As European health systems grapple with how to deliver increasingly advanced therapies, rare disease patients in Sweden still face everyday challenges — from securing a diagnosis to accessing appropriate care. Although rights are strong on paper, families often find themselves stitching together services across a decentralized system. Ågrenska is a national competence center in Sweden working to bridge those gaps. It supports people with rare diagnoses and their families in navigating health and social services. “But there’s a limit to what one organization can do,” says Zozan Sewger Kvist, Ågrenska’s CEO. POLITICO Studio spoke with her about where the Swedish system falls short and what must change across Europe to ensure patients are not left behind. POLITICO Studio: From Ågrenska’s experience working with families of rare disease patients across Sweden, where does the system most often break down? Zozan Sewger Kvist: For 25 years the families have been telling us the same thing: the system doesn’t connect. Zozan Sewger Kvist, CEO, Ågrenska The breakdown is most evident in health care, especially when transitioning from pediatric to adult care. But it also happens when patients are transitioning between schools, social services and medical teams. No one is looking at their care from a holistic point of view. Families become their own project managers. They are the ones booking appointments, chasing referrals, explaining the diagnosis again and again. It’s a heavy burden. That’s largely why our organization exists. We provide families with the knowledge, networks and tools to navigate the system and understand their rights. But there’s a limit to what one organization can do. In a perfect world, these functions would already be embedded within public care. > Without clear national coordination, it becomes much harder to monitor whether > families are actually receiving the support they are entitled to. PS: Access to rare disease care varies widely within many European countries and Sweden is no exception. In practical terms, what do those regional disparities look like? ZSK: Swedish families have the same rights across the country, but regional priorities differ. That leads to unequal access in practice. For example, areas with university hospitals tend to have stronger specialist networks and rehabilitation services. In more rural parts of the country, especially in the north, it is harder to attract expertise, and families feel that gap directly. In practical terms, that can mean something as basic as access to rehabilitation. In some regions, children receive coordinated physiotherapy, speech therapy and follow-up. In others, families struggle to access rehabilitation at all. And that’s a big issue because a lot of Sweden’s health care runs through rehabilitation — without it, referrals to other services and treatments can stall. PS: Would a comprehensive national rare disease strategy meaningfully change outcomes across regions? ZSK: The problem is compliance, not regulation. Sweden has strong rules but regions have almost full freedom to organize care, which makes consistency difficult. As it stands, without clear national coordination, it becomes much harder to monitor whether families are actually receiving the support they are entitled to. A national rare disease strategy would not solve everything but it would set expectations such as what the minimum level of care should look like, what coordination should include and how outcomes are followed up. A draft national strategy was developed in 2024, and there was real momentum. Patient organizations, health care experts and the government were all involved. Everyone was optimistic the framework would provide guidance and accountability. After some delays, work on the national strategy has resumed, so hopefully we will see it implemented soon. > Families often feel they need to take on a coordinating role themselves. They > describe an endless search — calling clinics, repeating their story, trying to > connect the dots. PS: Families often describe a long and fragmented path to diagnosis. Where does that journey tend to go wrong, and what would shorten it most? ZSK: Coordinated multidisciplinary teams would make the biggest difference — teams that can look at the whole condition, not just one symptom at a time. The challenge is that rare diseases often affect multiple organ systems. Several specialists may be involved, but they do not always work together, and it may not be clear who is taking responsibility for the whole case. When no one holds that overview, delays multiply. Sweden also lacks a fully integrated national health record system, so specialists may be looking at different pieces of the same case without seeing the full picture. Families often feel they need to take on a coordinating role themselves. They describe an endless search — calling clinics, repeating their story, trying to connect the dots. PS: Sweden participates in the European Reference Networks, yet you’ve suggested they’re underused. What’s missing in how Sweden leverages that expertise? ZSK: The ERNs are a strong, established framework for connecting specialists across borders. Swedish experts participate, but we are not using that structure to its full potential. Participation often appears project-based rather than long-term. Neighboring countries such as Norway, Denmark and Finland are more proactive in leveraging these collaborations. I would like to see Sweden invest more in turning these networks into durable partnerships that support clinical practice — not just research initiatives. > Rare disease care needs sustained political and financial follow-through. > Without that, families will continue to carry burdens that the system should > be managing. PS: Sweden often falls behind other EU countries in terms of access to orphan medicines (drugs that treat rare diseases). What needs to change in Sweden’s approach to ensure patients aren’t left behind? ZSK: Families are very aware of how access compares across Europe. They follow these discussions closely, and when a treatment is available in one country but not another, it is difficult for them to understand why. In Sweden, reimbursement decisions often come down to cost-effectiveness calculations. That makes access an ethical as well as an economic question. But for a family, it is hard to accept that a few additional years of life or stability are weighed against a financial threshold. Some families choose to cross borders for treatment. But that can be quite a complex, expensive process, depending on the kind of treatment. I think greater transparency and clearer communication about the criteria and long-term impact — not only the immediate cost — would make difficult outcomes easier to understand. PS: You’ve worked with families for decades. Have things materially improved — and what worries you most if reforms stall? ZSK: Unfortunately, I cannot say that things have materially improved. When I look back at the challenges families described 15 or 20 years ago, many of them are still the same. There have been some positive developments. Digital access means families are more informed and can connect more easily with others in similar situations. That has strengthened their voice. But structurally, many of the underlying gaps remain. Rare disease care needs sustained political and financial follow-through. Without that, families will continue to carry burdens that the system should be managing. Disclaimer POLITICAL ADVERTISEMENT * The sponsor is Alexion Pharmaceuticals * The entity ultimately controlling the sponsor: AstraZeneca plc * The political advertisement is linked to policy advocacy around rare disease governance, funding, and equitable access to diagnosis and treatment across Europe More information here.

KYIV — Two days after Elon Musk’s SpaceX launched Starlink verification and blocked unverified terminals in Ukraine, the pace of Russia’s offensive appears to be slowing, a Ukrainian military official told POLITICO. “Currently, such a trend is indeed observed. But it will be necessary to monitor further whether it will continue, whether there will be other factors,” said the official, granted anonymity to discuss sensitive matters. “However, at some places, Ukrainian military Starlinks which have not been registered yet have also been disconnected. But the registration process is ongoing,” the official added. “In fact, they [Russian units] have problems now. They are like blind kittens,” a Ukrainian General Staff commanders told POLITICO separately, also granted anonymity to discuss sensitive matters. On Friday, Russian military bloggers, who in the past have praised Musk for his anti-Ukrainian rhetoric, complained about the mass failure of terminals for the Starlink satellite service that began on the evening on Feb. 4 on the frontline in Ukraine.  “The Russian Armed Forces used gray Starlinks to organize communications at the front. The danger is that it was an easy way compared to doing something new, pulling an ever-breaking optical fiber, setting up ‘bridges,’ or even working en masse with digital stations to organize the transmission of small data packets,” Russian pro-war military Telegram channel Dva Mayora, said in a post on Thursday. “Gray” Starlink terminals are ones that are not authorized or verified. “Now it’s either the old-fashioned way, or they’ll come up with something of their own urgently,” the bloggers added, blaming Musk for assisting the Ukrainian army. Earlier this week, Ukraine’s Defense Ministry, in coordination with SpaceX, launched verification of Starlink terminals to protect civilians from Russian drones, which have begun illegally using Starlink connections during massive attacks on Ukraine’s energy grid. “This move is in direct response to Russian forces’ illicit use of Starlink terminals. Russian drones equipped with Starlink are difficult to intercept: They fly at low altitudes, are resistant to electronic warfare, and can be piloted in real time from long distances,” Ukraine’s Defense Ministry said in a statement sent to POLITICO.  “Soon, only registered and authorized terminals will operate within Ukraine; any unverified devices will be deactivated,” the ministry added, urging all commanders of Ukrainian army units, as well as civilians, to rapidly register their Starlink terminal serial numbers with different Ukrainian state organs. It took only a day until the massive Starlink shutdown at the war front. “Russians have not just a problem on the fronts; the enemy has a disaster. All command of the troops is collapsing. Assault operations have been stopped in many areas. Our troops also reported problems with those who did not promptly submit lists for private Starlinks. The processing is ongoing,” Sergii Bezkrestnov, an adviser to the Ukrainian Defense Ministry, said in a post on Facebook. Many Ukrainian units indeed reported that their Starlink terminals, even once registered, have stopped working, endangering drone operations and evacuations. However, the situation has started changing for the better. “Some of the blocked Starlinks are already working; the crews are carrying out their tasks. I expect that they will all be working very soon,” said Serhii Kostinskyi, commander of the Ukrainian drone unit “Serafims.” Ukrainian Defense Minister Mykhailo Fedorov thanked Musk personally for Starlink’s shutdown for the Russian army in Ukraine, saying the tech billionaire once again came through at a pivotal moment. “You’re most welcome,” Musk replied via X. Musk’s decision to rapidly activate Starlink terminals in February 2022 has made Starlink connection vital for not only the Ukrainian army, but also for civilian and energy infrastructure. More than 50,000 terminals have been deployed across the country since the war began, provided through donors, international partners and Ukraine’s ministry of digital transformation. In addition, hundreds of thousands of terminals have been purchased by Ukrainians to support civilian needs and the national energy sector. These terminals have enabled rapid restoration of communications in newly liberated areas and ensured continuity for emergency services, government operations and critical infrastructure. Starlink is used by internet providers and telecom operators, medical staff and military personnel, teachers and volunteers, journalists and IT companies, and rescue teams operating at resilience centers, the Ukrainian Defense Ministry said.

CHIATURA, Georgia — Giorgi Neparidze, a middle-aged man from near the town of Chiatura in western Georgia, still has marks on his lips from where he sewed his mouth shut during a hunger strike last year. He says Georgian Manganese, a mining company with close links to the government, has wrought environmental devastation around his home and has ignored the rights of its workers. He is seeking compensation.  Europe, which imports Georgia’s manganese, is partly to blame for the black rivers and collapsing houses in Chiatura district, Neparidze says. The former miner-turned-environmental and civil rights activist claims that in one village, Shukruti, toxic dust from the pits is making people unwell. Filthy black water, laced with heavy metals, periodically spurts out of pumps there. Houses are collapsing as the tunnels underneath them cave in.  Manganese, a black metal traditionally used to reinforce steel, is crucial for Europe’s green energy transition as it is used in both wind turbines and electric car batteries. The metal is also vital for military gear like armor and guns. In 2022, the European Union bought 20,000 metric tons of manganese alloys from Georgia — almost 3 percent of its total supply. A year later the bloc added manganese to its list of critical minerals. But Chiaturans say their lives are being ruined so that Western Europeans can breathe cleaner air. “We are sacrificed so that others can have better lives,” Neparidze says. “There are only 40,000 people in Chiatura. They might feel ill or live in bad conditions but they are sacrificed so that millions of Europeans can have a cleaner environment.” Neparidze says cancer rates in the region are unusually high. Doctors at a hospital in Chiatura back up the observation, but no official study has linked the illnesses to the mines. An aerial view of Chiatura with the polluted Kvirila River running through the town | Olivia Acland Hope that things will improve appears dim. European companies often don’t know where their manganese is sourced from. As ANEV, Italy’s wind energy association, confirms: “There is no specific obligation to trace all metals used in steel production.”  Last year the EU enacted a law that was meant to change that. The Corporate Sustainability Due Diligence Directive obliges companies to run closer checks on their supply chains and clamp down on any human rights violations, poor working conditions and environmental damage.  But barely a year after it took effect, the European Commission proposed a major weakening of the law in a move to reduce red tape for the bloc’s sluggish industry. EU member countries, motivated by this deregulation agenda, are now pushing for even deeper cuts, while French President Emmanuel Macron and German Chancellor Friedrich Merz want to get rid of the law altogether.  Meanwhile, Europe’s appetite for mined raw materials like manganese, lithium, rare earths, copper and nickel is expected to skyrocket to meet the needs of the clean energy transition and rearmament. Many of these resources are in poorly regulated and often politically repressive jurisdictions, from the Democratic Republic of Congo to Indonesia and Georgia. Weakening the EU supply chain law will have consequences for communities like Neparidze’s. “Only an empty shell of the directive remains,” says Anna Cavazzini, a member of the European Parliament’s Green Party, adding that the legislature caved to pressure from businesses seeking to reduce their costs. “Now is not the time to abandon the defense of human rights and give corporations a free hand,” she says.  A resident of Chiatura standing on a collapsed house following a mining-related landslide in Itkhvisi village. | Olivia Acland As Georgia’s government pivots toward Russia and stifles dissent, life is becoming increasingly dangerous for activists in Chiatura. On April 29, four activists including Neparidze were arrested for allegedly assaulting a mine executive. A statement put out by Chiatura Management Company, the firm in charge of staffing Georgian Manganese’s underground operations, says that Tengiz Koberidze, manager of the Shukruti mine, was “verbally abused and pelted with stones.” Supporters call it a staged provocation in which Koberidze tried to incite violence, and say it’s part of a broader campaign to silence resistance. If convicted they face up to six years behind bars. Koberidze did not respond to requests for comment. Chiatura residents are protesting over two overlapping issues. On one side, miners are demanding safer working conditions underground, where tunnel collapses have long been a risk, along with higher wages and paid sick leave. When the mine was temporarily shut in October 2024, they were promised 60 percent of their salaries, but many say those payments never materialized. Workers are also raising concerns about mining pollution in the region. “The company doesn’t raise wages, doesn’t improve safety, and continues to destroy the natural environment. Its profits come not just from extracting resources, but from exploiting both workers and the land,” says one miner, David Chinchaladze. Georgian Manganese did not respond to interview requests or written questions. Officials at Georgia’s Ministry of Mines and the government’s Environment Protection and Natural Resources Department did not respond to requests for comment. A collapsing building in Shukruti. | Olivia Acland.  The second group of protesters comes from the village of Shukruti, which sits directly above the mining tunnels. Their homes are cracking and sinking into the ground. In 2020, Georgian Manganese pledged to pay between 700,000 and 1 million Georgian lari ($252,000 to $360,000) annually in damages — a sum that was meant to be distributed among residents. But while the company insists the money has been paid, locals — backed by watchdog NGO Social Justice — say otherwise. According to them, fewer than 5 percent of Shukruti’s residents have received any compensation.  Their protest has intensified in the last year, with workers now blocking the roads and Shukruti residents barring entry to the mines. But the risks are intensifying too. Since suspending EU accession talks last year amid deteriorating relations with the bloc, Georgia’s ruling party has shuttered independent media, arrested protestors and amplified propaganda. The country’s democracy is “backsliding,” says Irakli Kavtaradze, head of the foreign department of the largest opposition political party, United National Movement. Their tactics “sound like they come from a playbook that is written in the Kremlin,” he adds. ‘KREMLIN PLAYBOOK’ In the capital Tbilisi, around 200 kilometers east of Chiatura, protesters have taken to the streets every night since April 2, 2024 when the government unveiled a Kremlin-style “foreign agents” law aimed at muzzling civil society.  Many demonstrators wear sunglasses, scarfs and masks to shield their identities from street cameras, wary of state retaliation.  A scene from the 336th day of protests in Tbilisi in April 2025. | Olivia Acland. Their protests swelled in October last year after the government announced it would suspend talks to join the EU. For Georgians, the stakes are high: Russia already occupies 20 percent of the country after its 2008 invasion, and people fear that a more profound drift from the EU could open the door to further aggression. When POLITICO visited in April, a crowd strode down Rustaveli Avenue, the city’s main artery. Some carried EU flags while others passed around a loudspeaker, taking it in turns to voice defiant chants. “Fire to the oligarchy!” one young woman yelled, the crowd echoing her call. “Power lies in unity with the EU!” another shouted. They also called out support for protestors in Chiatura, whose fight has become something of a cause célèbre across the country: “Solidarity to Chiatura! Natural resources belong to the people!”  The fight in Chiatura is a microcosm of the country’s broader struggle: The activists are not just taking on a mining company but a corporate giant backed by oligarchs and the ruling elites.  Georgian Manganese’s parent company, Georgian American Alloys, is registered in Luxembourg and counts Ukrainian oligarch Ihor Kolomoisky as a shareholder. He is in custody in Kyiv over allegations that he hired a gang to kill a lawyer who threatened his business interests in 2003. Kolomoisky has also been sanctioned by the United States for his alleged involvement in siphoning billions out of PrivatBank, Ukraine’s largest bank.  Giorgi Kapanadze — a businessman closely connected with the ruling Georgian Dream party of Bidzina Ivanishvili — is listed as general manager of Georgian American Alloys.  Until recently, Kapanadze owned Rustavi TV, a channel notorious for airing pro-government propaganda. The European Parliament has called on the EU to hit Kapanadze with sanctions, accusing him of propping up the country’s repressive regime. Kolomoisky and Kapanadze did not respond to POLITICO’s requests for comment. The government swooped in to help Georgian Manganese in 2016 when a Georgian court fined it $82 million for environmental destruction in the region. The state placed it under “special management” and wrote off the fine. A new government-appointed manager was tasked, on paper, with cleaning up the mess. He was supposed to oversee a cleanup of the rivers that flow past the mines, among other promises. Manganese mining pit in Chiatura region, Georgia. | Olivia Acland But POLITICO’s own tests based on four samples taken in April 2025 from the Kvirila River, which runs through Chiatura, as well as its tributary, the Bogiristiskali, which were examined in a U.K. licensed laboratory, show the manganese levels in both rivers are over 10 times the legal limit. Iron levels are also higher than legally permitted. Locals use the polluted water to irrigate their crops. Fishermen are also pulling in increasingly empty nets as the heavy metals kill off aquatic life, according to local testimonies. The water from the Kvirila River flows out into the Black Sea, home to endangered dolphins, sturgeons, turtles and sharks.  A 2022 analysis by the Georgian NGO Green Policy found even worse results, with manganese in the Kvirila River averaging 42 times the legal limit. The group also detected excessive levels of iron and lead. Chronic manganese exposure can lead to irreversible neurological damage — a Parkinson’s-like condition known as manganism — as well as liver, kidney and reproductive harm. Lead and iron are linked to organ failure, cancer and cardiovascular disease. On Georgian Manganese’s website, the company concedes that “pollution of the Kvirila River” is one of the region’s “ecological challenges,” attributing it to runoff from manganese processing. It claims to have installed German-standard purification filters and claims that “neither polluted nor purified water” currently enters the river. Protesters like Neparidze aren’t convinced. They claim the filtration system is turned on only when inspectors arrive and that for the rest of the time, untreated wastewater is dumped straight into the rivers. BLOCKING EXPORTS Their protests having reaped few results, Chiaturans are taking increasingly extreme measures to make their voices heard.  Gocha Kupatadze, a retired 67-year-old miner, spends his nights in a tarpaulin shelter beside an underground mine, where he complains that rats crawl over him. “This black gold became the black plague for us,” he says. “We have no choice but to protest.” Kupatadze’s job is to ensure that manganese does not leave the mine. Alongside other protesters he has padlocked the gate to the generator that powers the mine’s ventilation system, making it impossible for anyone to work there. Kupatadze says he is only resorting to such drastic measures because conditions in his village, Shukruti, have become unlivable. His family home, built in 1958, is now crumbling, with cracks in the walls as the ground beneath it collapses from years of mining. The vines that once sustained his family’s wine-making traditions have long since withered and died. Gocha Kupatadze, an activist sleeping in a tarpaulin tent outside a mine. | Olivia Acland. For over a year, protesters across the region have intermittently blocked mine entrances as well as main roads, determined to stop the valuable ore from leaving Chiatura. In some ways it has worked: Seven months ago, Chiatura Management Company, the firm in charge of staffing Georgian Manganese’s underground operations, announced it would pause production.  “Due to the financial crisis that arose from the radical protests by the people of Shukruti village, the production process in Chiatura has been completely halted,” it read. Yet to the people of Chiatura, this feels more like a punishment than a triumph.  Manganese has been extracted from the area since 1879 and many residents rely on the mines for their livelihoods. The region bears all the hallmarks of a mining town that thrived during the Soviet Union when conditions in the mines were much better, according to residents. Today, rusted cable cars sway above concrete buildings that house washing stations and aging machinery.   While locals had sought compensation for the damage to their homes, they now just find themselves out of work.  Soviet-era buildings and mining infrastructure around Chiatura. | Olivia Acland.  Making matters worse, Georgian Manganese, licensed to mine 16,430 hectares until 2046, is now sourcing much of its ore from open pits instead of underground mines. These are more dangerous to the communities around them: Machines rip open the hillsides to expose shallow craters, while families living next to the pits say toxic dust drifts off them into their gardens and houses.  MORE PITS The village of Zodi is perched on a plateau surrounded by gently undulating hills, 10 kilometers from Chiatura. Many of its residents rely on farming, and cows roam across its open fields. “It is a beautiful village with a unique microclimate which is great for wine-making,” says Kote Abdushelishvili, a 36-year-old filmmaker from Zodi.  Mining officials say the village sits on manganese reserves. In 2023, caterpillar trucks rolled into Zodi and began ripping up the earth. Villagers, including Abdushelishvili, chased them out. “We stopped them,” he says, “We said if you want to go on, you will have to kill us first.” A padlocked gate to the mine’s ventilation system. | Olivia Acland Abdushelishvili later went to Georgian Manganese’s Chiatura office to demand a meeting with the state-appointed special manager. When he was turned away, he shouted up to the window: “You can attack us, you can kill us, we will not stop.” Two days later, as Abdushelishvili strolled through a quiet neighborhood in Tbilisi, masked men jumped out of a car, slammed him to the pavement and beat him up. Despite the fierce resistance in Chiatura, Georgian Manganese continues to send its metal to European markets. In the first two months of 2025, the EU imported 6,000 metric tons of manganese from Georgia. With the bloc facing mounting pressures — from the climate crisis to new defense demands — its hunger for manganese is set to grow. As the EU weakens its corporate accountability demands and Georgia drifts further into authoritarianism, the voices of Chiatura’s people are growing even fainter.  “We are not asking for something unreasonable,” says activist Tengiz Gvelesiani, who was recently detained in Chiatura along with Neparidze, “We are asking for healthy lives, a good working environment and fresh air.” Georgian Manganese did not respond to requests for comment. This article was developed with the support of Journalismfund Europe.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. Russian President Vladimir Putin and Chinese President Xi Jinping were captured privately talking about living to at least 150 years old on the sidelines of China’s massive Victory Day parade in Beijing. According to audio picked up on CCTV, the two were overheard musing about the possibility of immortality through organ transplants and advanced medical procedures. “Earlier, people rarely lived to 70, but these days at 70 you are still a child,” Xi told Putin according to the translator in Russian. “With the development of biotechnology, human organs can be continuously transplanted and people can live younger and younger, and even achieve immortality,” Putin replied, according to translation in Mandarin. “Predictions are, this century, there is also a chance of living to 150,” Xi responded. Xi hosted 26 world leaders, including Putin and North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un in Beijing on Wednesday, for a huge military parade which commemorated 80 years since Japan’s surrender in World War II and China’s victory over occupying forces. The event marked the first time the three rulers — Xi, Putin and Kim — have appeared together in public. China has a long history of organ harvesting from executed prisoners, which was officially banned in 2015. That hasn’t curtailed the practice, however, with the government turning to targeted minorities for organs, including the Uyghers facing a genocide in the western part of the country. Putin and Xi are both 72. Last year, The Times of London reported that Kremlin officials had directed scientists to fast-track anti-aging research, focusing on cellular degeneration, cognitive decline and strengthening the immune system.

PARIS — A petition launched by a 23-year-old student to repeal a new French law on farming has garnered more than 549,000 signatures and could therefore be debated in the French parliament — a first in France’s recent history. The French parliament earlier this month adopted a law, dubbed “Loi Duplomb” after the name of one of its proponents, which its supporters say would make life easier for farmers by cutting red tape, but also by temporarily allowing the use of acetamiprid, an insecticide that has been banned in France since 2018. The text is backed by the government and also by major farmer lobbies FNSEA and Jeunes Agriculteurs, while one left-wing farmers union as well as green and left-wing parties oppose it. The petition launched by Eleonore Pattery — an unknown university student from Bordeaux with a focus on environmental rules — calls for repealing the text, arguing that it is “a scientific, ethical, environmental and health aberration.” On Saturday the number of signatures passed the threshold of 500,000. Beyond that threshold, the heads of parliamentary groups or parliamentary committees can propose to organize a parliamentary debate on it. The president of the National Assembly economic affairs committee, Aurélie Trouvé, from the left-wing France Unbowed party, said she will make that proposal in the fall. “It is the first time it happens in the history of the National Assembly,” a jubilant Trouvé told POLITICO over the phone on Saturday. But, for the debate to happen, the proposal has to first get the nod of the National Assembly’s Conference of Presidents, an organ which gathers key lawmakers including the leaders of permanent parliamentary committees like Trouvé. The Conference of Presidents will meet again on Sept. 12. “I hope that we will be able to have this debate,” Trouvé said, warning that ignoring the petition would be a “democratic denial.” While the text can’t be repealed during the parliamentary debate, the success of the petition is a blow for the government and for farmers’ lobbies that have defended the measure on a symbolical level. France’s Constitutional Council is also looking into the text and could censor part of it if the council considers them to be contrary to the constitution.