"Nothing is moving": the New Caledonian economy at a standstill, one year after the riots

"What we would like now is to finally change the order of things," sighs the president of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (CCI). "For a year now, we've been stuck in a state of survival, hatred, destruction, and bankruptcy."

His building, which housed an Intermarché supermarket, a bank, a bakery, and a medical center, has only seen the pharmacy across the road reopen. Part of the complex will be saved; the rest is awaiting demolition while insurance companies reach an agreement.

On Monday, Overseas Minister Manuel Valls met behind closed doors with pro-independence and non-pro-independence delegations to try to get them to sign an agreement on the future of the archipelago, which has been left devastated by the violence of May 2024, which left 14 dead and caused more than two billion euros in damage. This agreement is more necessary than ever.

Because economically, New Caledonia continues to sink. According to the Chamber of Commerce and Industry (CCI), 11.000 jobs have been lost since May 2024. Consumption is collapsing, and departures—12.900 more than arrivals over the year to the end of March, according to data from Noumea Airport—are accelerating.

"A sinking ship"

And the confidence of business leaders, already fragile, is eroding further. In February, a study commissioned by the Chamber of Commerce and Industry revealed that 79% of businesses lacked confidence in the region's future, compared to 63% in October 2024.

"The economic fabric is greatly weakened, and all indicators show that we are not far from a systemic collapse," summarizes David Guyenne.

In his department store, empty of customers, Thierry Lebiez, CEO of the Modulia group, sums up the atmosphere: "Nothing is happening!" His turnover has plummeted since the riots and "it's getting worse and worse," he notes: "We're like a boat slowly sinking while people talk."

Yet he, too, believed in a recovery. After a disastrous first few months, "a dynamic had more or less been established, and everyone thought, at some point, that something was going to happen," he explains. As discussions about the territory's political future dragged on, a wait-and-see attitude prevailed.

Thierry Lebiez, however, has not laid off any staff. His group, more resilient than others, has withstood the shock. But existing support—tax relief, cash flow measures, and partial unemployment—is no longer sufficient for many entrepreneurs.

"We need a spark of trust, like a political agreement," insists David Guyenne.

The most vulnerable on the front line

On the docks of Noumea, near the port where cruise ships sometimes disgorge Australian tourists, Pierre-Alain Domingo is holding on as best he can. This 39-year-old restaurateur opened his snack bar in July 2023, a few months before the riots.

Consumption is struggling. "Since we have no vision of the future, people are very careful about what they spend," he notes.

Working seven days a week, no pay, electricity bills approaching 1.000 euros: "If I had to do it again, I wouldn't," confides this metropolitan resident, convinced that "90% of professionals would sell (their business) if they had a good offer."

Among the most vulnerable are those who have lost everything. Like Eric, 54, whom I encountered in a Noumea park, book in hand. Originally from the Wallis and Futuna archipelago, this former employee of a waste management company was laid off after the riots, his company's premises having been destroyed.

The man had to leave his home. "Having to move back in with his sister at my age is hard," he says. He enrolled in Giep-NC, a training organization for job seekers, but "there are 100 of us for one spot."

This evening again, he will walk home to the 6th kilometer neighborhood. Since the riots, a bus ticket costs 500 Pacific francs (4,2 euros). Too expensive.