The removal of a medal is rarely just about the medal. When Poland’s Institute of National Remembrance announced on Monday that President Volodymyr Zelensky would be stripped of the Order of the White Eagle – the nation’s highest honour – it felt less like a bureaucratic correction and more like a public rupture. The reason? A reference by Ukrainian officials to the SS Division Galizien, a unit formed by Nazi Germany from Ukrainian volunteers that has long been a bone of contention between Kyiv and Warsaw.
For Poles, this is not ancient history. The division is associated with the massacres of Poles in Volhynia and Eastern Galicia during World War II. For Ukrainians, it is a messy symbol of a desperate fight for independence against Soviet domination, exploited by modern narratives. Zelensky’s office had used the unit’s name in a social media post about the Russian invasion – a move that Polish memory keepers could not overlook.
But the timing is everything. As Russia grinds through eastern Ukraine, Poland has been one of Kyiv’s most vocal supporters, sheltering millions of refugees and funnelling arms. To revoke an honour now suggests a deeper strain. On the streets of Warsaw, I spoke to a woman whose grandfather was killed by the UPA – the Ukrainian Insurgent Army that absorbed some Galizien members. ‘I support Ukraine against Putin,’ she said, ‘but we cannot whitewash history. Memory is not a tool.’
Meanwhile, in London, the UK government moved swiftly to reaffirm its backing. A statement from 10 Downing Street promised ‘ironclad support’ for Ukraine’s defence. The contrast is telling. Britain, unburdened by the same historical weight, can afford to be generous with its allyship. Poland, neighbour and witness, carries the past in its bones.
What does this mean for the ordinary Ukrainian? In a café in Lviv, a student told me: ‘We are fighting for our lives. History can be debated later. Right now we need everyone on our side.’ Yet history does not pause. The removal of the medal may be symbolic, but symbols matter when nations are bleeding. It speaks to the limits of solidarity – how even the strongest alliances can fray when ghosts of old wars walk into new ones.
For Zelensky, it adds a diplomatic headache. For Poland, it is a assertion of historical integrity. For the rest of us, it is a reminder that the past is never past, especially when it comes dressed in military terms.
