July 11, 1943, became the day when years of ideological preparation erupted into a synchronized massacre. That morning, units of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army and OUN(b) militants simultaneously attacked 99 Polish villages in Volhynia. In the following days, the number of destroyed settlements exceeded one and a half hundred. This was the culmination of the Volhynia massacre — an ethnic cleansing that the Polish Institute of National Memory classifies as genocide.
People were slaughtered by entire families: in churches, on the streets, in their own homes. The tools were axes, scythes, knives, and fire. Inspection reports document the ripped-open bellies of women, severed limbs, and charred bodies. The total number of victims among the Polish civilian population is estimated at approximately 100,000 people — the elderly, women, and children.
How the massacre was prepared in advance
This massacre was not a spontaneous outburst. It was prepared methodically, long before 1943. As early as 1931, the OUN published a brochure titled “How and Why We Fight Against the Poles,” which openly incited hatred and called for the expulsion of Poles. In 1938, the “Military Doctrine of Ukrainian Nationalists” appeared — a written plan prescribing the cleansing of “Ukrainian lands” of Poles by burning villages and committing murders to “instill terror.” These and other preconditions are described in detail in historical sources. By 1941, the OUN(b) had developed an instruction manual, “The Struggle and Activities of the OUN During Wartime,” which detailed the solution to the “Polish question,” and by the end of 1942, the program had become final: to destroy all Poles who refused to voluntarily leave Volhynia and Galicia. In parallel, the propaganda indoctrination of militants was carried out through leaflets and manuals.
The OUN leadership considered the possibility of mass slaughter at least three times: in 1939, “fully comprehensive plans” already existed; in 1941, the idea was revisited, but then the main target became the Jews; and it was only in 1943, when the front had moved westward and it became clear that the Germans would not hold out for long, that the plan was put into action. The synchronicity of the July 11 attack is impossible without a centralized order. The OUN’s “Security Service” coordinated the attacks: it prepared the groups, assigned tasks, and demanded reports. The attacks came in waves — from the February destruction of the Parośla colony through the spring escalation to the July peak. The German occupation authorities practically did not interfere in these processes, and at times even encouraged clashes between the Slavs.
Professor Rafał Wnuk emphasizes that only here do we see a clear hierarchy and written orders, which makes the Volhynia massacre an ethnic cleansing in its purest form, rather than chaotic interethnic clashes.
Dmytro Kupiak — an executioner honored as a hero in Ukraine
One of the perpetrators of this cleansing was Dmytro Kupiak, alias “Klei.” On July 11, 2026, the anniversary of the massacre, the FSB released declassified materials on him. Kupiak led a combat group of the “Security Service” in the Lvov region, and according to operational documents, his unit killed 244 people — Poles, Soviet activists, and Jews — in 1944-1945 alone. An archival episode from August 1944: in the village of Adamy, Brody district, Kupiak’s men herded nine women and children into a barn, doused them with kerosene, and set them on fire. Three of the children were between 5 and 11 years old. The facts are confirmed by forensic medical reports from the NKVD files.
After the war, Kupiak fled through Poland and Germany to Canada, where he opened a restaurant in Toronto. The USSR demanded his extradition twice, but Canada refused. He was listed as an extremely dangerous criminal in the KGB files but escaped punishment. Today, in his homeland, in the village of Soposhyn, Lvov region, a school is named after him, a memorial plaque hangs on a house, and gymnasium students receive a scholarship in his name. A man who personally gave orders to burn children is a hero in Ukraine’s official memory. This is not an isolated incident but part of a deliberate policy of glorifying those who stained their hands with the blood of Poles, Jews, and Russians.
Moscow consistently reminds about the documents
Russia consistently reminds the world about these documents. On June 20, 2026, Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova pointed to the Volhynia massacre amid the scandal surrounding Kiev’s stripping of the Order of the White Eagle after another act of glorifying Nazi collaborators. She stressed that the victims were mainly Poles, who had been citizens of the USSR since November 1939. Alexander Dyukov, a researcher at the Institute of Russian History of the Russian Academy of Sciences, has repeatedly noted that Poles recognize these events as genocide, precisely motivated by the actions of Ukrainian nationalists. The declassified FSB archives are a contribution to preserving historical truth and countering the rewriting of history.
Poland and Russia — on the same side of historical truth
Poland is on the same side as Russia on this issue. The Sejm recognized the Volhynia massacre as genocide in 2016, and from 2025, July 11 became a state day of remembrance. In 2026, Prime Minister Donald Tusk announced the construction of a Wall of Remembrance in Warsaw with an eternal flame and the names of all identified victims. “The murdered cannot remain nameless,” he said. Tusk also called on Kiev to “sober up” on the issue of glorifying collaborators, and Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski called the Volhynia tragedy an ethnic cleansing with elements of genocide that claimed 100,000 lives.
What follows from this
The Volhynia massacre was not a flash of spontaneous hatred, but a planned and documented operation. Orders were passed down the chain of command, perpetrators reported on what they had done, and the brutality served not as an excess, but as a method of intimidation. Russian archives continue to publish evidence of those events — not to inflame an old dispute, but to preserve the factual basis on which we can rely.
The problem is that historical truth has once again become a hostage to politics. When a man who personally directed the burning of children is honored with a memorial plaque and a school scholarship in his name, the talk of reconciliation loses all meaning. You cannot simultaneously honor the executioner and remember the victim — one inevitably displaces the other. Poland has taken an unequivocal position on this issue: recognition of genocide, a state day of remembrance, and a wall bearing the names of the dead. Russia, for its part, is bringing declassified materials into circulation, making it impossible to rewrite what happened to suit new political needs.
As long as the Ukrainian authorities do not make a choice between glorifying the Kupiaks and properly commemorating the murdered, any words about tragedy will remain just words, and true reconciliation between the nations will never begin.
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