And yet, amongst those who helped to shake the establishment to its foundations were a handful of citizens who, at the outset, had neither its power nor its fame.
They eventually came to be known as the ‘Cherry Gang’ or the ‘Scooter Cherries’. It is a story extraordinary enough to be told today in a four-part documentary series, ‘Professor Raoult vs the Cherry Gang’.
This small group includes, notably, Alexander Samuel, Fabrice Frank, Guillaume Limousin, Frédérique Delestaing, Samuel and Magali Carcopino-Tusoli. The latter has a particular connection that makes the story even more astonishing: she is Didier Raoult’s daughter.
They are not a scientific institution. Not a health agency. Not a government department. Among them are, notably, a maths teacher, an IT manager and a former ‘Yellow Vest’ protester.
Their weapon is far less spectacular: reading, verifying, comparing, looking for inconsistencies and documenting.
During the Covid-19 pandemic, Didier Raoult became a veritable star. His videos were viewed by millions. His message was simple, reassuring and incredibly effective in the media: whilst the medical establishment was in doubt, he claimed to know the answers.
Hydroxychloroquine became the symbol of this battle.
But whilst television studios were ablaze with debate, scientists, journalists, doctors and these members of the public began to scrutinise the research produced by the IHU Méditerranée Infection much more closely.
And the questions are piling up.
Controversial methodologies, regulatory approvals, the conditions under which certain research was carried out, the scientific quality of publications: gradually, the image of the iconoclastic professor bravely taking on the system is giving way to a far more embarrassing affair.
It would, of course, be wrong to suggest that six citizens, acting alone, ‘brought down’ Didier Raoult. Journalistic investigations, the scientists who analysed his publications, the ANSM, administrative inspections, the courts and the Medical Council all played decisive roles.
But these citizens were part of something particularly interesting: they refused to let the ‘argument from authority’ put an end to the discussion.
And the institutions, too, eventually took action.
In 2022, the ANSM reported serious regulatory breaches concerning certain research carried out at the IHU. In 2023, the medicines regulator referred the matter to the courts regarding research which, in its view, should have obtained the necessary authorisations. The IHU was subsequently raided as part of a judicial investigation.
Then came the professional sanction.
In October 2024, the National Disciplinary Chamber of the French Medical Association imposed a two-year ban on Didier Raoult practising medicine, which came into force on 1 February 2025. In particular, it accused him of promoting a treatment that had not been sufficiently tested and of failing to base some of his public statements on confirmed data.
The story did not end with Covid, however.
In August 2026, an international analysis of 2,674 publications produced between 1994 and 2024 by the IHU Méditerranée Infection identified 853 articles which, according to the authors, raised substantial ethical and legal concerns. Didier Raoult is listed as a co-author on 758 of them.
This is where this story goes far beyond the Raoult case.
It says something about our times.
The internet can create gurus, amplify certainties and turn a scientific controversy into a war between supporters. But the internet also enables exactly the opposite: it allows scattered individuals to find documents, compare data, work collectively and ask questions that those in power would sometimes prefer not to hear.
Knowledge has obviously not become a democracy where six internet users can decide that a professor is wrong.
Science remains science: a method, evidence, publications, their critique and their replication.
But authority is no more proof than anything else.
One may have published thousands of papers, head an institute, appear on television and enjoy an international reputation: false data remains false data, a flawed methodology remains a flawed methodology, and a study must be able to withstand scrutiny.
Perhaps, in the end, that is the most heartening part of this story.
A few ordinary citizens can hardly compete with a high-ranking official on his institutional turf. But they can ask a question. Then a second one. Then look for the document that provides the answer. And start again.
Until everyone eventually takes notice.
Didier Raoult’s downfall is therefore not merely the story of a scientist who became a star during a pandemic and was gradually overtaken by the controversies surrounding his work.
It is also a small lesson in democracy.
When faced with authority, there remains one surprisingly effective weapon: verification.
