never followed by the necessary implementing legislation.
But none of these countries has retained a founding text of colonial slavery as ancient and as symbolically charged as Louis XIV’s Code Noir.
France at the UN: the abstention of March 2026
The diplomatic context sheds light on the political significance of this vote. In late March 2026, the UN General Assembly adopted a resolution declaring the African slave trade to be “ , the gravest crime against humanity”. France abstained, as did the United Kingdom and the entire European Union (fifty-two abstentions out of one hundred and ninety-three member states).
The Minister for Foreign Affairs, Jean-Noël Barrot, justified this abstention during a visit to Lomé (Togo) on 24–25 April 2026: “If we abstained on this resolution, it is because we refuse to create a hierarchy among crimes against humanity, to pit one suffering against another.”
This universalist stance—refusing to rank forms of suffering—was perceived by several observers as a reluctance to fully acknowledge the specific nature of the crime of the transatlantic slave trade. The repeal of the Code Noir, which took place two months later, can be seen as a symbolic response to this pressure. But in the eyes of the international community, it does not compensate for the lack of strong legal recognition at the UN.
Reparations: the word the government avoids
France’s abstention at the UN and the repeal of the Code Noir share the same limitation: they sidestep the issue of reparations.
President Emmanuel Macron, in his speech on 21 May 2026 at the Élysée Palace to mark the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Taubira Law (2001), declared himself in favour of repeal, describing the continued existence of the Code Noir as a “mistake” and a “form of offence”. But he was cautious on the issue of reparations: “This is a matter on which we must not make false promises either… We will never be able to fully make amends for this crime.”
Article 2 of the Mathiasin bill stipulates that the government must submit, within one year, a report on colonial law and an assessment of the economic, social, cultural and environmental consequences. This is the only concrete commitment in the text.
Historian Ana Lucia Araujo, author of *Reparations: Struggles for the Memory of Slavery (18th–21st Centuries)*, points out that the construction of monuments and memorials “has not healed the wounds of the past… On the contrary, one might argue that the commemoration of slavery has made the scars of anti-Black racism even more visible”.
The Haitian case weighs heavily in this debate. Haiti was forced to pay France the equivalent of $560 million following its independence (1825–1947) — a sum which, according to several economists, has resulted in financial losses estimated at over $100 billion for the country over the past two centuries.
This repeal represents a step forward — belated, insufficient, but necessary. The Code Noir gave structure to the unthinkable: that human beings could be property. This structure has mutated; it has crept into our institutions, our discrimination, our silences. Repealing the text is to acknowledge the wound. Healing will require something else.
Next steps: Senate, report and Accra conference
The bill must now go to the Senate under the parliamentary shuttle procedure. Final adoption is expected in the coming weeks.
The government has one year to submit the report required under Article 2. This exercise could provide an opportunity for an unprecedented assessment of the structural consequences of colonial law — or for yet another administrative whitewash.
In mid-June 2026, a high-level conference on restorative justice is scheduled to take place in Accra (Ghana). France is expected to attend. Will the repeal of the Code Noir be presented as a sufficient gesture, or as a prelude to more substantial commitments?
A milestone, not an end
The repeal of the Code Noir is a major symbolic event. It puts an end to a 178-year-old legal anomaly. It finally acknowledges that a text which dehumanized millions of human beings no longer has a place in French positive law.
But symbolism is not enough. Systemic racism, structural inequalities, the lack of material reparations, and France’s reluctance to fully recognize the specific nature of the crime of slavery at the UN — all of this remains.
A demand that carries the weight of a complex history
My ancestors arrived in the West Indies in the 1630s during the establishment of the Compagnie des îles d’Amérique (American islands Company – N/T). Over time, they all carried the Code Noir in their luggage — as masters, as slaves, as human beings caught up in a system that was beyond any individual’s control. Some were reduced to the status of ‘property’ by that very text. They had to rebuild their freedom with their own hands, without land, without capital, without reparation. Today, France is repealing a text that gave structure to the unthinkable. That is a good thing. But to acknowledge the crime without redressing the harm is to turn the page without reading the chapter.
Sources and references: Full minutes of the National Assembly (28 May 2026); Jean-François Niort, interview with Le Monde (May 2025); Emmanuel Macron, speech at the Élysée Palace (21 May 2026); Max Mathiasin, Report No. 2810, draft bill to repeal the Code Noir; France Info, Euronews, Radio France, La Tribune, L’Humanité, Libération, Mediapart, La Marseillaise, La Provence, France-Antilles; Ana Lucia Araujo, Reparations. Struggles for the memory of slavery (18th–21st centuries); Overseas National Archives (ANOM), parish registers of La Désirade, Guadeloupe; Genealogy and History of the Caribbean, LEMIRE/MIRRE families of the islands of Guadeloupe.
About the author: Christine Mirre is vice-president of the Coordination of Associations and Individuals for Freedom of Conscience (CAP LC), a human rights NGO with consultative status at the United Nations. She previously analysed France’s abstention from the UN vote on slavery (March 2026). Her family, established in La Désirade (Guadeloupe) since the 17th century, lived through colonial slavery, the abolition of 1848 and the slow development of citizenship in the French West Indies.
