We, the French, are viscerally attached to our laicite, our

“We, the French, are viscerally attached to our laïcité, our sovereignty, our independence, our values. The world knows that when France is attacked, it is liberty that is dealt a blow.” — Marine Le Pen

In these impassioned words, Marine Le Pen speaks with the voice of a people whose history has been shaped by struggle, revolution, and the eternal defense of liberty. She calls upon the spirit of France, not merely as a nation of borders, but as an idea — a living embodiment of the belief that freedom, equality, and human dignity must forever be guarded. Her declaration is both patriotic and philosophical. When she says the French are “viscerally attached” to their laïcité, their sovereignty, and their independence, she speaks of something deeper than policy — she speaks of identity, of a love of freedom that lives in the marrow of a people’s bones. To harm France, she says, is to strike at liberty itself, for liberty is not merely France’s possession — it is her gift to the world.

The meaning of this quote rests on a sacred trinity of values: laïcité, the separation of religion and state; sovereignty, the right of a people to govern themselves; and independence, the refusal to bow to foreign masters. Each of these principles is born from centuries of blood and courage. Laïcité arose from the long wars between crown and faith, a vow that conscience should belong to each individual, uncoerced by church or ruler. Sovereignty was forged in the fires of revolution, when the people declared that kings ruled no more by divine right, but by the will of the citizens. And independence, that proud defiance of submission, has guided France through invasion, empire, and resistance alike. These are not mere political doctrines — they are the beating heart of French civilization.

The origin of Le Pen’s words can be traced to moments when France herself stood on the brink — moments when her survival seemed uncertain, yet her spirit remained unbroken. One need only recall the French Revolution, when peasants and poets alike rose against tyranny, crying “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité!” Though chaos and bloodshed followed, the cry of liberty became immortal, echoing through every generation since. Or think of Charles de Gaulle, standing in exile during the dark days of Nazi occupation, proclaiming to the world, “France has lost a battle, but France has not lost the war.” Each of these moments reveals the same truth: that for France, to be free is not an option — it is an instinct, a visceral attachment, as Le Pen calls it, born of suffering and sanctified by endurance.

History has tested this attachment time and again. When Paris was bombed in the First World War, when the Resistance fought in the shadows of occupation, when the Charlie Hebdo offices were attacked centuries later — the cry was always the same: “Liberty is under assault.” The French do not see these events merely as wounds to their nation, but as assaults on a universal principle. For to them, France and liberty are inseparable, as the flame and the fire are one. When liberty flickers in France, it casts a shadow across the world. Thus, in Le Pen’s words, the defense of her homeland becomes the defense of a greater human truth — that freedom, though born in a nation, belongs to all mankind.

And yet, her statement carries a warning. To cherish liberty is not only to proclaim it, but to protect it — to uphold values even when the world tempts one to abandon them. France’s laïcité, her commitment to reason and tolerance, must not harden into pride or prejudice. Sovereignty must not become isolation, nor independence arrogance. These virtues, like all virtues, must be balanced by wisdom. The ancients knew this well: that the strength of a people lies not merely in their passion for freedom, but in their capacity to wield it justly. The fire of independence, if left unchecked, can burn as easily as it illuminates.

Consider, as a mirror to France’s spirit, the story of Joan of Arc, the shepherd girl who rose from obscurity to defend her nation. She, too, was “viscerally attached” to France’s independence — so much so that she faced death rather than betrayal. In her courage we see the essence of Le Pen’s claim: that the love of country, when guided by faith and conscience, becomes not mere nationalism but devotion — a sacred duty to uphold what is right, even against impossible odds. When Joan fell to the flames, the French soul did not perish; it was refined. From her sacrifice, France learned that liberty must sometimes be paid for in pain.

So let the lesson be this: To love one’s country is to honor its principles, not merely its power. To defend independence is not to close one’s doors, but to stand tall in one’s truth. To cherish sovereignty is to remember that the freedom of a people is worth no less — and no more — than the freedom of any other. And to live by values is to recognize that they are not possessions to be hoarded, but flames to be tended. When Le Pen speaks of the French spirit, she reminds us all that liberty — once gained — must be guarded not only with weapons, but with wisdom, unity, and love.

Thus, let her words echo as an ancient teaching: A people’s true strength lies not in their armies or their riches, but in their fidelity to freedom. The French, she says, are bound to their independence as the heart is bound to life — inseparable, unyielding, eternal. When such a nation is attacked, the wound is not to a flag or border, but to the very essence of what makes humanity noble: the belief that we are born free, and must live — and, if need be, die — in the defense of that freedom.