The Katyn case and the genocidal operation carried out by the Soviets, in which nearly 22,000 officers, soldiers, policemen, border guards, and state officials were murdered in April and May 1940, was not only one of the most horrific crimes of World War II, but also had long-term political consequences. Moreover, the so-called “Katyn lie” influenced how Poles were treated during meetings of the Big Three, where plans for the postwar order were being drawn up. In that arrangement, there was no place for a “defiant” Poland.
In 1943, several fundamental turning points occurred in the course of World War II: Germany was defeated at Stalingrad; in July, the Battle of Kursk began—also destined to end badly for them; and after their defeat in North Africa, they faced the Allied invasion of Sicily and the Italian Peninsula. In the autumn, the Big Three met in Tehran and made decisions crucial for Poland—without Polish participation. Not only were Poles absent from the negotiating table, but decisions were also made regarding Poland’s eastern border (along the so-called Curzon Line), setting the course for Poland’s future subordination to the Soviets.
All of this, however, did not happen independently of the Katyn issue—it was closely tied to it. In December, after Tehran, General Anders’ soldiers—particularly from the 3rd Carpathian Rifle Division—arrived in Italy. They included troops from the Independent Carpathian Rifle Brigade as well as former prisoners and detainees of the USSR. They carried with them grim news for the world about what had happened to Poles at Soviet hands. The problem was that the world not only did not want to listen (especially to Polish politicians and representatives of the government-in-exile in London), but also attempted to silence and suppress them. The truth about Katyn became inconvenient for the Allies.
An “anti-Soviet element”
On April 13, 1943, a broadcast from Berlin radio announced:
“From Smolensk comes the report that local inhabitants have indicated to the German authorities the site of secret mass executions carried out by the Bolsheviks, where the GPU murdered 10,000 Polish officers.”
Today we know this information was incomplete. Between April and May, 14,500–14,600 prisoners from three camps—Ostashkov, Kozelsk, and Starobelsk—were murdered. Only a small number survived, largely by chance, from the camp in Gryazovets. Among them was the painter and writer Józef Czapski, who later described his camp experience in Starobelsk Memoirs (though it did not cover the mass killings themselves).
They were “the lucky ones,” although they did not know it at the time. They believed they were being excluded from a prisoner exchange with Germany and even protested their separation from fellow inmates. Under the same order issued by Beria and Stalin on March 5, 1940, the Soviets also murdered over 7,000 prisoners held in various prisons across Russia—intellectuals, officials, activists, teachers, lawyers, and all those deemed an “anti-Soviet element.” In total, nearly 22,000 members of the Polish elite were killed using brutal, inhumane methods.
The Berlin radio report described the depth of the mass graves in the Katyn forest and the methods of execution—hands bound, a shot to the back of the head. Thus began a propaganda war. The Soviet Union immediately sought to convince the world that the Germans themselves had committed the crime and that it was merely a ploy by Goebbels. In reality, while it was indeed used by Nazi propaganda, it was based on factual findings—confirmed by an international commission invited by the Germans, which included, among others, Józef Mackiewicz.
Representatives of the Polish government-in-exile in London demanded a response from their allies—Great Britain and the United States. However, Katyn proved to be a thorn in the Allies’ side.
“We have names and lists”
During the formation of the Polish Armed Forces in the USSR, General Anders repeatedly raised the issue of missing Polish officers in his conversations with Stalin.
Poles knew something was wrong—thousands of officers had simply “vanished into thin air.” Correspondence from them continued until April 1940, after which it abruptly ceased. Following the Sikorski–Mayski agreement in July 1941 and the subsequent Polish-Soviet military agreement, a Polish army began forming in Totskoye, Buzuluk, and Tatiszczewo, with released prisoners and civilians joining its ranks.
Yet there was still no trace of tens of thousands of officers. Ambassador Stanisław Kot raised the issue with Soviet officials, including Andrei Vyshinsky and Vyacheslav Molotov, but received evasive answers. Finally, on November 14, he spoke directly with Stalin.
Kot insisted: “We have names and lists—for example, General Stanisław Haller is missing, as are officers from Starobelsk, Kozelsk, and Ostashkov taken away in April–May 1940.”
Stalin maintained that all had been released under amnesty. At one point, he called NKVD officials to confirm this claim. After a brief exchange and a follow-up phone call, the conversation effectively ended in silence.
Soon after, General Władysław Sikorski arrived from London. On December 3, he and Anders again questioned Stalin about the missing officers. They were given the now infamous and absurd explanation—that the Polish officers had supposedly escaped to Manchuria.
“The Polish government takes this story seriously…”
In 1944, war correspondent Quentin Reynolds published The Curtain Rises in New York. While his reporting from North Africa and Italy was widely praised, Polish readers encounter a shocking chapter titled “Poland Believes Goebbels.”
Reynolds presented the Katyn case entirely in line with the Soviet narrative, claiming it was a fabrication by Goebbels. He wrote with astonishment that the Polish government-in-exile took the matter seriously, citing statements from Polish officials calling for an investigation by the Red Cross.
He went further, including offensive remarks about Poles and their diplomacy, suggesting their actions played into Nazi propaganda. Such statements reflected not only his personal views but also the broader Western attitude toward Katyn at the time.
Poles were pressured to remain silent on Katyn because it complicated the strategic priorities of leaders like Churchill and Roosevelt, who sought to maintain good relations with Stalin. For them, defeating Germany took precedence over addressing Soviet crimes against Poland.
Even the end of the war did not bring immediate resolution. The U.S. Congress established the Madden Committee to investigate the Katyn massacre only in 1951–1952. Until then, narratives like Reynolds’ circulated freely.
And yet, when one examines the details—the method of execution, the personal notes kept by victims until their final days, the letters exchanged with families—the sheer scale and brutality of the crime become overwhelming. In the face of such evidence, Reynolds’ words cannot simply fade into obscurity on dusty library shelves.
Mr. Reynolds—look at the vile things you wrote about the Poles. Do you feel no shame now, wherever you may be?