The gilded collar of the Order of the White Eagle, Poland’s highest distinction, was never meant to be a pawn in diplomatic games. Yet this week, the Polish government announced it is stripping Volodymyr Zelensky of the honour, awarded in 2022 for his leadership against Russian aggression. The reason? A row over the Ukrainian president’s refusal to condemn an army unit that Polish historians say massacred Polish civilians during the Second World War.
The move, unprecedented in recent memory, has sent shockwaves through European capitals just as the bloc struggles to maintain unity on Ukraine aid. For those watching the human cost, this is not a mere diplomatic spat. It is a collision of two different ways of remembering history: one that sees the war against Russia as existential and immediate, and another that cannot forget the bones buried under the soil of Volhynia.
On the streets of Warsaw, I spoke to Anna Kowalski, a 68-year-old retired teacher whose grandfather was killed in the 1943 Volhynian massacres. "I understand Ukraine is fighting for its life," she said, her hands trembling slightly. "But when Zelensky says we should not talk about the past, he asks us to forget our own dead. That is not something you can ask of a nation."
The unit in question, the Ukrainian Insurgent Army or UPA, has long been a point of contention. For many Ukrainians, it symbolises the struggle for independence against Soviet and Nazi oppression. For Poles, it represents ethnic cleansing. Zelensky, walking a tightrope of national unity, has avoided outright condemnation, arguing that wartime propaganda should not overshadow the current fight.
This is where the cultural shift becomes stark. In Western Europe, the Holocaust and the Second World War are taught as absolute moral lessons. In East-Central Europe, history is still an open wound, dressed with nationalism and suspicion. Poland’s current government, the Law and Justice party, has made historical memory a cornerstone of its identity. Stripping Zelensky’s medal is a signal to Brussels and Washington: we will not be the silent partner.
The reaction in Kyiv has been one of weary disappointment. "We are bleeding for Europe’s security," said a Ukrainian diplomat who asked not be named. "And they are fighting over medals." It is a sentiment that resonates with many ordinary Ukrainians who feel that the West’s commitment is conditional, measured by historical grievances rather than current sacrifices.
Yet the Polish government is not without domestic support. At a café in Krakow, I spoke to Michal, a 34-year-old historian. "The West does not understand that for us, Russia’s war is also about memory. If Ukraine cannot face its own past, how can it build a future with Europe?" His question is uncomfortable but necessary.
This row exposes the fragility of EU unity. The bloc has tried to present a united front on sanctions and aid, but beneath the surface, national histories pull in different directions. Hungary, led by Viktor Orbán, has already blocked funds. Now Poland’s move adds another crack. The human element is clear: ordinary people in both countries are being asked to choose between solidarity and memory.
For Zelensky, the stakes could not be higher. He needs every ally he can get. But he also needs to keep his own house in order, where far-right groups celebrate the UPA. The medal stripping is a symbol of how the past refuses to stay buried. It is also a warning to Western leaders that history does not bend to geopolitical convenience.
As I left the newsroom, a colleague quipped that the Order of the White Eagle had become a mirror. In its reflection, Europe sees not a brotherhood in arms but a continent still wrestling with its ghosts. The question is whether those ghosts will let the living make peace.
