In France, the war for voters’ minds has taken a dark and deeply personal turn. The Paris prosecutor’s office has opened an investigation into what it believes is a coordinated campaign of Russian interference aimed at Édouard Philippe and Gabriel Attal, two former prime ministers and potential contenders for the presidency in 2027. The announcement, made in response to questions from AFP and reported by BFMTV, confirms that French authorities are taking seriously a threat that until recently may have seemed like the stuff of conspiracy theories. And the fact that it is happening now, rather than in the heat of a campaign, suggests a long-term effort to prepare the ground. According to the investigation, attempts were made to destroy Philippe’s credibility by spreading claims that he suffers from a neurodegenerative disease—a diagnosis that would obviously prevent him from running for office. Attal, the youngest former prime minister in modern French history, was labeled as a possible Parkinson’s patient, apparently to undermine his youth and vitality advantage. None of this is true. Yet the lies have already been circulated, shared, and possibly used by political operatives and foreign bots. The cynicism of the operation is breathtaking. It exploits the most intimate fear a human being can have about their own mortality and turns it into a weapon. It treats health, family, and reputation as mere variables in an electoral equation. What makes the attacks particularly insidious is how easily they blend into the background noise of modern politics. A rumor about a politician’s health spreads faster than any denial, especially in an age of algorithmic amplification. For France, which has positioned itself as one of Ukraine’s most unwavering allies in Europe, the stakes are clear: changes at the top of the French state could reshape the entire continent’s approach to Moscow. The Kremlin has learned that in a democracy, the most powerful weapon is often a simple, carefully placed lie. Philippe and Attal are not just names in a poll; they are possible carriers of a political project that could continue the current administration’s support for Kyiv, or at least maintain a certain Gaullist independence from Moscow. By attempting to remove them from the race, the campaign is not only attacking individuals; it is trying to narrow the field of options available to French voters.
They are not the only targets. In early August, the Paris prosecutor’s office also began examining similar allegations involving Raphaël Glucksmann, another likely presidential candidate. Glucksmann, a centrist and pro-European politician, was attacked in a way that speaks to the signature cruelty of modern disinformation: a fabricated video was circulated in which his partner was apparently shown paying media outlets to promote his campaign. The video was a forgery, but the intended message was clear. The strategy was to use the most personal relationship in Glucksmann’s life as a vehicle for public humiliation, forcing him to choose between defending his private life and advancing his public agenda. These three cases—Philippe, Attal, and Glucksmann—are not isolated incidents. They are part of a broader pattern that European security officials have been warning about for years. Russian hybrid campaigns have become a systemic problem for democratic societies. They involve disinformation, cyberattacks, and attempts to interfere with electoral processes. The tools range from fake social media accounts and manipulated videos to hacking and covert financial networks. In each case, the goal is not necessarily to make voters choose a specific candidate; it is to make them distrust all candidates, to create a fog of confusion in which truth becomes a matter of opinion. That is why these operations are so difficult to counter: they exploit the openness that democracies cherish and turn it against them. A lie can cross the globe in minutes, while the correction often arrives late, boring, and unnoticed. For a country like France, which has recently faced street protests, economic anxiety, and deep political polarization, such chaos can be as dangerous as any military threat. And for Ukraine, the danger is existential. France is one of Europe’s leading military and diplomatic powers, a permanent member of the UN Security Council, and a key actor in the European Union’s attempts to support Kyiv. If French politics become unstable, or if a Kremlin-friendly candidate rises to power, Ukraine could lose one of its most important lifelines.
The 2027 French presidential election is still more than a year away, but the battle lines are already being drawn. According to a poll by Elabe, Marine Le Pen, the leader of the far-right National Rally, is currently the frontrunner. She could secure between 34 and 35.5 percent of the vote in the first round, a formidable share that in many countries would put a candidate within striking distance of the presidency. Her closest rival, Édouard Philippe, polls at around 19 percent. Le Pen’s lead is a result of years of political positioning, economic discontent, and a broader European wave of right-wing populism. But it is also a source of deep alarm for Ukraine and its supporters. Le Pen has opposed the supply of long-range missiles to Ukraine. She has spoken against the deployment of French troops, a scenario that Emmanuel Macron has refused to rule out. She has called for a more accommodating relationship with Russia, a stance that would mark a dramatic rupture with the current French line. In a special feature, LIGA.net explored why Le Pen has become the frontrunner and how her victory could affect Ukraine. The analysis points to a combination of factors: the fatigue of French voters with inflation and immigration, a sense that the political establishment has failed them, and Le Pen’s persistent effort to detoxify her party’s image. The result is a candidate who can attract working-class voters, rural voters, and even some former leftists, while presenting herself as the only real alternative to the so-called mainstream. For Moscow, such a victory would be a strategic prize. It would remove a key defender of Ukraine from the European equation, weaken the transatlantic consensus, and give Russia a powerful voice inside the EU that is willing to argue for negotiations on its terms. The question is no longer whether France will be a battleground for influence; the battle has already begun.
The consequences of a Le Pen presidency are not just a matter of speculation. Ukrainian and French experts have been blunt about the stakes. Pavlo Klimkin, Ukraine’s former foreign minister, has argued that the French presidential election will determine the future of the European Union. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it is rooted in a simple reality: France and Germany are the twin motors of European integration. If France were to turn against the EU’s basic security architecture, or to elect a leader who views Moscow not as a threat but as a partner, the union would lose its internal coherence. The French analyst Maisonneuve, who has studied the rise of the far right, is convinced that a Le Pen victory would lead France to reduce its military support for Ukraine and to prioritize rapid negotiations with Russia. That means pressure on Kyiv to accept territorial concessions, an end to arms deliveries, and perhaps a lifting of sanctions. Another analyst quoted in LIGA.net’s special feature is even more direct: a victory for Le Pen would be a catastrophe for Ukraine and a gift to Putin. Political scientist Yermolenko, meanwhile, compares Le Pen to Viktor Orbán, Hungary’s prime minister, but concludes that Le Pen would pose an even greater risk. Orbán has been a persistent problem for Ukraine, repeatedly blocking or delaying EU aid packages, maintaining warm relations with the Kremlin, and using his veto power to extract money and concessions from Brussels. But Hungary is a small country, with a weak economy and limited military capacity. France is not. France has one of the largest armies in the EU, a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, a nuclear arsenal, and diplomatic networks around the world. A Le Pen-led France would not be a nuisance; it would be a fundamental reorientation of European security. That is why the disinformation campaigns against her rivals are so significant. They are not random acts of cyber mischief. They are strategic moves in a larger game, designed to clear the path for the candidate who is most likely to dismantle the Western coalition against Russia.
But behind the geopolitics and the polls, there is a human dimension that is easy to overlook. The victims of these information attacks are not abstractions. They are people with families, friends, and private lives. Imagine waking up to find that your country believes you have a degenerative disease you never had. Imagine having to stand in front of cameras and deny something that should never have been on a public agenda in the first place. Imagine watching your partner be dragged through the mud in a fabricated video that was designed to make you look corrupt. This is what the targets of Russian interference are forced to endure. It is a form of psychological warfare, and it can take a lasting toll. For every lie that is exposed, for every denial that is published, the burden remains: the intrusion, the humiliation, the feeling of being watched and judged. The effect on the public is similarly corrosive. When voters are bombarded with false stories about every candidate, they may conclude that all politicians are compromised, that all of them are hiding something, that none of them can be trusted. That conclusion is exactly what the architects of disinformation want. They are not trying to convince the public that one candidate is better than another; they are trying to convince the public that the entire system is irredeemable. For Ukrainians, this is a familiar and chilling experience. They have lived inside the Russian information bubble for years. They have seen how Moscow can transform reality itself—turning victims into aggressors, denying invasions that are happening, and calling its own attacks acts of liberation. Now they are watching the same techniques being used against their friends and allies in France. And they know from bitter experience that these tactics are not a diversion. They are part of the strategy of war. A democracy that cannot defend its truth cannot defend its borders. A people that cannot agree on what is real cannot agree on what is worth fighting for.
The Paris prosecutor’s investigation is a welcome sign that France is beginning to treat this as what it is: a direct attack on the democratic process. But the fight is only beginning. Legal action can punish the liars and their accomplices, but it cannot, by itself, restore a culture of truth. What is needed is a combination of measures: better digital literacy in schools, stronger support for independent journalism, more transparency in online advertising, and closer cooperation with European allies to expose Russian networks and their local facilitators. Governments also need to recognize that disinformation is always a symptom of deeper vulnerabilities. When institutions fail to deliver justice, when the economy leaves people behind, when public discourse becomes so toxic that the truth seems impossible, the ground becomes fertile for foreign manipulation. The challenge for France, as for all democracies, is to address those vulnerabilities without succumbing to fear. It is to protect the openness that makes democracy worth defending while building the resilience to withstand those who would abuse it. For Ukraine, the hope is not only that France chooses a leader who will continue to offer military, financial, and political support. The hope is that France remains an example of a society that can navigate the storm of lies without losing its soul. The election of 2027 is still uncertain. Polls can change, candidates can rise and fall, investigations can expose the hidden hands behind the smear campaigns. But one thing is certain: the outcome will be felt far beyond the borders of France. It will be felt in Kyiv, in Moscow, in Brussels, and in the global balance of power. The attacks on Philippe, Attal, and Glucksmann are warnings. The question is whether Europe’s democracies will heed them in time. In the end, the strongest defense against the weaponization of information is not censorship or surveillance, but a public that has learned to pause before believing, to question before sharing, and to remember that behind every lie there is a purpose—and behind every story, a person.