Polish‑Ukrainian medal row deepens after Zelensky honours controversial WWII unit — UnionPress
Ukraine's decision to name a special‑operations unit after the UPA prompted Poland to withdraw the Order of the White Eagle, sparking a diplomatic spat that threatens wartime cooperation.
Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky signed a decree in May naming the elite Sever Special Operations Centre after the "heroes of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army" (UPA), a move that has ignited a bitter exchange of state decorations between Kyiv and Warsaw.
The decree, intended to celebrate what Ukraine regards as a resistance force against Soviet occupation, was met in Poland with outrage. The UPA is remembered there for the 1943‑45 massacres of up to 100,000 Poles in Volhynia and Galicia, actions the Polish Sejm formally labelled a "genocide committed by Ukrainian nationalists" in 2016.
On 19 June, Poland's president, Karol Nawrocki, announced that he would strip Zelensky of the Order of the White Eagle, Poland's highest civilian honour, which had been conferred in 2023 as a sign of gratitude for Ukraine's defence against Russia's full‑scale invasion.
The revocation came just days before a high‑level summit on Ukraine's post‑war reconstruction, scheduled for 25 June in the coastal city of Gdańsk. The conference, organised by the European Union and backed by the United States, was expected to attract senior Ukrainian officials and to lock in more than €10 billion of international aid.
According to Roman Imielski, deputy editor‑in‑chief of the Polish daily Gazeta Wyborcza, Nawrocki's decision was meant to undermine the summit and to signal displeasure at being excluded from the guest list. His colleague Bartosz T. Wieliński suggested on the 8:10 podcast that the gesture was also a personal rivalry between two Gdańsk natives, the president and Prime Minister Donald Tusk, each vying for local prestige.
When Zelensky learned of the revocation, he sent the White Eagle medal back to Warsaw via Nova Post, a private Ukrainian courier, posting a photograph of the parcel on social media. The act was widely interpreted as a deliberate provocation, turning a state honour into a routine parcel.
In response, former Ukrainian presidents Leonid Kuchma, Viktor Yushchenko and Petro Poroshenko, as well as military intelligence chief Kyrylo Budanov and foreign minister Andrii Sybiha, returned their own Polish decorations. Zelensky accused Nawrocki of exploiting anti‑Ukrainian sentiment ahead of Poland's 2027 parliamentary elections, drawing a parallel with Hungarian leader Viktor Orbán's nationalist rhetoric.
Prime Minister Tusk warned that the dispute "delights Putin and shocks our allies", stressing that the row could be exploited by Moscow to weaken the coalition supporting Kyiv. Zelensky echoed the concern, noting that the escalation risked eroding the strategic partnership at a time when Ukraine remains heavily dependent on Polish logistical routes for military supplies.
Despite the diplomatic friction, the Gdańsk summit proceeded without Zelensky, who was represented by Deputy Prime Minister Yulia Svyrydenko. The gathering succeeded in securing more than €10 billion in pledges for reconstruction, energy projects and defence procurement, suggesting that the material outcomes were insulated from the symbolic clash.
The controversy has also revived debate over the Order of the White Eagle itself. Over its three‑century history the decoration has been awarded to a range of contentious figures, including Russian imperial leaders such as Catherine the Great, Grigory Potemkin and Alexander Suvorov, as well as Polish collaborators of the 1794 Targowica Confederation and, in the twentieth century, Italian dictator Benito Mussolini. Critics argue that the order's legacy is fraught with moral ambiguities, while supporters contend that it remains a symbol of Poland's sovereign gratitude.
In Poland, the reaction to Zelensky's decree has been virtually unanimous across the political spectrum. Even parties that traditionally support strong ties with Kyiv have condemned the naming of a unit after the UPA, describing it as an affront to Polish victims of wartime atrocities. The consensus underscores how historical memory continues to shape contemporary foreign policy in the region.
For the broader European community, the episode illustrates the fragility of the alliance that underpins the eastern NATO flank. While the EU and NATO have repeatedly affirmed their commitment to Ukraine's defence, divergent historical narratives can strain bilateral relations that are essential for logistics, intelligence sharing and joint training.
Poland remains one of Ukraine's most important suppliers of ammunition, fuel and food, and its border serves as a key conduit for humanitarian aid. Any deterioration in trust could complicate the flow of resources, especially as the war enters its third year and reconstruction planning intensifies.
Analysts note that the dispute also highlights the need for a more nuanced approach to historical reconciliation within the alliance. Initiatives that promote joint research into wartime events, or that facilitate dialogue between civil societies, could help mitigate the risk of symbolic gestures derailing practical cooperation.
At the same time, the episode may serve as a cautionary tale for other EU members navigating similar memory politics. Nations such as the Baltic states, which also grapple with complex World War II legacies, could find themselves drawn into comparable diplomatic tussles if historical symbols are invoked in contemporary policy.
For now, both governments appear intent on containing the fallout. Warsaw has not announced any further punitive measures, and Kyiv has signalled a willingness to focus on the reconstruction agenda rather than pursue a tit‑for‑tat exchange of honours. Whether this restraint will be enough to preserve the strategic partnership remains to be seen, but the episode underscores how deeply history can intersect with the geopolitics of today.