Denys Gorbach, Daria Saburova , Clément Petitjean
Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, war returned to the borders of a European Union proud of having pacified much of the continent since World War II. The shifts in US policy since Donald Trump’s inauguration have placed the question of support for Ukraine and the outcome of the war at the forefront of EU diplomatic concerns. Media coverage, aligning with Trump’s agenda, has so far struggled to provide adequate perspective on the current situation to illuminate its complexities: What challenges does the war present for Ukrainian society and the EU? What tensions and contradictions has it exposed? Taking time for analysis and reflection, this interview brings together Daria Saburova, a philosopher, author, and member of the European Network for Solidarity with Ukraine (ENSU) and Denys Gorbach, a Franco-Ukrainian researcher at Lund University, Sweden, who helps run the activist website Spilne/Commons.
Mouvements: To understand the European stakes in the Russian war in Ukraine, it seems important to look back at what has happened since Ukraine became independent in August 1991. Can you revisit how the last thirty years unfolded from the perspective of relations between Ukraine and the European Union? Can you specifically revisit the moment of the Maidan revolution of February 2014? Where did it come from, what was its geography, and what were its consequences?
Denys Gorbach: Unlike the former Soviet countries that joined the European Union, in Ukraine and other ex-Soviet countries, the economic entanglement was deeper, making transition according to shock therapy rules impossible. Because it would have had more serious consequences than in Poland or Hungary. This is one of the material reasons why the division line that had existed since at least the beginning of the 20th century between, on one hand, Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, and on the other hand its western neighbours, did not disappear. East of this line, the deep anchoring of the economy in the social fabric manifests itself in paternalistic domination, ensured by informal mechanisms rather than by the rule of law and the market. The latter become associated with “good and efficient” capitalism, as opposed to local capitalism, deemed bad and inefficient, marked by corruption and oligarchy. The very deep socioeconomic crisis of the 1990s changed the geopolitical imaginary of the Ukrainian population, which now sees a world no longer divided into two camps but vertically hierarchised, where western capitalism is associated with modernity, social achievements, but also intellectual, cultural, civilisational ones, etc.
In Ukraine, this articulates with a division that appeared after Stalin annexed western Ukraine in 1939. There was a cultural, economic, and social distance between these lands and the rest of the country. And after Ukraine’s independence, western Ukraine, or rather the intellectuals who represented it, imposed themselves as bearers of a civilising mission to the rest of society, which was perceived as tainted by the Soviet legacy, thus somewhat inferior. It is in this context that we can understand the Maidan revolution of 2014, which formulated the issues of national development in terms of a “civilisational” conflict between the European path of modernity, which means democracy and prosperity, on one side, and on the other, the “Eurasian” or “neo-Soviet” path of obsolescence, which means dictatorship and poverty.
Daria Saburova: Indeed, Ukraine relatively escaped shock therapy. Initially, the ruling classes sought to mitigate the effects of privatisations by maintaining paternalistic structures both at the enterprise level and in managing relationships between political power and major economic actors. Which means that, while Ukraine began borrowing from the International Monetary Fund from the second half of the 1990s, Ukraine never fully fulfilled its obligations in terms of liberalisation. The ruling classes tried to maintain a certain balance between the constitution of the new oligarchic class and the preservation of this nascent capitalism from major disruptions that might come from social anger. Because in Ukraine, precisely, there was a wave of strikes in the late 1980s and early 1990s – notably the great strike of 1993 that followed the first decree on privatisations. And the ruling class was aware of this. It should also be added that in Ukraine, unlike Russia, where Putin succeeded in neutralising the power of the oligarchs through state centralisation in the early 2000s, political life was marked until Maidan by competition between several blocs of the ruling classes.
Around the 2004 election, this competition crystallised into two orientations. On one side, an orientation that tended to be described as pro-Russian, led by presidential candidate Viktor Yanukovych. And on the other side, Viktor Yushchenko who represented the pro-Western, pro-European bloc. In political life, the competing forces now presented themselves in terms of identity and geopolitical orientation. In reality, this divide should be analysed not in identity terms but as competition between two types of capitalism, as I do in my book, “Travailleuses de la résistance : les classes populaires ukrainiennes face à la guerre” (Le Croquant, 2024), drawing on Denys’s work and others: a model of paternalistic capitalism, represented by the Yanukovych bloc, and neoliberal-type capitalism, which would be carried by the Orange camp from Yushchenko to Poroshenko. Paternalistic capitalism is a capitalism that ensures the protection of national oligarchs through their direct influence on politics, whilst neoliberal capitalism is conceived as an ideal, transparent, competitive capitalism, which according to its supporters would ensure the rule of law, equal opportunities, etc. It is this neoliberal capitalism that was defended by the first demonstrations in Maidan Square that began in reaction to Yanukovych’s refusal to sign the association agreement with the European Union. This agreement would have precisely allowed key sectors of the Ukrainian economy to be opened to foreign competition. The protesters certainly did not express themselves in these terms; they carried abstract slogans about freedom, democracy, rule of law, but economically, this is what was presupposed. The professional intermediate layers were angry about the fact that access to the best social positions was reserved for those who had money and personal connections. Their participation in Maidan was motivated by adherence to the principle of meritocracy, by the aspiration to a social organisation allowing them to value their cultural capital in the political environment, in the economy. Maidan’s social base was rather these educated middle layers, even if, of course, the popular classes also participated massively. And this is where the Gramscian concept of hegemonic bloc, which Denys mobilises in his book, “The Making and Unmaking of the Ukrainian Working Class: Everyday Politics and Moral Economy in a Post-Soviet City” (Berghahn Books, 2024), is very important.
DG: It is important not to reduce Gramscian analyses of hegemony to the cultural dimension alone and to remember that hegemony consists of two equally important elements: consent and coercion. Besides the role of apparatuses of constraint, consent is not only produced at the level of narrative; it must be confirmed by gestures of redistribution to the population. But the new bosses of Ukrainian industry, this national bourgeoisie that was deliberately forged and developed by the country’s leaders, anchor themselves in society by entering into a certain social contract with the working classes, the factory workers, who had already been linked by ties of paternalism in previous situations. Economic dependence is reaffirmed on both sides: the workers needed their boss for their daily survival, and the bosses needed the workers as collateral for their political weight. That’s why, incidentally, to this day companies are not very quick to lay off workers to optimise their economy, even under war conditions, but prefer to impose forced leave to preserve the ties that connect them to the local population. And the other popular component of this bloc is the public sector: small civil servants, teachers, but also doctors (who are very poorly paid). This is a group that becomes easily mobilisable thanks to this famous post-Soviet phenomenon where civil servants and public sector employees are obliged to participate in political rallies in favour of the current leader of the region or the state.
Which groups are excluded from this bloc? They are mainly, at the top, the second-rank bourgeoisie. People, especially men, who are rich but not really oligarchs. Then, what can be called the petty bourgeoisie, the middle classes that Daria talked about. Residents of Kyiv and other large cities, who lead sometimes quite precarious lives, but whose standard of living is still generally higher than that of workers and who possess more cultural capital. And small entrepreneurs, the self-employed, who also feel excluded from the tacit pact between the state and its clientele. And Europe in all this? It is seen by these excluded people as the guarantee of normalisation, the guarantee of their entry into the hegemonic pact. Because for them, it’s about the rule of law: it will be enough to respect the laws, to settle corruption so that they are accepted as the truly valuable element of society, so that they are rewarded for the daily contribution their work brings and which the state does not currently recognise.
The situation on the eve of Maidan is therefore the result of the progressive polarisation that took place from the early 2000s to the early 2010s. This is why, among Maidan’s slogans, there is one that was widely taken up by journalists: a young woman carried a sign saying “I am a girl, I don’t want the Customs Union [with Russia], I want the European Union and lace knickers.” So the superior consumer culture is articulated with geopolitical choices to produce a coherent picture of competing civilisations.
M. The Maidan revolution is therefore the moment when the discursive opposition between the western, pro-European part, and the eastern, pro-Russian part, polarises, and where coexistence between these two entities no longer works. What are the political consequences of this revolution?
DS: After Maidan, it’s the opposition that comes to power, which includes national-liberal figures like oligarch Petro Poroshenko or the mayor of Kyiv, Vitaly Klitschko, but also people like Tyahnybok and other representatives of the far-right Svoboda party. This causes disappointment for some Maidan activists, who consider that the revolution has been betrayed, since oligarchs and corruption still dominate political life. Nevertheless, some Maidan activists, journalists, NGO representatives, end up as deputies, like Mustafa Nayyem, the journalist who called for the first demonstrations. Economically, the new power proves more open to collaboration with the International Monetary Fund: a new loan of 16 billion dollars is granted to Ukraine, which begins to introduce the austerity reforms demanded by creditors. Within a few years, there is a whole series of reforms in education, health, the pension system, energy. This series of reforms confirms the fact that there has been a change in the path of Ukrainian capitalism. Zelensky’s election was quite paradoxical in this sense: on one hand, he collected the popular vote as a candidate outside politics, perceived as a “man of the people”; but on the other hand, he continued the neoliberal path, even during the war, with particularly significant reforms of the labour code.
DG: There were also several very harmful initiatives taken in the field of labour in the middle of the war in 2022, including zero-hour contracts. I would also like to add that Zelensky is someone who is sincere with himself. For him and his team, they express this locally popular naïve ideology of the good life in Europe, of the good life under so-called normal capitalism. They are sincere when they express themselves against oligarchy. And indeed, before the invasion, Zelensky took quite a few important steps to limit the power of oligarchs. But in the same way, they are against unions, which for them are burdens that restrict the proper functioning of the economy. And oligarchs and unions or protective labour laws are to be eliminated so that true capitalism can finally triumph. It’s really the generation of small entrepreneurs from the 1990s who have taken power. And to my knowledge, the working classes haven’t really formulated a critique in socialist terms, coming from below, towards Zelensky. What emerges is the criticism of corruption. Especially since the war excuses many things.
What is happening with this famous divide that was very pronounced on the eve of the 2014 revolution? After the annexation of Crimea, the beginning of the war in Donbas, large swathes of “pro-Russian” or pro-Russian-speaking voters are excluded from the Ukrainian electoral equation because several million of them found themselves behind the front line. Those who continue to live in territories controlled by the Ukrainian state are fewer in number and do not weigh as much in political calculations.
DS: The annexation of Crimea and the war in Donbas remove electorate from the potential opposition first to Poroshenko then to Zelensky. And it is the weakening of the potential electorate of the Party of Regions (refounded under the name of the Party for Life, with a splinter group called the Opposition Bloc) that also allowed its gradual elimination.
DG: Poroshenko won so easily in the first round thanks to this structural reconfiguration, but also to the tense atmosphere following the start of the war. Even in regions that are not directly affected, but which border them, the levels of abstention are impressive. This led the new ruling layer to believe that the entire nation adhered to its project. It would take until the 2019 election for this elite to become disenchanted, to suffer a shock when it sees that its vision of the country’s development is not at all hegemonic.
M. You have both worked on the city of Kryvyi Rih, in central Ukraine, about 200 km west of Zaporizhzhia. Why did you choose to investigate this city? What are its specificities? What has changed both in daily life and in the political discussions you have heard or that have been reported to you about political balances in Ukraine and beyond?
DG: Anecdotally, Kryvyi Rih is my hometown, although that’s not the main reason I chose to work on it. There was a real interest in working on this city because for many years, it served as the ultimate hope for the entire Ukrainian progressive left. Because it was the cradle of almost all the struggles that were taking place at the time. So I wanted to investigate further the conditions of worker activism. Over the course of Ukrainian economic developments, the metallurgical industry has become virtually the centre of the national economy, the largest contributor to GDP. And this at the expense of sometimes more technologically advanced industries. In Lviv, for example, televisions and other electronic goods were produced, but these industries died, while extracting iron ore, extracting coke in Donbas, producing steel and selling it to China or Turkey became Ukraine’s specialty, and Kryvyi Rih found itself at the centre of these activities. Especially after the outbreak of war in Donbas, when metallurgical plants located there lost their importance: this elimination of competition transformed Kryvyi Rih into the centre of national economic activity. And therefore the centre of workers’ struggles.
But there is also a very interesting linguistic-cultural dimension. Traditionally, this city belongs to the so-called “pro-Russian, pro-Soviet, pro-Russian-speaking” camp. In my investigation, I showed how these essentialising labels prevent seeing much more fluid and complex identities and attitudes. Competing nationalist ideologies are imposed from above, in the framework of the “oligarchic democracy” of the 2000s, and then diverted by subalterns to serve their own ends: for example, Ukrainian nationalism can serve as a tool in struggles for individual distinction, conducted in the Russian-speaking environment. Bits of ideologies hostile to each other can coexist in a fairly coherent worldview, but very distant from the legitimate narratives present in the national media.
In today’s conditions, it is interesting to see how these antipolitical dispositions are not rejected, or rather to what extent they are or are on the contrary preserved to articulate with the defence of the national cause.
DS: I first participated in the European Network of Solidarity with Ukraine (ENSU), which directly established links with unions, particularly in Ukraine. Notably the mining, metallurgy and steel unions of Kryvyi Rih. I had already made contacts for practical matters, particularly for sending certain materials with union convoys. When I had the opportunity to conduct a survey, I immediately decided to do it in Kryvyi Rih, because I knew I could rely on Denys’s thesis for context on the political and working-class history of this city. To be honest, I started my investigation in Kryvyi Rih because Denys had already done his there before the invasion. But my object was not the work process in the mines and factories; it was the volunteer activities of working-class women. And precisely, in continuity with what Denys just said, my question was whether the full-scale invasion had changed anything in their cultural and political identity.
And what I found interesting is that since 2022, these women don’t fit into any box: we can no longer say they are pro-Russian, Russian-speaking, nostalgic for the Soviet Union, but we also can’t identify them with the pro-Maidan, pro-European, pro-Ukrainian camp. Not only did they not support Maidan at the time and even participated in the anti-Maidan, but they often continue to reject Maidan today. They criticise the way it happened, the violence that took place in Maidan Square, and the overthrow of power by revolution. This shows that the Ukrainian working class is not ready for a socialist-type revolution either, since it criticises revolution as an illegitimate approach to changing power. This critical perspective is also linked to the fact that they have very concretely seen their standard of living decline. Their salaries have decreased, working conditions have gradually deteriorated. They continue to have good memories of the Soviet era, but they develop a more complex and reflective relationship with history.
Today, these women recognise that the Stalinist regime represented a political dictatorship and is responsible for crimes against humanity, such as the great famine orchestrated in Ukraine in the 1930s to force peasants into kolkhozes. And at the same time, they remain very attached to the memory of the Second World War and the fight against fascism. In all the working-class families you can meet, there is someone who fought in the Red Army. But today it’s a memory that is put at the service of the fight against the Russian invasion. This comes up in interviews with people, and it’s also something that is promoted by the local authorities. They continue to commemorate the Red Army’s fight against fascism, but now they say that, just as Ukrainians fought fascism in the 1940s, today they are fighting “rascism”, Russian fascism. So we end up with lots of contradictions in terms of memory, because at the same time, as everyone knows, in Ukraine today, there is also the promotion of nationalist movements, notably the figure of Bandera, who, on the contrary, first collaborated with Nazi Germany against the Soviet Union.
M: What has the war changed in this symbolic opposition between pro-Russian Ukraine and pro-European, pro-Western Ukraine?
DG: Today, it has become impossible to act as if nothing had happened and continue to promote friendship and preferential ties with Russia. This has also restructured the left: the pro-Soviet, Soviet-nostalgic camp is now completely eliminated.
DS: The public space no longer allows the expression of a pro-Russian position. On one hand, perhaps it’s for the best, in the sense that social criticism, anti-capitalist criticism will surely no longer take the form of a kind of nostalgia for the USSR or a pro-Russian position in Ukraine. But one of the dangers, which we can already see is real, is that any opposition to power, any criticism of the dogmas of “decolonisation”, risks falling under such accusations.
M. This category of decolonisation, where does it come from and who uses it? Is it a term that is used by Zelensky and the government?
DG: It is part of the terms that appear in the Ukrainian media after the Russian invasion. This approach first spread among public intellectuals and was then taken up by leaders, including Zelensky himself. If we try to reconstruct the history of this term, I would say it starts with people who were already aware of discussions in the West and who see a parallel with the Ukrainian situation. Probably also partly in reaction to the campist discourse emanating from the Western left, which is nowadays very engaged in the decolonising agenda. And there, these Ukrainian liberal intellectuals read this and think: “But actually, we too suffer from the empire. There is inconsistency and we must rectify things. We must align Ukraine with this agenda.” The problem is that this introduction of the concept into the Ukrainian public space was not at all accompanied by a reading of the original texts and a real interest in post- or decolonial debates. It’s rather a soft concept that is imported and used somewhat indiscriminately to simply affirm the moral right of national defence, but not only that. As soon as you are in a position of power in Ukraine, you can use this concept to justify yourself in almost any approach by saying that it’s for the good of the nation.
DS: Ukrainian nationalists were already talking about the colonisation of Ukraine by Russia in the Soviet era. The Soviet Ukrainian republic was already a form of occupation. Then, in the 1990s, the nationalist intelligentsia began to take an interest in the texts of postcolonial authors, such as Edward Said and Frantz Fanon, to try to apply their concepts to the Ukrainian case. But this really remained confined to the academic milieu. It was only after 2022 that this word appeared as omnipresent in public discourse. In 2015, there had already been the decommunisation law which involved eliminating references to the Soviet era in the public space, notably. And then, in 2023, comes a new law, the decolonisation law. And this time, it consists of removing all references to Russia and the Russian Empire from the public space: streets and statues of Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, etc. Sometimes, the old imperial and Soviet symbols are replaced by national symbols, for example in Kyiv, where Moscow Avenue was renamed Bandera Avenue.
As Denys explained, disguising this nationalism as decolonisation is a kind of strategy to appeal to intellectuals in the West. To address that part of the academic world, not necessarily far-left, but at least liberal left, where today all sorts of decolonisations of discourses are practised in all domains. To say that decolonisation in Ukraine should also be supported. It fits into the struggle within the academic field to give more space to Ukrainian studies. Traditionally, in post-Soviet studies, it was Russian studies that had the most positions and funding. Ukrainian intellectuals therefore say that post-Soviet studies need to be “provincialised”. “Decolonisation” then becomes a strategy for legitimising the struggle for resources in that field.
But the paradox is that inside the country, “decolonisation” ends up striking the real subalterns instead of defending them. It defends Ukraine as a national entity against Russia, but within Ukraine, it becomes a kind of project to purify the nation of elements that still bear the mark of the imperial legacy. Generally, “decolonisation” consists of eliminating Russian culture and language from public space, from education, from libraries, even though Russian remains the main language of communication for a good part of our fellow citizens, particularly the inhabitants of the Eastern regions who are now being pushed into exile because of the fighting.
M: Does it seem possible and/or desirable to you that Ukraine becomes a member of the European Union?
DG: For me, it would not be harmful for Ukraine to become an EU member. And desirable, by exclusion, yes, because from a political-economic point of view, all the potentially destructive things related to EU integration have already happened since 2014, since the signing and implementation of the Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement (DCFTA), that is, the opening of markets, the liberalisation of the economy. There is not much left to do in that direction. On the other hand, potentially positive things related to this are the hope of an influx of Western capital to Ukraine. Because if there’s one thing more unpleasant than being exploited, it’s not being exploited. One can spend hours describing the harmful effects of German investments in Hungary, Poland or Romania, but it’s much worse when these investments don’t come. Which is likely to become increasingly the case for Ukraine. So the question is this: what form will this famous post-war reconstruction take, will capital come? And if so, what will be the geography of this deployment of capital?
The other dimension is everything that concerns democratic rights, linguistic cultural rights, sexual freedoms, etc. It’s sad, but today, in countries like Ukraine, institutions like the European Union are the surest guarantors of respect for these rights and freedoms from a pragmatic point of view, in the absence of a left-oriented civil society powerful enough to counter reactionary tendencies in the country. Once, the Ukrainian left relied on police protection for its demonstrations against the far right; today, it relies on the normative force of “our Western partners” to limit any possible excesses coming from the conservative and nationalist camp. This is also why the US elections were so closely followed in Ukraine: not only because of the questioned arms deliveries and financial aid, but also because Trump’s victory encourages his Ukrainian admirers and marginalises progressive ideas.
Now, is Ukraine’s entry into the EU possible? I’m not convinced. Certainly, over the last decade so many completely unexpected and rationally unpredictable things have happened that today I am less categorical and exclude nothing. Even the visa-free regime, I would never have thought it would become a reality, and yet it has been the case since 2017. But as for becoming an EU member, even if I am not a specialist on the issue, it seems to me that Ukrainians are too sure of themselves and too optimistic about this. It’s a huge country compared to other “new members”, with an economy too large to digest quickly, and whose population is ageing faster than in France. These structural obstacles, unlike the fantasised problem of corruption, are more difficult to overcome. At the same time, this same ageing Ukrainian population has already become the main source of foreign labour for the rest of the EU, even before 2022. We will see what the EU and Ukraine look like when member status is discussed more practically.
M. Since Trump’s inauguration in January, the United States has radically changed its policy of diplomatic and military support for Ukraine, notably through the public humiliation that Trump and JD Vance imposed on Zelensky in late February. How do you analyse this reversal and how do you see the prospects that now open for the populations in Ukraine?
DG:This is not a surprise. Trump and his team have been mocking Ukraine and Zelensky throughout their election campaign, and after his inauguration Trump set about fulfilling what he had promised. For Trump, clearly it’s about ending this cumbersome war, regardless of the outcome. Having realised that Putin is not willing to make any concessions, he has undertaken to put pressure on the other belligerent party, on which he has many levers. The idea is therefore to weaken Ukraine sufficiently for it to accept any condition that Russia wants to impose on it – without the United States giving it security guarantees. In this way, Trump will get rid of this war, and the next one will not concern him. For Ukraine, the question of guarantees is central; they are undoubtedly even more important than the contours of the new borders after a ceasefire. Most people would be ready to mourn the currently occupied territories, and even the famous agreement on rare earths could be accepted, provided that Ukraine obtains guarantees in case it is attacked again.
Being neither a military expert nor a specialist in international relations, I find it hard to imagine a ceasefire agreement, let alone peace, that could be concluded under these conditions. For me, it’s a repetition of the April 2022 story, when the talks ended without ever having begun, because the British leader explained to Zelensky that he would have no guarantee from the West if he signed the document with the Russians. If the United States maintains its current policy, the Ukrainian government will continue to fight despite this, encouraged by the EU, and Russia will continue to advance on the ground. It’s difficult to say how long this can still last and to what extent strengthened support from the EU can change the situation.