It sounds paradoxical. Worse, it reads like convenient amnesia.
If anyone persistently warned Berlin about policies that would bind Europe to the Kremlin, it was politicians, analysts and journalists from Poland and the Baltic capitals.
Their message was simple: every euro poured into Russian pipelines would come back to us as Russian rearmament.
Chronology matters. First came Nord Stream 1, a symbol of Europe’s strategic blindness, and then Nord Stream 2, a symbol of stubborn error.
Both pipelines were touted as ways to “depoliticize” energy and build bridges. In reality they became levers for Putin’s pressure on the EU and a steady cash stream that helped modernize Russia’s military.
When the first salvos fell on Ukraine in 2022, Berlin reluctantly admitted that dependence on Russian fuels had been a “grave mistake.” By then, however, the damage had been done.
It was not only gas. In 2011, after Russia’s attack on Georgia, German defense contractor Rheinmetall signed a contract with Russia’s defense ministry to build an advanced training center at Mulino—a simulator intended to process tens of thousands of troops a year.
The project was only halted after the 2014 annexation of Crimea. The fact remains: well into a period of Russian aggression, Berlin continued to back the military potential of a country that was already waging war against its neighbors.
Seen this way, the claim that Warsaw and the Baltic capitals “obstructed dialogue” with Moscow sounds like role-reversal.
When Berlin sought new formats for talks with the Kremlin, Central and Eastern European countries— mindful of Georgia, Donbas and Crimea—said yes to talks but not on terms that legitimized the aggressor or saddled the region’s weaker states with the bill.
This was not Russophobia; it was basic realism. History shows that business-as-usual with Moscow has repeatedly had dire consequences—especially for the eastern part of Europe.
Defenders of the old policy dress it up with words like Ostpolitik, pragmatism and responsibility to the economy. But the practice boiled down to one doctrine: cheap energy would calm Putin.
From Warsaw, Vilnius, Riga and Tallinn the message was blunt: don’t feed the beast. Berlin preferred to believe that trade would tame it.
Now the former chancellor hints that a “lack of dialogue” with Putin provoked his aggression. But might it be that decades of policy that furnished the Kremlin with money, time and a sense of impunity made the aggression possible?
One need only look at the scale of energy deliveries and the pace of Russia’s military modernization over the past decade to see the connection.
There is an ironic sting in the idea that those who warned are now being lectured about supposed shared blame. If we are to look for causes, let us do so honestly. The lever Putin used to pry open a door to Europe was tightened in Berlin and Moscow, cheered on by business and parts of political and media elites.
When the door finally collapsed in 2022, the eastern flank took the brunt of the first blow. Blaming Warsaw or Tallinn risks obscuring the lessons we must learn to avoid repeating old mistakes.
A side note: the interview sparked a dispute over interpretation. Some outlets presented Merkel’s remarks as accusing Poland and the Baltics of “shared guilt,” while others noted she was criticizing a specific EU-Russia dialogue format proposed in 2021.
All the more reason to stick to facts: Berlin helped deepen Europe’s energy dependence for years, and German firms aided Russian military training.
In eastern Europe, no one was under any illusions about the Kremlin’s aims. And when invasion came, Poland and the Baltic states were among the first to rush help to Ukraine.
If Europe is to learn, a simple first step would be to listen to those who see the storm coming before it hits.
Sławomir Sieradzki
The author is a senior analyst at public broadcaster Polish Radio.