On the eve of Ukraine’s 35th independence anniversary on Aug. 24, there is much to admire. The country has shown remarkable wartime resilience, secured international solidarity, and deepened its sense of national identity under conditions no democracy would choose.
Yet the achievements should not obscure a harder truth. After three and a half decades of independence, Ukraine still lacks the institutional depth of a mature democracy.
Political parties are for the most part only that in name and personality-driven. Oversight mechanisms are inconsistent. Too much still depends on who holds office, rather than on rules strong enough to outlast them – the essential checks and balances and rule of law.
Mykhailo Fedorov’s dismissal as defense minister last month exposed the weaknesses with unusual clarity.
What looked, at first glance, like another abrupt personnel decision made by the president became something more revealing: a test of whether Ukraine’s democratic ambitions are matched by institutions capable of defending them.
A dismissal that exposed institutional weakness
Fedorov entered the Ministry of Defense a year ago with unusually high public trust, and his standing rose as digital procurement and transparency reforms attracted attention at home and abroad. In wartime, when confidence in officials can collapse quickly and corruption is ever present, that mattered.
In a more mature democracy, removing a minister with visible reform credentials and broad public support would be difficult to do quietly. Parliament would ask questions. Opposition parties would press for explanations. Civil society would have channels through which to keep the matter alive.
In Ukraine, there was protest and media concern, but no comparable institutional reckoning. The decision stood. That is the real issue. Not simply what President Volodymyr Zelensky intended, but what the system failed to do in response.
Sure, Zelensky remains an effective wartime leader with genuine moral authority. The problem is not that Ukraine has suddenly become authoritarian. It is that too many democratic safeguards are still underbuilt, leaving too much weight on the judgment of one presidency.
The missing party infrastructure
In a country with mature programmatic parties, Fedorov’s removal would have become a political argument about the standards by which power is exercised. Yes, questions have been asked in parliament, and concerns expressed, but without much effect.
This is not the first case of this sort under Zelensky. The abrupt dismissals of Valery Zaluzhny, the commander-in-chief of the Armed Forces of Ukraine in February 2024, and Vadym Prystaiko, Ukraine’s ambassador in London, in July 2024, are the best-known precedents.
Regrettably, Ukraine still does not have real political parties that enable modern democracies to function. Its political landscape stays crowded with oligarchic interests, presidential vehicles, and personal projects that rise and fall with their patrons.
What is missing are organizations anchored in ideas, internal discipline, and a vision of the state that can survive a change of leader.
This is one of the unfinished tasks of independence. Without such parties, reform energy repeatedly must find other outlets: charismatic figures, populists, “benevolent” tycoons, temporary movements, or the street.
Regrettably, Ukraine still does not have real political parties that enable modern democracies to function. Its political landscape stays crowded with oligarchic interests, presidential vehicles, and personal projects that rise and fall with their patrons.
What the street protests are saying
The protests after Fedorov’s dismissal have been spontaneous, dominated by young people, and explicitly focused on governance principles rather than personalities or regional grievances.
Protesters aren’t demanding Fedorov’s return because they worship him. They’re demanding it because he stands for something they’d never seen: a senior official whose power derived from competence and transparency rather than connections and loyalty.
Fedorov’s digital procurement reforms demonstrated that a different approach was needed and possible. His refusal to accept Zelensky’s consolation prizes rejected the patronage system that defines Ukrainian governance.
So, for the protestors, Fedorov has filled a gap and provided hope as an example of an alternative. The young, courageous, principled and highly competent figure has emerged more of a hero and potential new political leader than merely a victim.
Indeed, Ukrainians under 40, who have no memory of the Soviet system, fundamentally alienate themselves from both oligarchic networks and personality-driven presidencies. They’ve watched oligarchs hollow out institutions through corruption. They’ve watched presidents promise reform and deliver centralization and tolerate corruption. They’ve watched how, often, a mockery has been made of the “independent” judiciary.
What Fedorov’s support represents is demand for technocratic, transparent, merit-based governance. Officials appointed on competence rather than loyalty. Procurement systems that insiders cannot manipulate. Institutions that function by rules rather than personal relationships. A modern, transparent, and predictable state that works.
At this stage, this generational demand has no institutional vehicle. No party serves their vision. No parliamentary faction articulates their principles. No political infrastructure channels their energy into sustainable reform.
When Fedorov was dismissed, the young people took to the streets – because street protests are the only mechanism available in a system without institutional channels for dissent.
Let’s recall that they had already done so exactly one year ago, holding cardboard protest messages, when Zelensky’s administration tried to curb the powers of the National Anti-Corruption Bureau (NABU) and Specialized Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office (SAPO).
The post-war inflection point
And what are the implications of all this?
Ukraine is moving toward a transition that may prove as difficult, in its own way, as wartime mobilization: the passage from emergency rule to reconstruction and institutional rebuilding.
That transition will show whether the country can finally build the proper democratic infrastructure it has lacked since independence, or whether it will slip back into familiar patterns of concentrated power, informal influence, corruption, and reform by improvisation.
Ukraine is moving toward a transition that may prove as difficult, in its own way, as wartime mobilization: the passage from emergency rule to reconstruction and institutional rebuilding.
Zelensky’s centralized leadership has served real wartime purposes. His ability to rally international support and embody national resistance has been one of Ukraine’s assets.
But reconstruction will require a different political logic. Transparent procurement, parliamentary oversight, EU-compatible institutions, and a professional civil service cannot rest on wartime leadership. They need rules, procedures, and organizations with lives of their own.
This is both the danger and the opportunity. War has created a rare opening when old arrangements are unsettled and new ones can still be built.
But the window is closing. The longer Ukraine waits, the more likely it defaults to familiar patterns: oligarchs reclaiming networks as reconstruction money flows, presidential power re-centralizing as wartime emergency fades, and patronage systems re-establishing themselves absent transparent alternatives.
Already, those anxious to protect the old ways and their interests are rejecting the conditionality rightly expected by Ukraine’s allies and supporters in return for the financial aid that has enabled the country to stay afloat during wartime.
Addressing parliament on July 22, 2025, for example, Yulia Tymoshenko, the veteran political leader who has been both an architect and a victim of the system, attacked the involvement of international partners and foreign experts in appointing heads of anti-corruption bodies, labeling it a form of modern colonialism. She urged lawmakers to “repeal all laws that deprive Ukraine of sovereignty” and reject “external governance.”
The question Ukraine faces
The central question is not whether Fedorov himself becomes a national political challenger. That will depend on ambition, timing, and circumstance.
The larger question is whether Ukraine can build what 35 years of independence have still not produced: parties with programs, clout, and durability, credible oversight, transparent governance, and institutions strong enough to make arbitrary power difficult.
The Fedorov affair reveals the institutional void. The public reaction reveals the demand for a different model of governance. The post-war moment reveals the opportunity.
Turning that opportunity into reality will be harder than rallying around personalities. It will require patient organization, serious coalition-building, and political vehicles whose legitimacy rests on ideas and vision rather than patronage.
The Fedorov affair reveals the institutional void. The public reaction reveals the demand for a different model of governance.
In short, 35 years on, Ukraine has defended its sovereignty, strengthened its national identity, and earned extraordinary international respect. But its democratic maturation remains unfinished.
The Fedorov affair is a warning but also an opportunity and a wake-up call.
Wartime legitimacy, however admirable, is not the same as durable democratic architecture. Ukraine’s next task is to consolidate the institutions that can carry its freedom beyond the emergency of war.
Not simply to expect to be admitted to the EU because of Ukraine’s proven heroism and resilience, but to build the necessary structures and practices at home.
And this is the challenge and task facing the protesters on Ukraine’s streets and those who will eventually return from the battle zones.
The author is completing a book examining Ukraine’s first 35 years of modern independent statehood, provisionally called “Indomitable Ukraine 1991-2026: The Reemergence of a European Nation.”