Ukraine’s political infighting gets nasty
As Trump starves it of arms, there is turmoil inside the government
THE CHALLENGES are piling in. With no ceasefire in sight, Ukraine is hunkering down for protracted war. The news from the front lines is not good. Russian forces are on the verge of turning Sumy, a city with a pre-war population of 250,000, into a grey zone. A bloodbath continues in the Donbas as Russia presses forward. Record numbers of Russian drones and missiles rain down on Ukraine’s big cities, sometimes more than 500 in a single night.
On the night of June 30th-July 1st, American military assistance, tapering off since Donald Trump became president, stopped abruptly, with all arms shipments put on hold and some planes even turned around in mid air. No one knows whether this pause is temporary (as last time, in March) or permanent. Some sources insist Mr Trump was himself unaware of the halt; others that it is all part of a plan to put pressure on Ukraine to make concessions to Russia in order to achieve a peace deal, no matter how bad, for the president. But Ukraine’s military drama is only one side of the story. Equally worrying is a backdrop of domestic political fracture, purges and infighting that could unravel the country from within in a fashion far more damaging than anything the Russians can achieve through violence.
Three developments in June set the tone. On June 23rd, a deputy prime minister, Oleksiy Chernyshov—once tipped as a future prime minister—became the most senior Ukrainian politician ever charged with corruption. On government business in Europe, he initially delayed returning, creating the absurd image of a minister for repatriating Ukrainians planning his own self-exile. At around the same time, the cabinet was warned of an imminent reshuffle, and the probable appointment of a new prime minister, the 39-year-old Yulia Svyrydenko. And a renewed attempt was made to remove Ukraine’s fiercely independent spy chief, Kyrylo Budanov—though it ended in failure, at least for now. Multiple sources identify the shadowy hand of Andriy Yermak, who runs the presidential office but in reality is an unelected chief minister in all but name, as instrumental in all three plays.
Mr Yermak’s outsized role in government attracts rumour and conjecture. Standing 1.85m tall, his imposing physicality has become more pronounced over the war, as if feeding off the shrinking frames of rivals. Before appearing as a junior aide to Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine’s president, in 2019, he was known as a TV and film producer; a lawyer; an operative in the fashion industry; and a fixer for kiosk businesses. His political rise has been meteoric and unexpected, but many are unimpressed. Recent articles in Politico described bipartisan American despair at Mr Yermak’s lecturing approach to diplomacy. Some see the prickly aide as simply a lightning rod for wider American fatigue with Ukraine, but the reports reflect a real sense that doors are closing on him in Washington. It has had many believing Mr Yermak would be fighting for his political life. The three plays in June suggested the contrary: domestically, he is stronger than ever.
There is no evidence Mr Yermak ordered the probe into Mr Chernyshov. For over a year, detectives have been investigating claims that the deputy prime minister’s associates bought cut-price apartments in a project he green-lit. But three officials, speaking anonymously, say that Mr Yermak wielded his influence by deliberately letting the case progress, while freezing others. Mr Chernyshov’s real offence, they claim, was that he got in Mr Yermak’s way. First, he tried to offer himself as an alternative conduit for American relations. Second, his downfall cleared the field for the promotion of Ms Svyrydenko, a politician closely associated with Mr Yermak.
The idea of Mr Yermak’s protégé replacing the incumbent prime minister, Denys Shmyhal—an unfussy, compliant administrator—is not new. A year ago, Mr Zelensky vetoed the switch. But since then, Mr Yermak has grown stronger; his rivals weaker. A parliamentary vote on the change is now expected in the next couple of weeks. Apart from the new prime minister, changes are expected at education, health, culture, social policy and possibly finance. One senior official says that “Andriy is completing what he sees as unfinished business. The [vast majority] of the people are his.”
Throughout June, an even more dramatic purge loomed in Ukraine’s intelligence service, with a three-year feud between Mr Yermak and General Budanov threatening to climax with the latter’s dethroning. Sources close to the aide brand the general an erratic revolutionary, building his own political machine. “Ninety percent of the [presidential] office think he’s mad,” says one insider, “and ten percent think he’s a genius.” The spy chief’s allies on the contrary call him a committed statist, and one of dwindling few able to tell the president hard truths. But by mid-June, many of them feared Mr Yermak’s “ninth try” at ousting him would succeed. That turned out to be premature. With his customary mix of coercion and guile, General Budanov secured another stay of execution. The Economist understands repeated White House warnings not to fire him may have helped, at least for now.
General Budanov’s survival shows that President Zelensky retains the final decision, whatever Mr Yermak’s role may be in his system. Mr Yermak seems not to wield power on his own, but derive it from a strange co-dependency with the president, something no source can quite put their finger on. Sometimes, the stubborn aide is simply a proxy for a stubborn Mr Zelensky. But officials insist the extent to which Mr Yermak is controlling information flows to the president is real enough—85% in one estimation—and is creating a dangerous atmosphere of innuendo and conspiracy at the heart of the government machine. “Andriy has monopolised the president’s ear,” says one. “Six years in one room, feeding him with leading opinions. It’s already one person in effect.”
Rough palace politics are no new phenomenon, nor unexpected in a country tested by three and a half years of war. It would be surprising if Ukraine’s exhausted leadership did not centralise decision-making. But the enormity of the country’s predicament—with its strategic situation deteriorating with every day—makes concentrated and dysfunctional power structures dangerous. One solution would be to open up, but that is not something that is expected. The danger for Ukraine is that, as things stand, the country risks deep political crisis and strategic drift. There is mounting concern about what many see as a drift towards authoritarianism, one example being the use of executive power to bar enemies and rivals from participating in public life. “The Russians are slow-roasting us over a low flame,” despairs one senior official, “while we are playing at idiotism with very serious consequences.”
As Trump starves it of arms, there is turmoil inside the government
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