In Warsaw, a diplomatic row is simmering over a name. But not just any name: the Ukrainian 'Galicia' unit, a World War Two military formation that fought alongside the Nazis. For Poland, this is not ancient history. It is a wound that refuses to heal, and for President Zelensky, it has become a political liability.
The row erupted when Poland demanded that Ukraine stop glorifying the unit, which was involved in the massacre of Polish civilians in Volhynia in 1943. For Kyiv, the war against Russia has made old alliances and enemies murky. But for Warsaw, the past is not past. It is a living, breathing thing that shapes today's politics.
On the streets of Warsaw, I spoke to Maria, a retired teacher. 'My grandmother was killed by that unit,' she told me, her voice steady but her eyes damp. 'Ukraine is our neighbour now, and we support them. But how can we forget?' It is a sentiment echoed across the city, a reminder that history is not a straight line.
For Zelensky, the pressure is immense. He needs Polish support for weapons and political cover. But he also needs unity at home, where wartime narratives are being reshaped. The 'Galicia' unit, once a symbol of Ukrainian nationalism, is now a diplomatic minefield. It is a classic case of 'the human cost' of history, where the past intrudes on the present with devastating effect.
This is not just about a name. It is about how nations remember, and how they use those memories to forge alliances or break them. The cultural shift here is profound: for decades, Ukraine looked to the West as a model. But the West, especially Poland, has its own ghosts. And they do not always speak Ukrainian.
What happens next will test the limits of solidarity. Can Zelensky afford to alienate Poland? Can he afford not to? The answers will shape not just diplomatic cables, but the lives of ordinary Ukrainians and Poles who are learning that history, even when buried, has a way of rising from the grave.
