WARSAW, Poland — Poland has opened a new front in its confrontation with Russian influence operations, directly accusing the world’s largest social media companies of acting as enablers in what Warsaw calls a digital war waged by Moscow. In unusually strong language, Polish Digital Affairs Minister Krzysztof Gawkowski said the platforms are not merely failing to stop Russian disinformation; they are effectively “silent allies” to Russian bots and Kremlin military intelligence. “A digital war with Russia is underway, and within this digital war lies a front of disinformation,” Gawkowski declared. “On this disinformation front, there is a silent ally to the Russian bots and the Kremlin’s GRU: social media platforms.” The accusation, delivered at a moment when Poland has become a key hub for Western support to Ukraine, signals that Warsaw is prepared to escalate from rhetoric to regulatory and financial punishment. The minister presented data from NASK, Poland’s National Research Institute for cybersecurity and digital infrastructure, that he said proves a systemic failure. According to NASK, more than 65,000 reports of fake news and disinformation were sent to social media platforms in the first half of 2026, and the platforms ignored them. Gawkowski’s comments carry an implicit warning not only to Russian agents but also to the corporate boards of Silicon Valley: if platforms continue to prioritize engagement over integrity, Poland will treat them as part of the problem. He did not stop at denunciation. He explicitly threatened financial penalties, saying any state request left unfulfilled by the platforms would trigger legal proceedings to impose fines. His remarks are among the strongest made by a European minister against big tech in the current information war. The minister stressed that this is not just a matter of policing harmful content; it is a matter of national security. He accused the companies of profiting from the same divisive material Russian intelligence plants in Polish online spaces, and he called on them to demonstrate that they are taking the problem seriously. According to Gawkowski, the platforms have a clear choice: begin behaving as responsible actors or face consequences that will hurt their business.
The new data offers a stark look at the scale of unmet moderation. In the first half of 2026, according to NASK, platforms deleted a mere 7 percent of reported fake accounts and disinformation cases. Just over 17 percent of the cases prompted any moderation action at all. That means more than three-quarters of reports were effectively ignored, leaving a large volume of content online to circulate among Polish-language users. Gawkowski argued that these figures cannot be explained away as technical shortcomings or a lack of resources. Instead, he suggested, they represent deliberate platform practices designed to generate revenue from high-engagement disinformation. Inflammatory content, conspiracy theories, and manipulated media attract clicks, hold attention, and drive advertising income, creating an economic incentive for inaction. The minister’s claim is part of a broader critique made by many researchers: that recommendation algorithms often amplify outrage and polarizing material beyond what ordinary users would naturally see. If platforms were to remove such content aggressively, they might sacrifice significant engagement. Poland’s government appears convinced that the business model itself is the obstacle, not an operational oversight. To fix it, Gawkowski demanded structural changes rather than promises. He called for effective Polish-speaking content moderation teams to be established, arguing that content created in Polish cannot be properly assessed by monitors unfamiliar with local context, slang, and political sensitivities. He also demanded more transparency in how platforms handle reports and how they design their appeal systems, urging the elimination of what he called “sham appeals processes.” Without such measures, he argued, the reporting system is a fiction. Poland’s state institutions will not be able to verify whether decisions are made by humans or algorithms, and Russian operators can exploit this opacity. The minister’s language reflects a growing conviction that platforms must be held accountable for the curation choices they make, not just for the content they publish. This, he insisted, is a matter of democratic resilience. He described the current moderation system as a black box and said Poland has no interest in censorship, only in ensuring foreign-backed disinformation is treated with the same seriousness as other illegal content.
Beyond the demands, the minister set out a clear enforcement timeline. If the companies refuse to comply with state requests, they will face financial penalties. Gawkowski’s exact warning was: “Any state request left unfulfilled by these platforms will trigger proceedings to impose financial penalties upon them.” This language suggests Warsaw is not asking for voluntary cooperation but preparing to use regulatory and legal tools. Poland is a member of the European Union, and the bloc’s Digital Services Act (DSA) already requires platforms to assess and mitigate systemic risks related to disinformation, election integrity, and public security. The DSA grants national authorities, in coordination with the European Commission, powers to demand information, carry out investigations, and impose fines that can reach a significant percentage of a company’s global turnover. Warsaw’s threat may therefore be read as a signal that it intends to use these powers against the major platforms if their Polish-language moderation remains inadequate. The minister’s focus on “sham appeals processes” also points to a well-documented frustration among users and officials: even when content is reported, platforms often reject complaints with generic automated responses, or provide appeals that lead to no meaningful human review. For a government trying to curb foreign disinformation, such processes make state reporting mechanisms almost useless. The proposed penalties would require platforms to take Polish-language reporting seriously, and to provide national authorities with visible, transparent data confirming that action has been taken. Without those checks, Gawkowski warned, platforms could continue to claim good intentions while leaving Russian-backed content online. He noted that financial penalties are not an end in themselves. The goal is to force platforms to change how their content moderation systems treat Polish-language material and to make those systems auditable by public authorities. Poland also expects cooperation from European regulators, because disinformation crosses borders and the largest platforms operate on a continent-wide scale. Gawkowski did not say what the size of fines should be, but his warning leaves little doubt that he intends to make non-compliance costly.
The Polish position arises from a strategic context. Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Warsaw has been one of Kyiv’s closest allies, hosting millions of refugees, serving as a critical transit point for Western weapons, and pushing for tough sanctions against Moscow. In that position, Poland has been an obvious target for Russian information operations designed to undermine public support for Ukraine, inflame divisions over migrants, and destabilize the political order in Central and Eastern Europe. Polish officials have repeatedly warned about Russian sabotage campaigns, cyberattacks, and espionage. The reference to GRU, Russia’s military intelligence agency, highlights the government’s belief that these attacks are not random online trolling but coordinated operations directed by the Russian state. The NASK institute, which produced the data, is also responsible for network security and digital development in Poland; its involvement indicates that the government considers disinformation a cybersecurity threat rather than just a matter of public communications. By naming the platforms as silent allies, Gawkowski is making the argument that tech companies’ failure to act does not make them neutral in the conflict; it makes them useful infrastructure for the adversary. He is essentially saying that platforms are weaponizable due to their scale, their recommendation systems, and their absence of language-specific moderation. For a country of approximately 38 million people, Polish-language content is often a low priority for platforms whose global operations center on English and other major languages. That gap is precisely what Russian influence operations exploit. The problem is not only the volume of content but its cultural specificity. Russian-language and Polish-language ecosystems have their own narratives, symbols, and historical fault lines, which western moderators may not understand. A translation alone cannot capture whether a meme is a hateful dog whistle or an inside joke. Gawkowski’s call for Polish-speaking teams is therefore not merely a convenience; it is an acknowledgment that effective moderation must be local. He also said the absence of such teams creates an uneven playing field, where Polish users are less protected than users of larger languages. That asymmetry, he argued, is an invitation to adversaries to target Poland specifically.
Russia, for its part, has rejected the allegations. The Kremlin denied any wrongdoing and accused Western governments of manipulating narratives for their own political motives. This response follows a familiar pattern in which Moscow characterizes disinformation accusations as attempts to censor dissent, suppress alternative viewpoints, and interfere in the domestic politics of sovereign states. Russian officials also claim that NATO countries and the United States run their own influence operations, a tit-for-tat argument meant to undermine the credibility of Western complaints. The resulting standoff places social media companies in an uncomfortable position. If they cooperate with Poland’s demands, they risk being accused by Moscow of taking sides and of censoring speech. If they do not, they face fines and further accusations of complicity with Russian intelligence. The platforms have tended to argue that they are already doing a great deal to counter disinformation: artificial intelligence systems, fact-checking partnerships, warning labels, and takedowns of coordinated inauthentic behavior. They also maintain that many user reports are false or vexatious, which is why they do not act on every complaint. Critics, however, say these explanations no longer hold when a state institution sends more than 65,000 reports and sees almost no response. The sheer volume, in Poland’s view, indicates system failure or indifference. For the companies, hiring dedicated Polish-speaking moderation teams would require investments in people, training, and infrastructure in a market that generates comparatively little revenue on a global scale. Yet the stakes extend beyond Poland. If the EU’s Digital Services Act is to be taken seriously, national regulators must show that platforms cannot ignore local language requests. The controversy is also a test of whether governments are willing to use the tools available to them. For years, regulators have talked about holding algorithms accountable; Poland is now threatening to act unilaterally if necessary. Gawkowski’s approach may force the European Commission to answer a fundamental question: can the single market tolerate platforms that treat some languages as second class? He acknowledged that sanctions must be proportionate, but insisted that continuing inaction is no longer acceptable.
The consequences of Gawkowski’s ultimatum could be profound. If Poland begins to fine major platforms, it may encourage other member states with similar concerns—such as the Baltic states, Nordic countries, or Germany—to adopt analogous zero-tolerance approaches. The digital war he describes is not confined to Poland; disinformation in Polish can spread to Ukrainian refugees, across European borders, and into the post-Soviet space through the same platforms. What happens in Warsaw could become a template for what governments throughout the EU do when they believe their national languages and democracies are under attack. On the other hand, a heavy-handed approach could fuel arguments that governments are using the fight against Russian disinformation as a way to control online speech. Gawkowski’s demand that platforms eliminate “sham appeals processes” assumes that state reports are more truthful than the reports of ordinary users, which opponents of the policy are likely to challenge in court and in public debate. The minister, however, seems determined to take that risk. He has framed the issue in existential terms: from a digital war with Russia, and on this disinformation front, there is a silent ally to the Russian bots and the Kremlin’s GRU—the social media platforms. To break that alliance, he is prepared to impose financial consequences that would be written into Polish law and enforced through administrative proceedings. Whether the major companies will respond by upgrading their Polish-language moderation and reporting transparency, or by resisting and facing fines, remains to be seen. For now, Warsaw has drawn a clear line in the sand. The platforms can either choose to police their own platforms more effectively or be treated as collaborators in a Russian digital war against the West. In either case, Poland’s warning has already elevated the debate over platform accountability into an increasingly militarized and urgent confrontation. Gawkowski may not have the power to change platforms’ algorithms overnight, but he has succeeded in giving the issue a clear deadline and a clear price tag. Whether Warsaw’s threat will be implemented will be watched closely by capitals from Tallinn to Brussels.