D-Day’s misunderstood, misread and mispreached by John Reid

There was something deeply jarring about hearing U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth use a D-Day anniversary speech in France to criticize European nations over migration and warn of what he described as an “invasion” on their shores. The beaches of Normandy are among the most sacred sites in modern democratic history. They are places where remembrance should unite people around the sacrifices made to defeat tyranny, not serve as a backdrop for contemporary culture-war rhetoric.

D-Day was a moment when democracies came together to confront a genuine military threat. Thousands of young men crossed the English Channel knowing many would never return home. Their courage helped liberate Europe from fascism and laid the foundation for a postwar order built on alliances, cooperation and shared democratic values. To invoke that legacy while promoting a political agenda rooted in nationalism and division feels less like honoring history than repurposing it.

The language of “invasion” has become a central feature of modern right-wing politics on both sides of the Atlantic. It transforms complex questions about migration, asylum, demographics and economic change into a simplistic narrative of national survival. The word is deliberately chosen because it evokes fear. It suggests armies rather than families, conquest rather than movement, enemies rather than human beings. Such rhetoric may energize political supporters, but it rarely produces serious solutions.

Europe unquestionably faces difficult migration challenges. Governments must manage borders, enforce laws and maintain public confidence in their immigration systems. Those are legitimate responsibilities. Yet reducing every migration debate to apocalyptic warnings about civilizational collapse does not strengthen democracy. It weakens it by encouraging citizens to see entire groups of people as threats rather than individuals.

Equally troubling is the increasing tendency among some political figures to fuse nationalism with a particular vision of Christianity. Faith has played an important role in Western societies for centuries, and millions draw moral guidance from religious traditions. But democratic governments are strongest when they protect pluralism rather than elevate one religious identity above all others. History offers countless examples of the dangers that emerge when political power and religious certainty become too closely intertwined.

The broader MAGA worldview that Hegseth appeared to champion often presents itself as a defense of traditional values. Yet too frequently that defense comes with hostility toward those who do not fit within a narrow cultural framework. Migrants become scapegoats. Religious minorities become suspects. LGBTQ citizens become symbols in political battles they did not choose. The result is not national renewal but a politics of exclusion.

What makes this particularly striking on a D-Day anniversary is the contrast between the message and the moment. The Allied victory commemorated in Normandy was not merely a triumph of military force. It was a victory for democratic ideals over authoritarian impulses. It affirmed that free societies are strongest when they reject politics based on fear, resentment and rigid notions of identity.

The lesson of D-Day should not be that nations retreat behind walls, real or metaphorical. It should be that democracies have the confidence to confront challenges without abandoning their principles. Leaders who stand on those historic shores inherit a responsibility to remember that distinction. They should honor the past by defending the values that made liberation possible, not by turning remembrance into another stage for division.