Europe’s unease over a strong Ukraine echoes its reaction to Azerbaijan’s victory

In late February 2022, when Russia had just launched its so-called “special military operation” and Moscow’s propagandists were still speaking about taking Kyiv in three days, many experts genuinely believed that the outcome of the Russian-Ukrainian war was more or less predetermined. Ukraine was expected to resist, perhaps heroically, but not for long. The Kremlin had a larger army, more missiles, more aircraft, more territory, more manpower and, above all, the aura of a state that much of Europe had spent decades treating with fear, caution and misplaced respect.

More than four years later, that logic has collapsed. The war has already lasted longer than the First World War and longer than the war between the Soviet Union and Nazi Germany. More importantly, the longer it continues, the more visible Ukraine’s military transformation becomes. The recent strikes on Moscow were a psychological turning point for many observers, not because they were symbolic gestures fired blindly into the distance, but because they formed part of a broader Ukrainian strategy. Kyiv is not merely defending itself anymore; it is systematically targeting Russian oil refineries, energy infrastructure and military logistics. The fuel shortages already being felt inside Russia show that Ukraine has learned how to strike not only Russian territory, but also Russian confidence.

In theory, this should have delighted Western capitals. After the long post-Cold War intoxication with “Gorby”, followed by the era of “friend Boris”, Europe eventually rediscovered the Russian threat and concluded, quite pragmatically, that it was far better for Ukraine to grind down Russia’s army on Ukrainian soil than for Europeans themselves to face that army at their own borders. Ukraine was praised, armed, encouraged and turned into the frontline shield of European security.

Yet the reaction in Europe is not as simple as official speeches suggest. Former Ukrainian Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba recently said something extremely revealing: European leaders in Brussels were stunned by Ukraine’s strikes on Moscow. To say they were impressed, he noted, would be an understatement. But according to what he was told, some of them were also frightened by Ukraine’s strength, because they now see the emergence of a powerful player right on Europe’s doorstep. This is not a paradox; it is exactly how European politics often works. Europe admires resistance when it is tragic, dependent and manageable. It becomes far less comfortable when the same resistance turns into power.

Poland offers one of the clearest examples of this changing mood. Until recently, Warsaw was regarded as one of Kyiv’s closest allies. Poland remains a crucial logistical hub for the delivery of European weapons to Ukraine, especially since Ukraine’s own airports have been closed because of the war. But the political crisis between Kyiv and Warsaw is now impossible to ignore. Polish President Karol Nawrocki’s decision to strip Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky of the Order of the White Eagle was formally linked to Kyiv’s decision to grant an honorary title connected with the Ukrainian Insurgent Army to one of its military units. In Poland, the memory of the UPA remains a painful and highly politicized subject. But the scale and tone of the reaction suggest that this historical dispute is only the visible layer of a deeper anxiety.

Kyiv’s response was also symbolic. Former Ukrainian presidents Leonid Kuchma and Petro Poroshenko, as well as Ukraine’s ambassador to Poland, refused their own Polish awards in solidarity with Zelensky. Ukrainian commentators then pointed out an awkward fact: among those historically associated with the Order of the White Eagle are Catherine II, who played a direct role in the partitions of Poland, Miklos Horthy and Benito Mussolini, allies of Hitler, and former German Chancellor Gerhard Schröder, whose Russian connections have long carried the smell of political corruption. Against this background, the outrage over Zelensky looks less like a matter of historical memory and more like a convenient political pretext.

The real issue is different. Poland — and it seems not only Poland — is beginning to look at Ukraine not simply as a victim of Russian aggression, but as a future regional power. A country with a population of around 90 million, a battle-hardened army, a rapidly expanding defence industry and immense military experience is appearing at Europe’s eastern gate. Few European countries can boast anything comparable. After decades of cutting defence budgets in the euphoria that followed the end of the Cold War, even states such as Germany discovered that their armed forces were far from ready for real war. A strong Ukraine therefore changes not only the balance with Russia, but also the balance inside Europe itself.

And Europe has never been entirely comfortable with strong players on its periphery. Türkiye is the most obvious example: NATO wants Turkish military strength, Turkish geography and Turkish strategic usefulness, but the European Union has never been prepared to accept Türkiye as an equal political actor inside the European house. The reason is not only culture, religion or bureaucracy. It is power. Brussels prefers partners that can be lectured, managed, delayed and disciplined. A confident, armed and independent Ukraine does not fit that model. A weak Ukraine could be pitied, supported and, if necessary, used as a bargaining chip. A victorious Ukraine would be much harder to control.

This is where the Ukrainian story becomes strangely familiar to Azerbaijan. After the 44-day Patriotic War, many political circles abroad reacted to Azerbaijan’s victory not with honest respect for the restoration of international law, but with confusion, irritation and even resentment. For decades, they had grown accustomed to an endless negotiation process under the Minsk Group, where nothing was resolved, responsibility was diluted and Azerbaijan was expected to wait, compromise and remain dependent on the goodwill of “big players”. That arrangement suited many external actors perfectly. A weak Azerbaijan was convenient. A patient Azerbaijan was acceptable. An Azerbaijan that could be pressured was useful.

But Azerbaijan broke that script. It restored its territorial integrity by its own will, its own army and its own political decision. It did not wait for permission from those who had failed for nearly thirty years to enforce the very principles of international law they liked to invoke in speeches. That success shocked many capitals, because it showed that a country outside the inner circle of Western power could act independently, win a war, change the regional order and then force the diplomatic agenda to adjust to the new reality.

Ukraine has not yet reached the same final point. Its war continues, its losses are enormous and its future still depends on many uncertain factors. But the way some European elites react to Ukrainian military success already resembles the way they reacted to Azerbaijan’s victory. The problem is not that Ukraine is weak. The problem is that Ukraine is becoming strong. The problem is not that Kyiv needs help. The problem is that one day Kyiv may no longer be easily manageable.

This is the uncomfortable truth behind much of the nervousness in Europe. Many Western elites support sovereignty when it remains within a familiar hierarchy. They support resistance when it does not overturn the political geometry they are used to. They support justice when justice does not create a new independent actor with its own interests, army, industry and voice. But when a country proves that it can defend itself, defeat expectations and reshape its own future, admiration begins to mix with fear.

That is what happened with Azerbaijan. That is what is now beginning to happen with Ukraine.