
Anti-Polish propaganda in Russia has reached a hysterical pitch, and its general tone is worryingly similar to the shrieks coming out of the Kremlin in the runup to the 2022 invasion of the Ukraine.
Since such poisonous seeds fall on a ground happy to receive them, some historical background won’t go amiss. So let’s just say that this sort of thing didn’t start with Putin, although he is doing his level best to uphold the fine tradition of hostility.
Russians tend to dislike Poles, a feeling fully and justifiably reciprocated. So fine, this is a generalisation, and I for one know a few Russians who feel no animosity towards their western neighbours.
Yet the Russians who matter, the ruling elite, aren’t, and never have been, in any way similar to my friends. For details, I suggest you read Dostoyevsky’s Diaries. You’ll find that the writer’s hatred of the Poles was only exceeded by his loathing of the Jews.
To Dostoyevsky, along with Russian chauvinists both before and after him, the Poles betrayed the holy (and wholly mythical) cause of pan-Slavic solidarity by adopting Catholicism, not Orthodoxy. A different confession produced a different ethos, with the Poles heavily leaning towards Western Europe, especially France.
Dynastic and cultural exchange between the two countries has been brisk throughout history. Poles would become kings or queens of France, a French woman was once the queen consort of Poland. And luxuriant flowers of Polish arts, such as Chopin, Mickiewicz and Apollinaire, blossomed in the soil of France.
They still retained their Polish patriotism though, which by the 19th century had left little room for affection towards Russia. Three partitions of Poland, in 1772, 1793 and 1795, put paid to Polish independence, with a great part of the country incorporated into the Russian Empire.
Any geopolitical grievances the Russians may have about Poland are more ancient, going back to the early 17th century, specifically the blood-soaked interregnum known as the Time of Troubles.
The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth played a role in what was effectively a Russian civil war. Taking sides with one party against the other, the Commonwealth tried to put its own man on the Russian throne, and Polish troops even occupied Moscow in 1610-1612.
Since then, hostilities between the two countries have been mostly one-sided, and never more so than during Soviet times. When the Russian Civil War was winding down in 1920, the Bolsheviks launched a massive assault on Poland, which they declared was the first stage in their march on Berlin and Paris.
Such plans weren’t totally madcap. Lenin sensed, correctly, that the demob-happy masses in Germany, France and Britain had little appetite for another war. Luckily for the West though, the Polish cavalry frustrated those plans by routing the Russians in the Battle of Warsaw.
That added fuel to the fire of Russian anti-Polish sentiments. The crimes the subsequent Stalin regime committed against Poland and Poles are well documented, but some are better known than others.
In 1939, Stalin and Hitler agreed to divide Poland between them, with Stalin claiming his half just 16 days after Hitler claimed his. The subsequent execution by the NKVD of over 20,000 Polish prisoners taken during that short campaign has since received much publicity, and even the Soviets eventually disavowed their lying denials of the massacre.
Less known are the mass, often deadly, deportations of ethnic Poles in Russia throughout the 1930s, before the war started. That didn’t do much to endear the Russians to the Poles, and neither did the decades of post-war Soviet domination after Poland had been delivered to Stalin at Yalta.
When communism collapsed, Russia and Poland adopted different trajectories in their development. Russia converted its communism into a fascisoid fusion of KGB and organised crime, while Poland stayed her traditional pro-Western course, if not without some hiccups caused by the post-Soviet reflux.
Russia’s ruling KGB elite found that intolerable. If former Soviet colonies do better than the metropolis, what kind of signal does that send?
Anti-Polish propaganda picked up momentum, and it was backed up with action. In 2010, Lech Kaczyński, the fiercely pro-Western President of Poland, along with 95 other passengers, was killed when his plane crashed outside Smolensk.
Subsequent analysis has proved irrefutably that the plane was blown up by a bomb, with the cui bono principle pointing an accusing finger at Putin and his clique. The Kremlin is naturally denying any involvement, just as it took Putin’s Soviet predecessors 50 years to acknowledge their Katyn massacre.
But Poles know what’s what, just as they know that, once a ceasefire has been agreed in the Ukraine, their turn may come next. Russia can’t exist without focusing the nation’s passions on some external enemy, and historically Poland has done nicely.
The three Baltic republics may well be the most immediate target but, with their combined population one-sixth of Poland’s, the Russians see them as small fry. Poland, on the other hand, has become a flourishing Western power since shaking off the tethers of Russian bondage. The Kremlin clique finds that offensive, especially since the Poles show little sympathy for the Russian invasion of the Ukraine.
Even though historically relations between Poland and the Ukraine have never been especially cordial, putting it mildly, ever since the full-scale Russian aggression started in 2022, the Poles have been among the Ukraine’s staunchest supporters. In contrast to most Western countries, they have no trouble realising that the Ukraine is fighting not only for her own freedom, but also for that of Poland and the rest of Eastern Europe – at least.
That’s why, unlike her Western European NATO allies, Poland’s defence spending not only meets the miserly target of two per cent of GDP, but more than doubles it. The Poles know what to expect from a fascist Russia, and they are doing their best to be prepared.
The Russians sputter sputum at the defensive measures taken by Poland. Each is described as a “manifestation of Russophobia”, a vice defined as resisting Russian imperial expansion in any way. When Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk recently announced the military training of 100,000 volunteers, sputum burst out in a geyser-like eruption.
Putin’s stooge, Medvedev, former president of Russia, leads the chorus of abuse by branding Poland as “a hysterical, rude, arrogant, and ambitious enemy”. Threats of nuclear retaliation thunder out of the Kremlin and in the Russian media.
Meanwhile, Poland finds herself on the receiving end of what the Russians call ‘hybrid warfare’, including subversion, sabotage and cyberattacks. And Kremlin propaganda is whipping up hostility towards Poland in what looks like an attempt to rally its own population for another war.
Whenever smaller nations dare resist Russian aggression, they are always described as proxies of a West historically bent on subjugating (enslaving, annihilating, colonising, exploiting, take your pick) Russia. But, as believers in the old principle of divide et impera, the Russians tend to particularise that overall enemy.
Thus, until recently both Poland and the Ukraine had been proclaimed as “US satellites”, proxies in the unrelenting war the dastardly Yankees have been waging against Russia since time immemorial. America was designated as “Enemy Number One” under the Soviets and kept that exalted status until Donald Trump became president.
Since then, the US has lost her top ranking in the enemy stakes, which honour has passed on to Western Europe, mainly Britain and France. Threats to “turn America into radioactive ash” and create a strait between Canada and Mexico have been replaced with detailed explanations of how Britain could be sunk with one superbomb, while other types of ordnance would inflict more terrestrial devastation on France.
In that spirit, Poland is now portrayed as the attack dog of London and Paris, an “aggressive neighbour” that “is being prepared for war with Russia”. As proof of such preparations, the Kremlin cites the recent agreement Poland has signed with France, Italy and Spain. That treaty has according to the Russians effectively turned Poland into an instrument of Macron’s “anti-Russian” policy, and I never suspected Manny of such bellicosity.
This reminds me of the thief screaming “Stop thief!” at the top of his lungs as he runs away from his pursuers. Russia has traditionally blamed others for harbouring aggressive plans just as she herself was mobilising for a massive invasion.
That happened in the early 1800s, the early 1900s, the 1930s, throughout the Cold War, and it’s happening at present. Putin is merely picking up the relay baton from, respectively, Alexander I, Nicholas II, Stalin, Khrushchev and Brezhnev.
I doubt Russia will be in any position to launch a full assault on Poland for at least a couple of years after a ceasefire in the Ukraine, whenever that comes. After all, the Poles are forewarned and they are forearmed, or trying to be. And, Article 5 or no Article 5, they are likely to receive support from at least some other NATO members.
However, the shift in the focus of Kremlin propaganda is interesting, and it merits serious strategic analysis, provided the West still possesses the requisite know-how.
Russia has stepped on a militant merry-go-round, and it’s gathering speed so fast that jumping off may well become impossible. As Macbeth says, “I am in blood. Stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.”
Less poetically speaking, crimes may multiply to a point where the perpetrator has to go on since changing his ways is no longer possible. Hence allowances must be made for Russian leaders acting irrationally. Should it come to that, an attack on Poland may well happen even if we feel the odds may be stacked against Russia.
The Poles certainly think so, and more power to them. They saved Europe once, in 1920, and they may well have to do so again.