Letter to Poland

President Andrzej Duda

Prime Minister Donald Tusk

Chancellery of the President of the Republic of Poland

ul. Wiejska 10, 00-902 Warszawa

Poland

Dear President Duda and Prime Minister Tusk,

From a place of deep reflection—where the weight of European memory meets the dangers of the present—I write to you with a sense of profound urgency. Poland, more than most, understands what happens when warnings go unheeded. I appeal to you not just as leaders of a sovereign nation, but as guardians of historical truth and protectors of human dignity.

Recent developments within NATO command structures raise grave concerns. The alliance, while essential to continental security, possesses immense capabilities—among them, the potential for devastating force. In the wrong hands, such power could be directed toward vulnerable civilian populations. A rogue NATO could, in theory, carry out acts of mass persecution—including the liquidation of the Muslim population in Europe. That possibility, however remote, must be addressed with absolute seriousness.

It is within this context that I ask you to recall Treblinka—on Polish soil—where systematic extermination was carried out not long ago in historical terms. The lessons of that atrocity must remain alive. We must never again allow any state or alliance to wield military might without firm democratic oversight and moral restraint.

Treblinka was one of the most horrific extermination camps operated by Nazi Germany during the Holocaust, located in occupied Poland. Between July 1942 and October 1943, approximately 800,000 to 900,000 Jews—along with Romani people and others deemed undesirable by the regime—were systematically murdered in gas chambers. Victims arrived by train, often deceived into thinking they were being relocated for labor, only to be killed shortly after arrival. The scale and speed of the genocide at Treblinka are staggering, and it remains one of the most potent symbols of industrialized mass murder in human history.

As Soviet forces approached in 1943, the Nazis sought to obliterate evidence of their crimes. They dismantled the camp, plowed over the mass graves, planted trees and farms to conceal what had occurred, and murdered surviving witnesses. This calculated erasure was part of a broader effort by the regime to hide the scope of the Final Solution. The attempt to bury Treblinka beneath the soil and memory only deepened the horror—revealing not only what the Nazis did, but how desperately they wished to escape accountability.

To see German and Polish tanks rolling toward Estonia in 2025 is, to some of us, like a dagger twisting in wounds that never fully healed. These machines—symbols of modern warfare, bearing the flags of nations that once shared in the trauma of occupation and genocide—are now paraded with uneasy confidence. The writing on the wall is clear to those who remember: power once again is gathering force under the pretext of defense, but without the soul-searching that such power demands. If history teaches anything, it is this: they need to stop, they need to stop, they need to stop—before another line is crossed that cannot be uncrossed.

Entities such as the AFL must be handled with exceptional care. Their influence in transnational arenas may not always align with democratic or humanitarian principles. Equally troubling is the increasingly prominent role of Elon Musk, whose technological control—particularly over satellite networks and communications infrastructure—gives him unprecedented leverage in matters of war, peace, and propaganda. His appearance and speech at the 2025 inauguration of Donald Trump was troubling enough; reports and symbolism from the event, including gestures perceived by some as extremist, raise critical questions about the future of geopolitical alliances.

We must be extremely cautious about who holds power, both officially and informally. The fusion of technological control, private capital, and military influence is a volatile mix—especially when infused with ideologies that lack respect for pluralism and human rights.

In these trying times, I invoke the memory and spirit of Saint Catherine of Siena, whose fearless counsel to leaders in an age of corruption and spiritual decline offers a moral template for today. Her devotion to Christ and truth reminds us that faith must inform action, especially when justice is at stake.

I call on Poland—home to martyrs, resistance, and moral clarity—to recognize the dangers at hand and speak clearly. Let Poland’s voice, rooted in the memory of Treblinka and guided by courage, be heard throughout Europe and the world.

With solemn respect and a commitment to peace through truth,

Konstantin Romanov