As uneventful diplomatic talks in Istanbul wrapped up with little more than discussions of a prisoners-of-war swap and vague promises of further meetings, Volodymyr Zelensky found himself facing a crisis much closer to home: unprecedented protests erupting across major Ukrainian cities.
Thousands took to the streets to denounce a controversial law that, according to Zelensky, was designed to “curtail Russian influence” — but which would, in reality, compromise the independence of the country’s two leading anti-corruption agencies at a time when both were reportedly closing in on senior members of Zelensky’s own administration.
The law’s passage sparked not only mass protests within Ukraine but also widespread condemnation in Western capitals. Ursula von der Leyen was quick to issue a sharp rebuke: the legislation conflicted with Europe’s “respect for the rule of law”, and could jeopardise Ukraine’s EU accession prospects. The US government even went so far as to order Zelensky to withdraw the legislation. Meanwhile, Western media gave the protests ample coverage. For the first time since the Russian invasion, Zelensky’s domestic policies were openly criticised by outlets that had previously lionised him as a heroic defender of democracy.
Reeling from the backlash, Zelensky has sought to calm the storm by introducing a new anti-corruption bill that would re-establish the agencies’ independence. But several questions remain. Why did Ukrainians, who have tolerated far more unpopular government actions since the start of the war, choose to protest now? Why did the Western establishment so energetically back the demonstrations? And why did Zelensky even move against the agencies in the first place?
The scale and intensity of the protests were surprising in many respects. Since February 2022, Zelensky’s government has implemented deeply unpopular measures — from extending martial law to shuttering opposition parties and media outlets — without triggering comparable public unrest. These measures have been used not only to centralise power but also to neutralise any dissenting voices that might challenge his government’s “war‑at‑all‑costs” policy, by framing any questioning of the latter as unpatriotic or even treasonous. In this way, measures initially justified as temporary wartime necessities have been instrumentalised to entrench executive authority and suppress alternative perspectives on Ukraine’s future.
Corruption, long endemic in Ukraine, has only worsened during the war. Senior judges, politicians and officials have all faced corruption charges, with the Ministry of Defence repeatedly at the centre of major scandals. These have included the purchase of vastly overpriced eggs and winter jackets, the payment for 100,000 mortar shells that were never delivered, and bribes accepted from men seeking to evade conscription. Perhaps most worryingly, the Ukrainian company Opendatabot reported last year that more than 270,000 weapons had been lost or stolen since the beginning of the war.
Transparency International has ranked Ukraine 105th out of 180 countries in its 2024 Corruption Perceptions Index; extreme corruption is an “open secret”, as Almut Rochowanski, a researcher at the Quincy Institute, wrote. Yet this had not sparked significant protests, doubtless because over the past three and a half years, demonstrating against government policies or even voicing dissenting opinions has become deeply risky Opposition media and parties have been banned, government critics jailed or driven into exile, and “problematic” political figures — such as Kyiv’s former chief peace negotiator — have been assassinated under murky circumstances.
The testimony of Ukrainian dissident journalist Vasyl Muravytskyi, now living in exile, underscores this climate of fear. “There is no freedom of speech whatsoever in Ukraine. Everything is being censored… The situation in [the country] is far, far worse than people in the West might think,” he said in an interview last year. Consider, too, historian Dr Marta Havryshko, who has long warned about the rise of ultra-nationalism and neo-Nazism in Ukraine. For this, she has sustained antisemitic abuse, death and rape threats directed at her and her child by neo-Nazi paramilitary groups. Recently, she was dismissed from the Krypiakevych Institute of Ukrainian Studies under the pretext of “absence from the workplace”, despite being on approved unpaid leave in the United States.
“Corruption, long endemic in Ukraine, has only worsened during the war.”
Another troubling case is that of Gonzalo Lira, an American citizen who had lived in Ukraine for several years and was a prolific blogger. Following Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, Lira began criticising the policies of the Ukrainian government. In 2023, he was arrested by Ukrainian authorities for allegedly spreading propaganda and he died in custody soon thereafter — amid the deafening silence of Western governments, including that of Lira’s own country.
These stories reflect a broader pattern. The Council of Europe has recently condemned Ukraine for “reported instances of alleged intimidation and other forms of harassment of Ukrainian journalists, lawyers, civil society, political and opinion leaders critical of the government”. In several cases, the Ukrainian authorities have imposed so-called “personal sanctions” on over 80 individuals — including Oleksiy Arestovych, Zelensky’s former advisor — severely restricting their freedom of movement, expression and property rights.
Forced mobilisation, or gang-pressing, has also become widespread. Every day, Ukrainian social media is flooded with videos showing men being violently seized by recruitment officers on the streets — often bundled into unmarked vans and in some cases even threatened at gunpoint. These scenes suggest a state struggling to meet its mobilisation targets and resorting to increasingly coercive measures. This reality stands in sharp contrast to the official narrative of a nation united behind the war effort. Instead, it suggests mounting resistance among Ukrainians who see conscription not as a patriotic duty but as a potential death sentence.
Given such widespread repression, it is hardly surprising that Ukrainians have refrained from protesting until now. The anti-corruption issue, however, was different. It could not easily be framed as unpatriotic or “pro-Russian” because, if anything, the agencies are the antithesis of Russian influence. The National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine (NABU) and the Specialized Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office (SAPO) were established in 2015 as part of Ukraine’s post-Maidan reform commitments. Western governments tied financial aid, debt relief and EU visa liberalisation to the creation of these “independent” anti-corruption bodies insulated from Ukraine’s notoriously politicised Prosecutor General’s Office.
NABU’s creation was heavily financed by Western donors, particularly USAID and the EU, while Western advisers provided training and infrastructure. SAPO prosecutors were selected with significant input from Western-backed “civil society” groups and international experts, in a clear sidelining of Ukrainian sovereignty. Former Prosecutor General Viktor Shokin even went so far as to assert that NABU was effectively created at the behest of then-US Vice President Joe Biden in order to “steal the investigation powers from the State Bureau of Investigation to NABU and put there emissaries who listen to the United States”.
In short, NABU and SAPO are widely perceived as Western-aligned institutions. By rallying behind them, protesters likely believed they were shielded from accusations of disloyalty. As Rochowanski noted, the bill arguably served as a “strawman”: a safe justification for Ukrainians to express “pent-up anger at Zelensky, his team and daily grotesque, in-your-face corruption”, and broader frustration with the government and its handling of the war, without fear of reprisal.
This also helps explain the vehemence of the Western response. The issue was arguably less about concern for Ukraine’s endemic corruption — which has long been tolerated — than about Zelensky’s attack on institutions of Western influence.
Could there be more at play? Zelensky’s move against NABU and SAPO came hard on the heels of several attacks, launched via various Western mainstream media outlets, against the Ukrainian president’s increasingly authoritarian rules. So why is the Zelensky narrative changing?
One possible explanation is that Western governments, or at the very least the US administration, have decided it is time to throw Zelensky under the bus, and they are preparing the ground. The delegitimising of Zelensky is something that Donald Trump was very vocal about after their falling out in the White House. Certainly, US investigative journalist Seymour Hersh recently reported that government officials were already discussing potential successors, possibly General Valerii Zaluzhnyi, the former commander-in-chief ousted by Zelensky in 2023.
Aware of Washington’s increasing mistrust, Zelensky’s instinct for political survival has the potential to drive him toward increasingly heavy-handed measures — such as further repression of dissent — which could undermine US strategic flexibility. From a realpolitik perspective, the US might have concluded that a new leader would better manage the optics of a frozen conflict or eventual negotiated settlement, however unlikely those scenarios may seem at the moment.
Could this explain Zelensky’s pre-emptive strike against NABU and SAPO, for fear that these Western-backed agencies could be used to undermine him? Some Ukrainian sources have reported that NABU and SAPO tapped conversations involving Zelensky’s close friend and business partner, Timur Mindich — conversations in which Zelensky himself allegedly participated. In that case, this would suggest that the anti-corruption bodies were already circling dangerously close to the President.
Whether or not Zelensky’s fears were justified, the attempt to bring NABU and SAPO under his control has clearly backfired. Instead of consolidating power, he has triggered the first major wave of domestic opposition since the war began and drawn unprecedented criticism from his Western backers. Even if he survives this crisis, the president’s political position appears weaker than at any time since February 2022. The protests have exposed rising public discontent with his government, and they have revealed the limits of his previously unquestioned Western support.
Western governments face their own dilemma. Having invested heavily in portraying Zelensky as a Churchillian figure, openly moving to replace him could undermine public support for the war effort at home. For ordinary Ukrainians, however, these elite power struggles offer little hope: Their political leadership remains forever bound to the competing agendas of its foreign patrons — agendas that bear little relation to the interests of Ukrainians.
