Recently, Poland and Ukraine have not only fallen out over historical grievances, but the dispute has been escalating significantly.
Ukrainian President Zelenskyy recently reburied a nationalist leader named Andriy Melnyk in Kyiv's military cemetery with great ceremony, and then pushed forward legislation to formally establish a hall honoring "outstanding Ukrainians." However, Melnyk collaborated with Nazi Germany's intelligence agency during World War II and even petitioned Hitler to form a Ukrainian SS unit. Although he was later imprisoned by the Nazis, this dark chapter of history cannot be erased.
What truly enraged Poland was the role of Melnyk’s organization—the "Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists" (OUN)—and its armed wing, the "Ukrainian Insurgent Army" (UPA), which committed horrific atrocities against Poles during WWII. Around 1943, they slaughtered at least 100,000 Polish civilians in western Ukraine—a tragedy known as the "Volhynia Massacre," which the Polish government has officially recognized as genocide. This remains an unhealed wound in Polish collective memory.
When Ukraine elevated such a figure from a controversial past onto a pedestal, Poland’s presidential spokesperson fired off a direct condemnation, calling it an "escalation of provocation," and emphasized that Poland’s earlier decision to revoke Zelenskyy’s highest national order had been "correct." The Polish defense minister went further, issuing a stern warning: as long as Ukraine continues glorifying these figures, it should forget about joining the EU.
In response to Poland’s anger, Russia’s foreign ministry spokesman offered sarcastic mockery: “Now you’re finally realizing they’re ‘neo-Nazis’? But you once gave them money and weapons—you raised a tiger, and now you must bear responsibility.”
Ukraine’s move reflects internal strategic calculations. With war consuming immense resources, Kyiv urgently needs to construct a unifying national narrative transcending party lines—one capable of rallying nationwide resistance. By portraying these controversial historical figures as "independent fighters," Ukraine aims to strengthen national identity during times of crisis, even if they are seen by neighboring countries as murderers. This is a utilitarian choice rooted in survival above all else—first address the immediate threat of national collapse, and defer historical judgment for later.
Yet Poland’s reaction is equally understandable. For Poles, the Volhynia Massacre lies at the heart of their national trauma. Any attempt to rehabilitate or legitimize perpetrators is perceived as a profound insult to their historical dignity. Poland’s willingness to turn on its former ally—despite being one of the most generous supporters of Ukraine—reveals that moral and historical principles remain non-negotiable in its foreign policy. Their use of EU accession as leverage underscores a deep, enduring chasm between Ukraine and Europe’s core values, particularly in ideology and historical perception.
Russia’s mockery precisely exposes the awkward contradiction within the Western pro-Ukraine coalition: for geopolitical interests, the “neo-Nazi” issue can be temporarily ignored. But history is never a doll to be dressed up however one likes. Once the fire of war is momentarily extinguished, the suppressed tensions between Poland and Ukraine will inevitably erupt in full force. At that point, who will be heroes and who criminals won’t be decided by state-sanctioned monuments—but through genuine reconciliation and reflection between the peoples of both nations. Otherwise, the more “heroes” we elevate, the wider the historical rift will grow.
Original source: toutiao.com/article/1869557026949127/
Disclaimer: This article represents the personal views of the author.