It was difficult to find supporters of reconciliation with Ukraine in my family. Everyone on my father’s side came from the Eastern Borderlands, mostly from areas that became part of Ukraine after the war, with some coming from territories now in Lithuania. Many members of my family experienced the brutality of Ukrainian nationalism as it emerged after the First World War and developed during the Second World War. My ancestors regarded claims that the Eastern Borderlands had never been Polish as absurd, because they had lived there for centuries and considered themselves Polish. Yet despite the suffering inflicted by Ukrainians, it was difficult to find anyone who did not understand the threat that Russia posed, and continues to pose, to Poland, Tomasz Sakiewicz writes in Gazeta Polska.
For centuries, Moscow’s imperial policy destroyed the freedom, and even the cultural and biological foundations, of neighbouring nations. It also sought to incite mutual hatred between them. Historically, both the Polish and Ukrainian nations benefited from cooperation and suffered greatly from conflict. Poles, Ruthenians and Lithuanians lived together in a single state for half a millennium, twice as long as the United States has existed. Internal disputes within that state were destructive and remained deeply ingrained in collective memory, but coexistence was the norm of everyday life.
The partitions changed everything. Not only Russia, but also the Austro-Hungarian Empire, exploited divisions and sought to destroy any relations between the kindred nations. Any rapprochement between Poland and Ukraine was regarded as a potential challenge to the division of Europe imposed by the great powers.
The consequences of that policy became fully apparent after the collapse of three empires: Russia, Austria-Hungary and the German Empire. Armed conflicts erupted in the Eastern Borderlands, accompanied by the covert murder of Poles. One of the first victims was my grandmother’s brother, Father Walerian Raba, who was killed by a Ukrainian nationalist.
A glimmer of hope was provided by the fact that my great-uncle’s murderer, on his deathbed and under the influence of a Ukrainian clergyman, decided to apologise publicly for what he had done.
The year 1920 and Piłsudski’s Kyiv expedition represented an attempt to revive the former alliances. Unfortunately, Ukrainians did not rally in large numbers behind Piłsudski and their own leader, Ataman Petliura. Nevertheless, several months later, Ukrainian troops played a visible role in the victorious Battle of Warsaw.
That marked the end of meaningful cooperation, despite certain attempts by the intelligence services of the Second Polish Republic to restore the former ties through the Promethean movement.
Ukrainian nationalism began to revive around figures such as Stepan Bandera. The Decalogue of the Ukrainian Nationalist was a crude version of Nazi ideology that encouraged the commission of “the greatest crimes.” We saw the consequences in Volhynia in 1943, when the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the armed wing of the nationalists, murdered more than 100,000 civilians, including women and children, employing the most barbaric forms of torture.
It hardly needs to be added that this delighted both Nazi Germany and the Soviets, who were resolving the “Polish problem” through Ukrainian hands, while at the same time ensuring that these actions deprived the Ukrainians of legitimacy in the civilised world.
The Maidan revolution received the firm support of most Poles, who saw it as an opportunity to break up the Russian empire.
Russia’s invasion of Ukraine triggered a spontaneous movement to assist the victims of the war. Poles welcomed millions of Ukrainians into their homes, while the Polish state provided substantial economic and logistical assistance and, above all, immediately supplied Kyiv with military equipment.
The assistance provided by the Polish president and government on the international stage was also invaluable. For a moment, it seemed that the old wound might finally be healing.
I must admit, however, that apart from the Russians, who made every possible use of their agents to prevent this from happening, the Ukrainian state also committed serious errors.
Blinded by the initial wave of international support, the Ukrainian elites began entering into conflicts with key allies, including Poland and the United States. At the same time, as the war continued, a natural weariness emerged over the need to provide constant assistance without even a visible sign of gratitude.
These were reprehensible mistakes that were bound to have consequences, and continue to do so.
The Ukrainian president’s extraordinary manoeuvring, in which he used the grain crisis to help bring down a Warsaw government that had been favourably disposed towards him, followed by his attempt to escape his own problems by provoking a dispute with Poles over the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, destroyed hopes for a swift reconciliation.
Poland cannot accept the glorification of genocide, not only out of respect for the victims and their families, but also because symbols have the power to shape reality. It is in our interest to have an independent Ukrainian state that observes the standards of the civilised world.
Gazeta Polska was probably the only major media patron of the 70th anniversary commemorations of the Volhynia massacre, when something was done about the issue for the first time.
Previously, domestic supporters of Moscow who posed as Polish patriots had remained largely invisible in this debate. They suddenly awakened when Ukraine broke free from Russian dependence.
I will never forget what was done to my family in the Eastern Borderlands as well. Even if I forgive, I have no intention of forgetting. But it will not be the Kremlin’s agents who dictate to me how I should remember them.