In the chaotic early days of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, millions of Ukrainian refugees flooded across the border into neighboring Poland. Among them was Nastya Podorozhnya, a 29-year-old Ukrainian who already resided in Poland but had risked her life to return to Ukraine to evacuate her sister and nieces to safety. As she crossed back into Poland, she witnessed the unprecedented outpouring of grassroots solidarity from Polish civilians that captured global attention — but she also noticed a hidden danger: vulnerable Ukrainian women, reliant on the kindness of strangers, were at severe risk of exploitation and gender-based violence at the hands of human traffickers.
Drawing from her own traumatic experience of surviving an attempted sexual assault on a Polish street in 2016, Podorozhnya made the decision to launch Martynka, a unique helpline and safe shelter dedicated to supporting Ukrainian female refugees fleeing abuse. For years, the small organization, housed in an unassuming two-bedroom apartment in central Krakow, has served more than 100 women and children. It provides life-changing support: helping survivors escape abusive situations, connecting them to critical medical and mental health care, and supporting them to secure stable employment and long-term housing. But today, nearly three years after the full-scale invasion began, Podorozhnya and her small team are fighting a losing battle to keep Martynka afloat, amid a growing wave of war fatigue, eroding funding, and rising anti-Ukrainian sentiment that is reshaping life for refugees across Poland.
When the war first began, fundraising for refugee support was remarkably easy. International donors and local communities poured resources into efforts to help those fleeing the conflict. But today, the international community’s attention has shifted to other unfolding global crises, and funding for Ukrainian refugee support has dried up almost entirely. Compounding this crisis is a sharp shift in domestic Polish politics, where anti-refugee rhetoric has moved from the far-right fringe to the center of mainstream political discourse, especially ahead of the 2025 Polish presidential election.
Research published this year by Olena Babakova, a migration researcher at Warsaw’s Vistula University, confirms that anti-Ukrainian hostility intensified dramatically during the presidential campaign, with nearly all political parties weaponizing anti-refugee sentiment to win votes. Karol Nawrocki, the national-conservative candidate who ultimately won the presidency, campaigned on a promise to introduce legislation prioritizing Polish citizens over Ukrainian refugees for access to public services. His liberal rival Rafał Trzaskowski went so far as to propose cutting child welfare benefits for Ukrainian refugees. Tensions were further inflamed by a diplomatic row over historical memory in June 2025, when Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy honored a WWII-era Ukrainian paramilitary group accused of massacring Polish civilians, prompting Nawrocki to withdraw a state honor previously awarded to Zelenskyy.
This rise in rhetoric has translated directly to violence and hostility on the ground. Official data from Polish police shows that hate crimes targeting Ukrainian citizens have surged sharply: by mid-2026, 180 Ukrainians had already fallen victim to prejudice-motivated attacks, a rate on track to outpace the full-year totals of 275 in 2025 and 267 in 2024. After a string of high-profile assaults on Ukrainian civilians across Polish cities over the summer of 2026, Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk pledged to “wage war on violence and hatred,” but the trend has yet to reverse.
Podorozhnya says she and her organization have been targeted directly. When she issues public calls for donations to keep the shelter open, she is frequently met with a flood of online abuse, which she attributes solely to her Ukrainian identity. “It’s because I’m Ukrainian,” she told the Associated Press during an interview at the Krakow shelter, where she often shares tea and solidarity with survivors, telling them “girl, same” when they recount their experiences of trauma.
The growing hostility comes despite widespread data showing that Ukrainian refugees have been a major boon to Poland’s economy. In the first weeks of the war, the United Nations estimates that roughly 3.5 million Ukrainians fled to Poland, and by the end of 2022, that figure stabilized at around 1 million remaining in the country. More than 70% of these refugees have found employment in Poland, and a 2024 study by international consulting firm Deloitte estimated that they contribute 2.7% of Poland’s total annual gross domestic product. Including pre-war economic migrants, more than 2 million Ukrainians now live in Poland, a key NATO ally that remains one of Ukraine’s most steadfast military and political supporters in the war against Russia.
Beyond the rise in civilian hostility, the Polish government has systematically scaled back state support for Ukrainian refugees, arguing that most have stabilized their living situations. But Poland’s national ombudsman has warned that these cuts disproportionately harm the most vulnerable refugee groups: single mothers (who are overrepresented among refugees, since Ukrainian men aged 18 to 60 are barred from leaving the country to fight in the war), elderly people, and those with chronic illnesses or disabilities. Yuliia Repenko, a coordinator at the Polish NGO Ukrainian House, says her organization is “increasingly supporting people who are particularly vulnerable to exclusion” as state support pulls back.
The Polish government defends its policy changes. Katarzyna Nowakowska, deputy minister for family, labor and social policy, told the AP that the most vulnerable applicants still receive state support, and other refugees should access help through local social work systems. But with international aid also declining sharply, the safety net for vulnerable refugees is crumbling. UNHCR data shows that international donor funding for Ukrainian refugee response has dropped steadily since 2022, when 94% of identified needs were funded. This year, only half of those needs are covered.
“Financial supporters have moved on from helping Ukrainian refugees, but the war is still ongoing,” said Sonia Novytska, a helpline worker at Martynka. “If anything, it has become deadlier since the start.” Last year, Martynka received roughly 1,800 requests for help, and staff expect that number to rise in 2026. It is not just survivors of gender-based violence reaching out anymore: increasing numbers of callers are single mothers who cannot afford food or rent for their children.
Podorozhnya says her organization is stepping in to fill the gap left by the Polish state, and that cutting support for vulnerable refugees will ultimately harm Polish communities too. “What Poles need to understand is that we are helping the people that could otherwise become homeless in their neighborhoods, the people who might start abusing substances out of despair they can’t make ends meet,” she said. “Martynka does the job of the Polish state.”
