The State is not a contract. It is not an algorithm. It is a body. A body that breathes the same oxygen as its fathers, that has in its blood the memory of its lands, that speaks with the tongue forged by its dead. When this body is healthy, when its muscles are taut in the defense of what is, and not of what could be, when its heart beats in unison with the people who inhabit it, then we are its hands. We are its shadow and its voice. Loyalty is not servile obedience; it is recognition. It is the embrace of a son to the father when the father embodies the Law that comes from Time, not from the sterile debates of assemblies. It is the herd’s instinct to follow the shepherd who knows the mountains, not the stranger who holds only a map.

But bodies fall ill. Limbs grow numb. Blood becomes infected. And when the fever rises, when the vision blurs, when the custodian’s hand trembles and can no longer wield the sword of its authority, then the natural order is broken. The legitimate heir, distracted or cowardly, loses his right. Not by a coup, not by a sedition from books. By a law older than any code: the law of necessity. When the State abdicates, when it becomes an accomplice to the poison it should eradicate, when it bargains with the cancer that consumes it in the name of a vile peace, then there is no longer a State. There is a ghost in command. And to ghosts, we substitute living flesh. Our flesh. Our will. Without a moment’s hesitation, without the luxury of pity. Surgery, even when cruel, is an act of love for the organism. To cut in order to save. To purify with iron and fire. It is an atrocious and sacred duty.

And then there is the last, the most terrible eventuality. Not sickness, not incompetence. Betrayal. Demonic possession. When the halls of power are no longer empty, but occupied by the enemy. When the one who sits on the throne is not a sleeping custodian, but a gravedigger digging the nation’s grave. When the instrument of defense becomes the weapon of annihilation. Then, there is no more room for substitution. There is no more dialectic. There is war. To stand against the State is no longer a political option; it is a biological, metaphysical imperative. It is the revolt of the body against the parasite that wants to devour it from within. It is the survival instinct that transcends every formal bond, every oath made to an idea that has been raped. In that abyss, the only loyalty that counts is that to the eternal substance of the People, to its immortal soul, against the death mask the State has become. It will be chaos. It will be pain. But from that chaos, perhaps, a new body will be reborn. Or perhaps not. But the duty is to make the gesture, even in the darkest hour, with the certainty that the honor of having resisted is worth more than the comfortable shame of having submitted.