Warsaw watched all of this unfold with a peculiar patience. The city had experienced the brutality of traditional warfare more intimately than most European capitals. Its streets carried memories that other cities could only read about in history books. Because of this, Warsaw developed a strange relationship with language. It distrusted it.
Cities that have survived too many wars eventually learn that explanations arrive too late. Speeches come after explosions. Narratives are written after bodies are buried.
Warsaw understood something that the Big Four had not. Words do not prevent violence. They merely frame it. And that once violence is framed correctly, it becomes easier to repeat.