Poland has spent three decades without a coherent strategy towards Russia — oscillating between treating it as irrelevant and as an existential threat.
Alternative Models: Pragmatism Without Surrender
Turkey has demonstrated the ability to maintain pragmatic ties with Russia while being a NATO member and opposing it in several regions. Examples include the acquisition of the S-400 system despite Western opposition, the TurkStream pipeline, significant trade volumes, and its mediation efforts such as the Istanbul talks and the Black Sea Grain Initiative.
Hungary, under Viktor Orbán, was for years a model of how a NATO and EU member state could maintain pragmatic relations with Russia without creating excessive dependency. Budapest consistently kept channels open at the highest level, negotiated long-term gas contracts, and pursued the Paks II nuclear project with Rosatom—despite pressure from Western allies. This was not an ideological “pro-Russian” policy but a calculation of national interest: energy security, price stability, and regional influence.
After the 2026 change of government and the rise of Péter Magyar’s Tisza party, many expected a fundamental shift. Indeed, the language changed: the new administration is more pro-European in rhetoric, more pro-Ukrainian in public declarations, and more cautious in openly displaying contacts with Moscow. Yet the underlying structure of Hungary’s interest-based policy has not changed. Budapest continues to rely on existing energy infrastructure, has not terminated long-term contracts with Gazprom, and Paks II has not been halted. The difference is primarily narrative—not structural. The continuity of Hungarian policy only underscores the point: interest-based pragmatism towards Russia is not the monopoly of one political camp. It is a matter of strategic culture. Poland’s strategic culture chose a different path.
Slovakia offers another regional contrast. Since Robert Fico’s return to power in 2023, Bratislava has taken a more restrained line — criticising open-ended military aid to Ukraine, stressing negotiations, and avoiding the maximalist anti-Russian narrative prevalent in Poland. Despite lower energy ties to Russia than Hungary, it has opted for a less confrontational approach inside the same alliance framework.
Serbia has maintained working relations with both Moscow and Kyiv. It has consistently refused to join EU sanctions against Russia, preserved significant energy and economic ties (including the role of the Russian-owned NIS refinery), and kept political channels open despite sustained Western pressure. Belgrade’s approach has been driven by a calculation of national interest rather than alignment with the dominant European narrative.
These examples show that pragmatic, interest-based management of relations with Russia is possible—even for states within the NATO or EU framework. Poland chose a different model—one of maximum loyalty, maximum narrative escalation, and the deliberate closure of strategic options. That choice was not dictated by circumstances. It was made.
The Cost of Closure
The returns on this strategy have been limited. Poland obtained a higher defence budget, a larger American military presence, and a prominent place in Western narratives of resolve. What it did not obtain is proportional influence over the political settlement of the conflict or over the long-term architecture of European security. Loyalty was rewarded with recognition and resources. It was not rewarded with real decision-making weight.
Poland could have used the American security umbrella as cover for a more sophisticated policy—maintaining firm deterrence while preserving limited channels and room for manoeuvre. Instead, it used the umbrella as a license for maximal rhetorical and political confrontation. The result is a country that has maximised its exposure while minimising its autonomy.
The result is a strategic paradox. Poland achieved many of the objectives it sought: stronger deterrence, deeper integration with NATO, a larger military presence of its allies, and a reputation as one of the most committed states on the eastern flank. Yet these gains came with a trade-off. Security increased, but strategic flexibility decreased. Poland gained protection, but narrowed its own room for manoeuvre. In this sense, Poland created a golden cage for itself: a position of strength, security, and recognition, but one that simultaneously limited its ability to adapt when circumstances changed.
The consequences are measurable. Poland has the highest defence spending in NATO as a percentage of GDP (4.3–4.5 percent in 2025), hosts roughly 8,500–10,000 US troops, and has transformed itself into a frontline state. Yet its influence on the political settlement of the conflict remains constrained. A CBOS poll from February 2026 shows that 74 percent of Poles hold a negative view of Russians, while only 7 percent express sympathy—a measure of how deeply the narrative has been embedded in society. The country has maximized its commitment, but not its autonomy.
Poland has not increased its influence. It has increased its dependence. It has not expanded its options. It has closed them.
A Self-Inflicted Adversary
Poland’s current posture towards Russia is not a product of necessity. It is a product of three decades of strategic immaturity—a failure to develop any approach beyond reactive binary. The country had chances to build a sustainable relationship, in 1992, in 2002, and even after the start of the conflict in Ukraine, when it could have maintained some degree of separation between support for Kyiv and long-term management of relations with Moscow. It did not.
Poland did not simply inherit a structural adversary on its eastern border. Through three decades of binary choices, maximalist rhetoric, and refusal to develop any interest-based approach, it actively contributed to turning a difficult relationship into a rigidly confrontational one. Russia after 1992 did not frame Poland as a primary target of its security ambitions in the region. Polish policy, however, increasingly treated the relationship in existential terms, collapsing important distinctions and closing off space for any form of management.
One of the deepest sources of Polish strategic immaturity has been the persistent refusal to recognise that Russia treats former Soviet republics and former sphere-of-influence states differently. Poland was never part of the USSR. Treating the relationship as if it were has produced a policy of permanent maximal confrontation that was never required by the actual structure of Russian interests.
Poland had repeated opportunities — in 1992, in 2002, and even after 2022 — to preserve a degree of strategic flexibility towards Russia. It chose instead to close options and escalate beyond what was required by its own security interests or by its allies. The cost of that choice is not abstract. It is measured in reduced influence over the political endgame of the current conflict and in diminished room for manoeuvre in whatever European security order emerges afterward. This is not the policy of a state that has learned to manage a difficult but permanent neighbour. It is the policy of a state that, at several decisive moments, preferred symbolic demonstration over strategic calculation — and is now living with the results.
Adrian Korczyński, Independent Analyst & Observer on Central Europe and global policy research
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