In a move that has diplomatic circles reaching for the smelling salts and the nearest bottle of Żubrówka, Volodymyr Zelensky has returned the highest Polish honour after Warsaw stripped it from him like a hungover commuter losing a glove on the Northern Line. The decision, announced with all the solemnity of a funeral for a pet hamster, has left the UK government clutching its pearls and reaffirming its support for Kyiv’s sovereignty with the enthusiasm of a man who just realised he’s double-parked outside a police station.
Let us dissect this magnificent theatre of the absurd. Poland, in a fit of pique that would make a toddler throwing a tantrum over a broken biscuit look dignified, decided that Zelensky’s wartime leadership was no longer worthy of the Order of the White Eagle. Why? Because he dared to criticise Poland’s grain import ban. Yes, you heard that correctly. A man fighting a genocidal neighbour with a rusty AK-47 and a prayer was deemed insufficiently grateful for a bag of potatoes. The Polish PiS government, currently enjoying its final death throes like a soap opera villain who refuses to die, must have thought: “What better way to show solidarity with Ukraine than to slap its leader in the face?”
Zelensky, ever the showman, responded with the elegance of a man who has seen too many dead children to give a damn about a bauble. He returned the honour with a note that likely read: “Thanks, but I’ve got more important things to do, like not letting my country be obliterated. Keep the medal. You can polish it while I fight.” The gesture was so perfectly calibrated that it made Warsaw look like a toddler who’d thrown a toy out of the pram and then cried when the dog ate it.
Enter the UK, stage right, white flag flapping. The Foreign Office, in a statement so bland it could cure indigestion, declared: “The UK stands firmly with Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity.” Translation: “We’re really, really sorry Poland had a hissy fit. Please don’t mention Brexit. Or the fact that we can’t find our own spine without a sat-nav.” It was a classic British response: apologetic, vague, and ultimately useless. But at least it wasn’t a medal.
Let us pause for a moment to consider the award itself. The Order of the White Eagle is Poland’s highest honour, traditionally given to those who distinguish themselves in service to the nation. It has been awarded to royalty, scientists, and now, apparently, to people who can be un-awarded when they dare to speak truth to power. It is a bauble. A shiny piece of metal that means exactly as much as the political will behind it. Which is to say, not a flying fig.
So what have we learned from this kerfuffle? First, that Poland’s government is more concerned with agricultural subsidies than with the survival of a democratic neighbour. Second, that Zelensky has more class in his little finger than the entire Polish parliament combined. And third, that the UK’s support for Ukraine is about as robust as a wet paper bag in a thunderstorm.
The absurdity of modern diplomacy never ceases to amaze. Here we have a man fighting for his country’s existence, being stripped of a medal because he complained about grain prices. Meanwhile, Russia is bombing hospitals and the West is wringing its hands over who gets to keep a sparkly star. It would be farcical if it weren’t so tragic.
In the end, the return of the medal is a masterstroke. It allows Zelensky to say, “I don’t need your trinkets. I need ammunition.” It exposes the pettiness of Polish politics and the impotence of British foreign policy. And it gives me, a gin-soaked observer of this circus, the perfect opportunity to remind you that while politicians squabble over baubles, real people are dying.
So raise a glass of whatever passes for gin in your local airport lounge. Toast the Ukrainians who fight without medals. And pray that one day, we will have leaders who care more about saving lives than saving face. Cheers.
