For Poland, Russian aggression is not an abstract or distant possibility; it is an experience embedded in national history. This experience has been shaped by repeated encounters with an eastern neighbour whose imperial ambitions have, time and again, reached deep into Polish territory and sovereignty.
The memory of these events is not confined to textbooks or commemorative speeches. It is woven into the country’s political instincts, its defence planning and its public consensus on security. In 2025, as Poland spends a higher share of GDP on defence than any other NATO member, expands its armed forces towards 300,000 personnel and pours billions into new tanks, artillery, missile systems and aircraft, it is acting on lessons learned the hard way over centuries.
Those lessons began in the late 18th century, when the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was dismantled in three stages by its more powerful neighbours: Russia, Prussia and Austria. The final blow came in 1795 with the Third Partition, which erased Poland-Lithuania from the map for 123 years. The Russian Empire gained vast tracts of land, including much of what is now Ukraine, pushing its western frontier further than ever before.
For Poles, the message was clear: Russia’s expansion was not simply opportunistic. It was part of a long-term vision of dominance in eastern and central Europe, a vision pursued with persistence whenever conditions allowed.
The 19th century reinforced that lesson. Uprisings in 1830 and 1863 against Russian rule were met with brutal repression. Polish political life was strangled, the language was suppressed in schools and administration, and tens of thousands were exiled to Siberia. While Poland’s national identity survived through culture, religion and underground organisation, the experience underscored a grim truth. In the face of Russian power, noble intentions and patriotic fervour could not substitute for adequate military strength and reliable alliances.
The 20th century brought no relief. In 1920, only two years after regaining independence, Poland faced a Soviet invasion aimed at spreading communist revolution into Europe. Poland’s victory in the Battle of Warsaw was celebrated as a miracle, but it also served as a warning that Moscow’s ambitions had not diminished. That warning proved prophetic in 1939 when the Soviet Union, acting with Nazi Germany under the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, invaded Poland from the east. The Soviet occupation that followed brought mass deportations, political executions and the destruction of Poland’s eastern elite.
After World War II, Soviet domination took a different form. While Poland was officially a sovereign state, it was really a satellite of Moscow. Soviet troops were stationed on Polish soil, Warsaw’s foreign policy was dictated by the Kremlin and dissent was crushed through security services loyal to the Soviet bloc. This period, lasting until 1989, left deep scars on Poland’s political culture. It was a daily reminder that the absence of open warfare did not mean the absence of domination.
These experiences shape Polish thinking today. The invasion of Ukraine in 2014, beginning with the annexation of Crimea, was interpreted in Warsaw not as an isolated episode but as part of a familiar pattern. In 2022, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine confirmed those fears. In Polish eyes, Russia had once again demonstrated its willingness to rewrite borders by force, to destroy an independent neighbour, and to use every tool available to weaken Western resolve. The parallels with the past were too stark to ignore.
Poland’s response has been decisive. It has increased defence spending from 2.7 percent of GDP in 2022 to 4.2 percent in 2024, with a planned increase to 4.7 percent in 2025. No other NATO member dedicates a higher proportion of its economy to defence. The armed forces are expanding rapidly, intended to reach 300,000 personnel in five years. Poland is also replacing and upgrading its arsenal at a pace unmatched in Europe. Orders include more than a thousand modern main battle tanks, hundreds of self-propelled howitzers, 96 Apache attack helicopters, new frigates for the navy and F-35 stealth fighters.
Crucially, Poland is not just buying equipment; it is investing in the domestic defence industry to ensure that maintenance, repairs and even production of critical systems can take place inside the country. This reduces dependence on foreign suppliers and strengthens Poland’s ability to sustain long-term defence efforts in the event that outside support is lost. It is also deepening partnerships with the United States, South Korea and European allies through joint training, technology transfer and shared production. The permanent US missile defence base in Poland is one symbol of this close cooperation.
Public opinion strongly supports this approach. Surveys show that more than 70 percent of Poles back higher defence spending, and this support has remained stable despite political changes at home. This consensus is rooted in historical memory. Time and again, Poland has suffered when it has been militarily weak or diplomatically isolated. Time and again, it has found that the price of readiness is lower than the cost of defeat.
Geography has not changed. Poland still shares a long border with Russia’s ally Belarus—where Moscow has deployed tactical nuclear weapons—and a 530-kilometre border with Ukraine, now the site of Europe’s most destructive war since 1945. The Baltic Sea, where Russia is expanding its naval presence, lies to the north. In this environment, Poland’s military build-up is not only about national defence; it is about reinforcing NATO’s entire eastern flank and ensuring that aggression can be deterred before it reaches alliance territory.
Poland’s leaders often speak of wanting to be the strongest military power in central Europe. More than a statement of ambition, this is a commitment to act as a regional watchkeeper, ready to respond to threats that might otherwise destabilise the heart of the continent. In practical terms, it means taking on a share of the security burden that matches the scale of the risk faced. In moral terms, it reflects the conviction that freedom must be defended with both resolve and capability.
Centuries after the first Russian troops marched into Polish lands, the underlying lesson remains the same. Weakness invites aggression. Strength, combined with alliances, deters it. Poland’s rapid rearmament, deepening of strategic partnerships and unwavering public support for defence are not just reactions to today’s headlines. They are the continuation of a historical strategy shaped by experience. For Poland, deterrence is more than a theory debated in policy journals; it is a necessity proven on the battlefield and in the long, painful years when the country’s independence was only a dream.
In that sense, the decisions being made in Warsaw today are not simply about the next election cycle or the current war in Ukraine; they are about ensuring that the tragedies of the past are not repeated in the future. The memory of Russian aggression, and the determination never to be its victim again, continues to guide Poland’s course.