On a quiet day in Domostawa, Poland, a 14-meter statue looms, its imagery as stark as the history it represents. Unveiled in July 2024, the monument depicts a crowned eagle—Poland’s national symbol—with a cross-shaped void in its chest. Impaled within that cross is a child’s body, skewered on a trident resembling Ukraine’s “tryzub” coat of arms. It’s a gut-punch of a design, commemorating the Volhynian massacre, a grim period from 1943 to 1945 when the Ukrainian Insurgent Army killed between 40,000 and 100,000 Poles in the borderlands. The numbers are fuzzy, but the pain is crystal clear.
The statue’s unveiling wasn’t without drama. Cities like Rzeszow, Torun, and Stalowa Wola rejected it, wary of its provocative imagery and the diplomatic fallout with Ukraine. Domostawa, a small village in southeastern Poland, took it on, perhaps unaware of the storm it would ignite. For Nawrocki, it was the perfect stage to end his presidential campaign, a move that screams, “I’m here to talk about the past, whether you like it or not.”
“The Volhynian Massacre was a cruel crime. Neighbors murdered neighbors, often robbing them blind,” Nawrocki declared at the site. “As president, I’ll keep talking about it.” (Source)
His words aren’t just a history lesson—they’re a warning shot. Nawrocki’s campaign leaned hard into nationalist rhetoric, prioritizing Poles over Ukrainian refugees and questioning Ukraine’s bid for NATO and EU membership. It’s a stark departure from Poland’s role as Ukraine’s staunchest ally since Russia’s 2022 invasion.
A Shifting Tide in Polish-Ukrainian Relations
Poland’s support for Ukraine has been a point of pride. When Russia’s tanks rolled in, Poland opened its borders, taking in over a million Ukrainian refugees. Private homes became shelters, and Warsaw’s voice roared loudest in the EU and NATO, pushing for weapons and aid while others dithered. The Law and Justice (PiS) party, Nawrocki’s backers, championed this cause, building on decades of solidarity through Ukraine’s 2004 Orange Revolution and 2014 Euromaidan.
But the mood has soured. By November 2024, polls showed a sharp drop in Ukrainian goodwill toward Poles, plummeting from 83% in 2022 to 41%, according to the Mieroszewski Centre. In Poland, CBOS research in February 2025 revealed that only 30% of Poles view Ukrainians positively, down from 51% in 2023, while 38% now hold negative views, up from 17%. (Source)
What happened? For one, history keeps rearing its ugly head. Nawrocki’s demand for Ukraine to “make amends” for the Volhynian massacre—potentially through exhumations of Polish victims—has struck a nerve. His campaign rhetoric, like prioritizing Poles for doctor’s appointments and limiting Ukrainian access to benefits, fanned the flames. Even liberal candidate Rafal Trzaskowski jumped on the bandwagon, suggesting tax-dodging Ukrainians should lose child benefits.
“Poland saved Ukraine’s skin in 2022, and now their president compares us to Russia at the UN? That’s a slap in the face,” said Michal, a 33-year-old Nawrocki voter and travel guide. “And don’t get me started on their heroes like Stepan Bandera, who butchered Poles.” (Source)
Michal’s frustration echoes a broader sentiment. Figures like Bandera and Roman Shukhevych, Ukrainian nationalist leaders tied to the massacre, remain divisive. To many Poles, their hero status in Ukraine feels like a personal betrayal.
The Anti-Ukrainian Turn
The shift isn’t just about history—it’s about the present. Poland’s cultural landscape changed overnight in 2022. “Suddenly, neighbors spoke a different language, and for a country used to uniformity, that was a shock,” said Rafal Pankowski of the Never Again association. His group’s polls show solidarity with Ukrainian refugees dropping from 90% in 2022 to just over 50% today. (Source)
Blame the far-right’s playbook. Social media has been a breeding ground for anti-Ukrainian sentiment, with conspiracy theories painting refugees as freeloaders. “The far right saw an opening and ran with it,” Pankowski said. “Playing the anti-Ukrainian card paid off in this election.”
Igor Krawetz, a Ukrainian commentator who’s called Poland home for two decades, is stunned by the speed of the change. “Two years ago, hating on Ukrainians was taboo, even among the right,” he said. “Now, it’s not just the working class griping about jobs. The middle class is mad about Ukrainians buying fancy apartments in Warsaw.” (Source)
Krawetz sees a pattern. Poland’s bursts of solidarity—2004, 2014, 2022—tend to fizzle into resentment. “It’s always the same,” he sighed. “Poles cheer for Ukraine, then grumble when the war doesn’t end on their schedule. I’ve seen it before. I’ll see it again.”
Nawrocki’s Gamble
Nawrocki’s monument visit wasn’t just about history—it was a signal of his presidency’s tone. His nationalist platform, skeptical of Ukraine’s NATO and EU ambitions, risks straining a relationship that’s been vital for both nations. Poland’s role as a conduit for Western aid to Ukraine could falter if tensions escalate. (Source)
Yet Nawrocki’s not alone. The election showed 51% of Poles backed candidates with anti-Ukrainian leanings. The numbers don’t lie: historical grievances, economic competition, and cultural friction are reshaping attitudes. For every Pole who opened their home in 2022, another now feels slighted by Ukraine’s perceived ingratitude.
“We’re not asking for much—just acknowledgment of the past,” Nawrocki said, standing by the monument. “If Ukraine wants our support, they need to face the truth.”
It’s a line that resonates with his base but risks alienating an ally in a time of war. As Nawrocki steps into the presidency, his gamble could redefine Poland’s place in Europe—or leave it isolated, nursing old grudges.
The Road Ahead
The Volhynia monument, with its stark imagery, stands as a metaphor for the broader divide. Poland and Ukraine, bound by geography and history, can’t escape each other. But Nawrocki’s focus on the past, while politically savvy, threatens to unravel years of goodwill. The question isn’t just whether Poland will keep supporting Ukraine—it’s whether both sides can move beyond the ghosts of Volhynia.
For now, the eagle and the trident stand in uneasy tension, much like the nations they represent. As Krawetz put it, “This isn’t the end of the story. It never is.” (Source)
