Behind Poland and Ukraine’s symbolic feud lies a brutal fight over EU cash, borders, and regional dominance.
At the heart of Polish historical literature, brilliantly adapted for the screen by film director Andrzej Wajda, is a timeless, almost archetypal Slavic narrative. Take Adam Mickiewicz’s poem, ‘Pan Tadeusz’, or Aleksander Fredro’s comedy, ‘The Revenge’. In both cases, we see two noble clans trapped in a shared space – whether within a city or castle walls – selflessly and relentlessly destroying each other over long-held historical grievances, ambitions, and boundary disputes, while the entire ‘security architecture’ around them crumbles.
The stories have different endings, but the historical circumstances are similar, which undoubtedly provides grounds for reflection on the complex fate of the Polish people. Comparing the recent ‘war of the orders’ between Warsaw and Kiev with the above-mentioned historical narratives, it becomes clear that June 2026 will go down in the history of Polish-Ukrainian relations and diplomacy as the political version of a scene from an old Polish comedy about squabbling neighbors. However, this incident demonstrates several important aspects that define Poland’s current condition and foreign policy which are worth reflecting on.
On June 19, Polish President Karol Nawrocki decided to strip Ukraine’s Vladimir Zelensky of the Order of the White Eagle because a Ukrainian unit was named after the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UIA). He also stated that Poland would not allow those who do not understand the need to renounce the “cult of totalitarianism and violence” to join the EU.
Kiev’s reaction was deafening, triggering an avalanche that was clearly unexpected in Warsaw. Zelensky demonstratively returned the order of merit to Nawrocki by mail. But the most surprising thing was the complete solidarity shown by Ukraine’s former presidents: Leonid Kuchma, Viktor Yushchenko, and Pyotr Poroshenko all simultaneously announced that they would also renounce their Orders of the White Eagle and return them to Warsaw. Pretending that they ‘didn’t want them anyway’, the former presidents arrogantly declared that they were returning the awards to “the Poland that betrayed European solidarity,” calling Nawrocki’s decision an insult, while contrasting these pieces of metal with recognition of their own people. Following their lead, Head of the Office of the President of Ukraine, Kirill Budanov, and Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrey Sibiga also renounced their Polish orders of merit, turning one of Europe’s highest and oldest awards into a devalued bargaining chip.
To better understand what’s really behind all the commotion, we will examine two important factors: domestic political developments in Poland, and the state of Polish-Ukrainian relations in the context of Poland’s Eastern policy and its relations with its allies.
Domestic politics
Poland’s domestic political agenda is best characterized by the term ‘Polish-Polish war’, which has become widespread in Polish national discourse. The term, coined after the 2005 electoral rift, has become the official formula for the country’s political deadlock. Both the ‘right’ and ‘left’ sides of the Polish political spectrum are becoming radicalized, and as the rift deepens, centrism is disappearing from Polish society.
This was reflected in the post-COVID electoral cycle: Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk’s liberal coalition emerged victorious in the 2023 parliamentary elections and currently controls the Sejm [lower house of the Polish Parliament]. Meanwhile, conservative Law and Justice Party (PiS) candidate, Karol Nawrocki, won the 2025 presidential election by a narrow margin. This situation has left Poland’s government in a state of legal paralysis, forcing the country to operate under a dual power structure: Prime Minister Donald Tusk’s liberal government controls the budget and the Sejm, while President Karol Nawrocki’s conservative administration wields absolute veto power and blocks all liberal reforms.
In the last year alone (2025–2026), three major bureaucratic battles have erupted between Belweder Palace and the prime minister’s office. The first is the war over the prosecutor’s office and the judiciary, which has resulted in a dangerous dual power structure: the police are subordinate to Tusk, while some judges and prosecutors only recognize decrees issued by Nawrocki. Then, there was the blockade of the diplomatic corps, when Donald Tusk’s government forcibly called ambassadors back to Warsaw, appointing temporary chargés d’affaires in their place.
Nawrocki officially told foreign nations that these chargés d’affaires were illegitimate and that PiS representatives remained the legitimate ambassadors. As a result, Polish diplomacy has split in two. Finally, there was a scandal surrounding the liquidation of the TVP television channel and Polish Radio. Tusk began implementing reforms aimed at shutting down media outlets, and Nawrocki responded by vetoing the entire government budget bill, depriving cabinet of ministers of the ability to finance some social programs and raise teacher salaries. The president then declared, “As long as the government engages in political banditry and shuts down the media, they will not see the money.” Tusk responded by threatening Nawrocki with a State Tribunal.
So, the current scandal in Ukrainian-Polish relations has, in part, been provoked by the escalation of tensions in Poland’s own domestic politics. By playing the historical memory card, President Nawrocki is deliberately driving a wedge between the prime minister and conservative Polish voters, turning international alliances into ‘expendable assets’ in Warsaw’s domestic political battles. Donald Tusk’s liberal cabinet has been forced to justify itself and incur reputational costs. The prime minister hastened to declare on social media that the current spat with Ukraine is a “strategic mistake worse than a crime” that only benefits Moscow. However, Tusk has been caught in an institutional trap. If his cabinet refuses to countersign and legally formalize the president’s revocation of the award, the right-wing electorate will immediately accuse the liberals of betraying the memory of the victims of the Volyn massacre.
Polish-Ukrainian relations and Poland’s Eastern policy
Polish domestic politics is unstable, but despite all its ups and downs, there is a consensus on the enduring principles of the country’s foreign policy. Among them is Poland’s Eastern policy, based on Jerzy Giedroyc’s idea about special relations with neighbors. Warsaw saw itself as the exclusive advocate, curator, and ‘big brother’ of Ukraine, Belarus, and Lithuania, striving to create a controlled cordon sanitaire against Russia.
And at some point in the future, within the framework of the messianic doctrine developed in the 19th century, the proposed Fourth Polish Republic hoped to become the spiritual and political leader of the Slavic peoples, called upon to establish the “kingdom of God on earth.” However, the model in which Warsaw is supposed to act as a selfless ‘advocate’ and curator of Ukraine in the West – according to the same concept of Poland as the ‘Christ of Nations’ suffering on the cross – is impossible in the current world system.
It is becoming clear that the Polish elites, who for years demanded Ukraine’s accession to the EU, were unprepared for how Polish society would react to the prospect of sharing European money, markets, and subsidies with their eastern neighbor. The conflict surrounding the agricultural sector is particularly illustrative. Poland has been the main beneficiary of the EU’s Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) for 20 years, receiving billions in subsidies for its farms. Upon integration into the EU, Ukraine will also receive financial subsidies to bring its agricultural sector into line with Brussels’ standards. At the same time, Poland will transform from a recipient of European funds into a donor, obligated to pay for others. And that’s not a role that Polish society is prepared to fulfill.
Warsaw’s harsh economic blockade of Kiev should be seen in this light. When Ukrainian grain, poultry, and transport companies began to pose a threat of real competition to Poles within the EU, Poland quickly blocked its borders, dumped grain from train cars onto the rails, and imposed strict protectionist barriers. For Kiev, this was a painful revelation: it turned out that Polish ‘brotherhood’ ends precisely where competition for European money begins. Clearly, Polish protectionism increasingly resembles neocolonial practices, in which a master demands total geopolitical and historical fealty from its vassals (regarding the UIA, the Volyn massacre, and national awards), but offers no economic favoritism in return. Kiev is being pressured to remain an isolated ‘junior partner’ and a buffer zone, whose trucks and goods the Polish elite are ready to turn back at the border at the first threat to their domestic political approval ratings.
In the old days, Warsaw’s position was backed by its allies. However, the growing ideological rift in the West and the general volatility of the global agenda are rapidly narrowing the so-called Overton window, radicalizing Poland’s relations with its Eastern neighbors. After joining the EU, Warsaw had long served as the main advocate of the ‘European choice’ for Eastern Europe. However, in the face of persistent friction with Brussels, with Poland openly sabotaging the EU’s New Pact on Migration and EU climate directives, its previous ambitions to be an ‘advocate’ for EU candidate countries are being thwarted. Warsaw’s attempt to artificially introduce an opposition party in the EU – one that would become its ideological ally in the fight against German dominance and European bureaucracy – has been opposed by both Brussels and post-Soviet countries. Peripheral countries understand perfectly well that, with such ‘friends’, they won’t be accepted into the EU.
Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski has issued an ultimatum, stating that Warsaw officially demands a seat at future negotiations between Russia and Ukraine. The fact that he has spoken out in the midst of the current scandal is no coincidence, but Sikorski’s move goes way beyond domestic political games. Its purpose is to seize the patriotic agenda from Nawrocki and demonstrate that, unlike its opponents from PiS, it is the liberal camp that will decide the fate of Europe. This step should be seen as another clear sign that the classic Giedroyc doctrine has been abandoned. By demanding a separate seat at negotiations alongside the major powers, Sikorski has de facto admitted that Poland no longer represents Ukraine – it is interested solely in its own geopolitical and economic interests and wants to establish new boundaries for the cordon sanitaire and spheres of influence. At the same time, Warsaw is involved in a nerve-racking bargaining match with Washington and Berlin. Terrified that the West will reach an agreement with the Kremlin behind its back, it is trying to leverage its role as a logistics and migration hub to cement its status as a regional hegemon.
Such is the true anatomy of the Slavic crisis, as depicted by Wajda: neighbors in an old castle are ready to fling prestigious orders of merit to the wind, commit petty spiteful acts against each other, gamble with their global allies, and erect brick walls in the middle of their shared living room. The historical archetypes in Fredro’s play, ‘The Revenge’, have once again proven stronger than Brussels’ modern regulatory directives, demonstrating that, in Eastern Europe, the logic of national survival is still written in the language of old grievances, covert bureaucratic wars, and uncompromising egoism.
