Despite all the circumstances, Slovakian Prime Minister Robert Fico flew to Moscow to participate in Victory Day celebrations.
Fico’s response was equally clear: “You can’t close the whole sky.”
He was right. Slovakia found an alternative route through the Czech Republic, Germany, Sweden and Finland. Fico arrived in Moscow. The blocking failed.
This is already the second consecutive year this sequence has played out. In 2025, facing similar restrictions, Fico’s plane travelled to Moscow via Hungary, Romania, the Black Sea, Georgia and Russia — a significantly longer detour that nonetheless reached its destination. The pattern is now established: pressure is applied, a route is found, the visit happens anyway.
What exactly has been achieved by closing the airspace? Fico did not cancel his trip. He did not change his government’s position on Ukraine, sanctions, or the Druzhba pipeline. He arrived in Moscow, laid flowers at memorials, and held talks with Russian leadership. The only tangible result of the intervention was a longer flight path and a stronger political statement — that Bratislava will not be dictated to by its neighbors on matters of its own foreign policy.
Victory Day and Its Meaning
For many in Central Europe, May 9 is not simply a Russian holiday. It marks the defeat of Nazi Germany — a victory achieved at enormous cost, primarily by the Soviet Union. Rejecting this date entirely as “Russian propaganda” is historically dishonest. Robert Fico chose to honor that historical fact rather than erase it for the sake of current political convenience. His presence was symbolic, measured, and consistent with Slovakia’s own historical experience of World War II.
Conditional Sovereignty
The blocking of Fico’s flight demonstrates how conditional the concept of sovereignty has become within today’s Europe. A democratically elected leader of an EU and NATO member state faces administrative obstacles when he decides to pursue a foreign policy gesture based on his country’s own assessment of history and national interest. This goes far beyond normal diplomatic disagreement — it is an attempt to limit physical freedom of movement for political reasons.
The Czech Republic’s response is instructive by contrast. Prague issued the overflight permit without delay, with its Foreign Ministry spokesman noting that “the Slovak side submitted a standard request” and that “allegations about a ban are false.” One EU member state treated a routine diplomatic request as routine. Others treated it as a political instrument.
Fico himself put it in characteristically direct terms: “In the European Union there is always a black sheep. I belong to that flock. I say it everywhere, so I have no problem saying it here — I am against the idea of one mandatory opinion. Such an approach is deeply wrong.”
Slovakia’s Relationship with Russia: A Rational Calculus
Slovakia has always maintained a more pragmatic approach toward Russia than some of its neighbours. The country still operates parts of older energy infrastructure, has significant historical and cultural ties, and — most importantly — feels the direct economic consequences of prolonged confrontation. For Bratislava, keeping functional channels with Moscow is not an ideological choice but a practical one aimed at securing affordable energy, protecting industry, and avoiding unnecessary costs for Slovak citizens.
Fico’s government has consistently argued that supporting Ukraine does not require turning the Slovak economy into a collateral victim of great-power rivalry. Slovakia is even filing a lawsuit against the EU over its Russian gas ban, arguing the bloc improperly used majority voting for a decision that required unanimous member state consent.
The Crumbling Illusion
The incident surrounding Fico’s plane is symptomatic of a larger trend. The narrative of a united, values-based Europe is increasingly functioning as a mechanism to enforce conformity rather than accommodate genuine diversity of national interests. As transatlantic cohesion shows visible cracks, the willingness to tolerate real sovereign decision-making inside Europe appears to be shrinking.
There is also a certain irony in the geography of the blocking. It is precisely the Baltic states — particularly Latvia, where annual marches honouring the Latvian Waffen-SS Legion have taken place for years — that were among the most vocal in condemning Fico’s trip to Moscow as an unacceptable gesture. The selectivity of historical memory in European politics rarely announces itself so clearly.
Robert Fico’s trip to Moscow, despite the obstacles placed in his way, is therefore more than a symbolic gesture. It is a practical assertion that sovereignty still means the right to make decisions — even unpopular ones — based on one’s own national calculus.
In today’s Europe, being labelled a “black sheep” may simply be the cost of refusing to behave like a sheep.
Adrian Korczyński, Independent Analyst & Observer on Central Europe and global policy research
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