A diplomatic spat between Ukraine and Poland over a Second World War military unit has threatened to unravel the fragile, British-brokered alliance against Russian aggression. Sources confirm that President Volodymyr Zelensky's administration has reacted furiously to Polish demands that Ukraine formally condemn the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA), a nationalist formation accused of massacring tens of thousands of Poles during the war.
The row erupted after Polish Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki, during a joint press conference with British officials, publicly urged Kyiv to “face the dark pages of its history” and distance itself from the UPA. Behind closed doors, Warsaw has threatened to block further EU aid packages unless Zelensky takes concrete steps, including removing statues of UPA leader Stepan Bandera and revising school textbooks.
But the calculation is a dangerous one. Uncovered documents, seen by this outlet, show that the British Foreign Office has been scrambling for weeks to mediate. London’s strategy: keep both sides focused on Moscow, not on historical grievances. The UK has invested heavily in building a coalition of “like-minded states” to supply arms and intelligence to Ukraine. Any fracture opens a fissure that the Kremlin will exploit.
“This is precisely what Putin wants,” a Whitehall insider with direct knowledge of the talks told me. “Divide and conquer. The Russians are watching. They know that if Poland and Ukraine start fighting over history, the whole front crumbles.”
The UPA remains a deeply polarising symbol in Ukraine. For many western Ukrainians, the group fought for independence against both Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. But for Poles, the UPA carried out ethnic cleansing in Volhynia and Galicia, killing up to 100,000 civilians. The Polish parliament has already recognised those acts as genocide.
Zelensky’s office has so far resisted calls to condemn the UPA outright. A senior aide told me that doing so would “hand victory to Russian propaganda” by portraying Ukraine as a fascist state. But the Polish position hardened after a ceremony in Kyiv last month honoured UPA veterans. The Polish ambassador was summoned, and Warsaw has since blocked the reopening of a border crossing for Ukrainian grain exports.
The British have tried to paper over the cracks. Prime Minister Rishi Sunak, during a recent call with both leaders, urged “pragmatism” and offered to facilitate a joint historical commission. But the tone from Warsaw has been unmistakable: this is a test of whether Ukraine is a reliable partner, or a state that tolerates ultranationalism.
Yet the stakes are far higher than history. With Ukrainian forces running low on artillery shells and air defence interceptors, every shipment from Poland is vital. Poland has already supplied over 200 T-72 tanks and dozens of MiG-29 fighters. A prolonged dispute could choke that supply line. Meanwhile, Moscow is gleefully amplifying the row. Russian state media has run non-stop coverage of “Nazi collaborators in Kyiv” and the “collapse of the anti-Russian coalition”.
The irony, sources note, is that the UPA itself is a footnote in the current war. Most Ukrainians today are fighting for their survival, not honouring century-old grudges. But in the trenches of diplomacy, symbols matter. And if Britain cannot broker a truce between two of its staunchest allies, the Kremlin will have already won a victory without firing a shot.
As one exhausted NATO diplomat put it: “We are watching a car crash in slow motion. The only question is whether anyone has the guts to grab the wheel.”
