What the World Needs to Learn From Poland's Humanitarian Response Amid War on Ukraine

When Russia launched an unprovoked war on Ukraine, the people of Poland went out of their skin to help Ukrainian migrants from their eastern border – and as they did, it fundamentally changed Polish society, its awareness about migrants and, more importantly, its self-image and place within Europe.

In a changing global order that sees the US increasingly withdrawing itself from various humanitarian fronts, Poland’s response to the migrant crisis in Ukraine has a few lessons to offer to the world. It may guide both civil society and policy makers to a possible model of relief and rehabilitation.

What is the Polish model of humanitarianism and what prompted it?

Since February 2022, when Russia invaded Ukraine, tens of thousands of Ukrainians crossed the border into Poland each day for several months. The Polish-Ukrainian border became jammed not only with fleeing families, but with Polish citizens offering food, clothing and shelter. Many people gave the migrants shelter in their homes throughout the country. 

I have spent about two years in Poland since the summer of 2022 documenting its response to the crisis and tracing the impact of the unexpected influx of migrants on Polish society. UN officials called Poland’s mobilisation “impressive and generous.” But it wasn’t inevitable. Nor are its long-term effects certain, as they remain subject to political shifts and global dynamics.

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The first characteristic about the gesture is that ordinary Poles stepped in for the migrants much before the state institutions and international agencies arrived. Three years later, over 11 million Ukrainians have crossed into Poland. Most have returned home or moved elsewhere, but about a million have stayed. Combined with earlier waves of migration, Poland now hosts around 3 million Ukrainians out of a population of 40 million.

It has surprised everyone – perhaps most of all, the Poles themselves.

The changed attitude towards migrants

Contrast this response to 2015, when amid a surge of refugees from the Middle East, Poland’s government firmly opposed EU resettlement plans. In 2021, when Belarus sought to weaponise migration by sending migrants from various Middle Eastern and African countries to its border with Poland, the Polish government responded by building a wall and pushing them back, actions supported by most citizens. It was not a generous gesture towards migrants fleeing oppressive regimes.

Many explanations are given for Poland’s pre-2022 resistance to migrants. In 2015, it was economic pressures, cultural and linguistic differences with the migrants and the country’s new status within the EU. As some of these migrants arrived via Belarus, Poland saw it as an instance of Russian meddling as well as attempts by Belarus to undermine European security. But its deeper roots lay in the country’s past. 

With a homogenous population and a conservative government, the Polish identity is shaped by prolonged Russian occupation, which allowed patriotism to harden into nationalism – and its familiar cousins, racism and xenophobia. It made them apprehensive of allowing young foreign migrants in large numbers, who had little background in Poland and their arrival at the Polish border might have been engineered by their historical enemy or their enemy’s friend.

Historical memory certainly played a major role in shaping Poland's reaction. Along with Prussians and Habsburg empires, imperial Russia helped divide the country and erase the Polish state from the maps of Europe for nearly 150 years, leaving deep scars. After a brief independence between the world wars, Poland was again divided in 1939, this time between Germany and Russia, with the Allied powers acquiescing to it. The liberation came in 1945 only with a brutal Soviet control that lasted till 1989. It instilled a deep mistrust of Russia, and Ukraine came to be seen as cultural kin with shared histories of suffering under Russian domination.

The other reason for resistance to migrants was that several of them never intended to stay in Poland for long, and only wanted the country as a passage to Germany, with such a transition having a potential to upset Polish-German relations.

In 2022, such apprehensions faded quickly. Before the war, the Polish government had been vilifying “crazy activists” who helped migrants along the Belarusian border. One such activist, Olga, told me she would not let anyone die in her backyard. 

“I don’t care where they’re from,” she said.

Ordinary people rise

These activists have a history of their own. By the early 2000s, they had helped create several migration-focused groups, including the Association for Legal Intervention, Homo Faber, the Ocalenie Foundation and the informal network Grupa Granica. When Ukrainians began to arrive in 2022, they found an immediate embrace in these groups. Soon, ordinary citizens from all walks of life joined the activists. 

In places like Chełm and Przemyśl, I found countless volunteers – teachers, shopkeepers, retirees and students. None of them were professional aid workers. In fact, many had never volunteered before. The full-scale war in the neighbourhood stirred deep emotions and prompted action.

Renewed sense of nationhood

Volunteers I have interviewed say the experience fundamentally changed their lives, and their view of Poland in the world. Both individually and collectively, they discovered new capacities for compassion and agency. For many, it was also a moment of the assertion of national identity. 

Poland, they felt, was now acting as a full partner in Europe, and, finally, being treated with respect. Upon their arrival, international agencies found that Polish civil society was deeply engaged with the rehabilitation efforts and was not awaiting guidance from outside “experts”.

Soon, international agencies increasingly had to defer to locals, their experience, expertise and preferences.

 A surge of sisterhood

Digital tools can fuel any humanitarian effort, but in this case it brought women together. Groups like ‘Women Behind the Wheel’ placed Polish women at the forefront as they offered free transport for Ukrainians. Women’s organisations reorganised and reshaped themselves to address the needs of vulnerable Ukrainian women. 

Feminists doubled down on their commitment to overturn Poland’s strict abortion legislation. A Polish journalist Joanna Mosiej created a bilingual platform to encourage dialogue between Polish and Ukrainian women. 

Sisters.com emerged to foster solidarity between Polish and Ukrainian women, allowing them to imagine a shared future together.

Impact on Poland’s national politics

Little did they know that the grassroots energy would soon come to impact national politics. It was as if women and youth, who were key players in the humanitarian response, realised the significance of the political and turned out in historic numbers during the October 2023 parliamentary elections. 

Women outvoted men, and young voters surpassed older ones. The result was a decisive blow against right-wing populism. But supporting a new government does not mean giving it carte blanche. 

In early 2024, the new Civic Forum coalition created a Department of Social Integration. When it later adopted a national migration strategy that would restrict asylum access, the civil society pushed back. Within weeks, the government convened its first-ever public hearing on migration. A January 2025 letter from Polish NGOs made their message clear: migration policy must not be decided behind closed doors and without civil society’s input. Clearly now, the government is quietly following the people’s agenda.

Three years in, enthusiasm has somewhat mellowed but not vanished. Citizens’ groups have formalised into NGOs, supported by local governments on language classes, adult education, and youth outreach. 

Many Poles still favor helping Ukrainians, even as they recognise the social and economic complexities ahead. In 2024, more than 100 humanitarian organisations – 80% of them grassroots – called on the international community to maintain support for Ukrainian refugees.

Post-American model of humanitarianism

In a new global order that sees the US increasingly withdrawing its funds for humanitarian actions, Poland’s response offers lessons for such efforts. Even in situations where geopolitical necessity or fear of an invader prompt an immediate response, it can quickly beget a substantial change of attitude. Poland went from a nation that rejected asylum seekers to one that now opened its homes and hearts. 

The transformation was not the result of any policy measure, but of people responding to emotion, proximity, history. It indicated that national responses to migration are not fixed but are contingent on context, leadership, culture, and importantly, citizens’ compassion. Common enemies and racial kinship can help but are neither necessary nor sufficient.

It is also important to note that ordinary people are not just helpers, they are the leaders. Grassroots actors without professional experience launched and led much of Poland’s response. While global aid agencies still dominate the humanitarian sector, Poland shows that locally rooted efforts are viable, more responsive, accountable and effective.

Furthermore, humanitarian action reshapes societies, and volunteering can turn political. Aid work in Poland catalysed civic awakening, especially among women and youth. These citizens are now shaping the country's political future. Aid work does not just respond to a crisis, it also creates new attitudes, civic norms and coalitions.

However, grassroots momentum still requires institutional and government support. Spontaneous generosity is not a long-term solution to the world’s global migration problems. Governments and international bodies must collaborate with civil society.

As the US reduces its aid programmes, Poland’s experience points to a different post-American model of humanitarian action where citizens with capacity and interest fill the void. It is a model rooted in solidarity, not saviorism. It reminds us that the future of humanitarianism is not written in UN resolutions or U.S. aid budgets, but in the choices of ordinary people.

Patrice C. McMahon is the Provost of Minerva University, and a Fellow with the Council on Foreign Relations.

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