At the most consequential hour in Europe since the collapse of the Soviet Union, as a vengeful and erratic autocrat invades Ukraine alluding darkly to the scale of his nuclear arsenal, a comedian has assumed the role of Winston Churchill. Volodymyr Zelensky, the President of Ukraine, has relied largely on his voice to inspire his country’s resilience. The greater part of a dispirited and fractured world has also responded to his call.
Vladimir Putin’s attempt to conquer Ukraine, to depose its democratically elected government and absorb the state into his imperial, mystical conception of a Russky Mir, a Russian World, is in its early stages. The assault has already resulted in thousands of deaths and a colossal refugee crisis. Yet the first days of the onslaught exposed weaknesses in the Russian military. Some accounts may prove inaccurate, but it is clear that Ukrainian soldiers and armed civilians have shot down Russian helicopters, destroyed Russian tanks, and generally slowed Putin’s effort to overwhelm the main cities in a few days.
Zelensky has galvanized his people through the clarity of his language. Churchill, in his essay “The Scaffolding of Rhetoric,” wrote, “Of all the talents bestowed upon men, none is so precious as the gift of oratory. He who enjoys it wields a power more durable than that of a great king.” Churchill employed the wireless, using blank-verse cadences to rally the will of his fellow-Britons and his foreign allies. Zelensky employs a smartphone and the simplest rhetoric to assert his presence on the front line. “Ya tut,” he told his fellow-Ukrainians as he stood on the street in Kyiv. I am here. From his bunker in the capital, he described a Russian missile strike and civilian casualties to members of the European Parliament with such ringing force that even the English-language interpreter could not contain his emotion.
Zelensky is an unlikely tribune. He grew up in Kryvyi Rih, a rough steel city in the southeast where thousands of Ukrainians, particularly Jews, were killed during the Nazi occupation. A mediocre student, he led a comedy troupe called Kvartal 95, and, in 2015, helped develop a sitcom called “Servant of the People.” And here is where the postmodernism kicks in: Zelensky played the role of Vasyl Holoborodko, a high-school teacher whose life changes when he goes on a tirade about corrupt politicians. A student films him and the video goes viral. His plaintive honesty strikes a chord in the Ukrainian people and . . . he is elected President.
“Servant of the People” was an unabashedly broad comedy, more Benny Hill than Noël Coward, and it was a hit. After a few seasons, it occurred to Zelensky that fiction might be realized as fact, that the character he was playing on television just might be what his country required. “I started out making fun of politicians, parodying them, and, in so doing, showing what kind of Ukraine I would like to see,” Zelensky told Joshua Yaffa, in The New Yorker.
In 2019, Zelensky got a great deal more attention than he ever wanted when Donald Trump, with all the finesse of a Mafia don, called to ask for a “favor”: Dig up dirt on Hunter Biden’s business dealings in the Ukrainian energy business or the U.S. would hold back hundreds of millions of dollars in military assistance. It was hard not to recall that thuggish request, a pivotal piece of evidence in Trump’s first impeachment hearings, when the former President declared, last week, that Putin’s invasion of Ukraine was “genius.”
Prior to the war, Zelensky’s popularity had declined. Oligarchs continued to exert influence on Ukraine, not least in media. Just before the invasion, he seemed at odds with President Biden, who insisted on making public the intelligence estimates about the imminence of an attack. Zelensky preferred to minimize the prospect of war. But, when the tanks rolled, Zelensky began delivering his message to his people: he would never abandon Ukraine. “He has a performer’s sixth sense of what people want—he feels their approval or disapproval,” Igor Novikov, a former adviser, said from his home in Kyiv. “In a time of crisis, he is a lens that channels the energies of the people into a single beam of light.”
There should be no illusions. Even the most penetrating rhetoric is not an anti-missile defense system. Kharkiv, Mariupol, and other cities are under bombardment. Russian troops have attacked nuclear power plants. What mercy is Putin likely to extend to Kyiv? Precedent is no comfort. Twenty-two years ago, he annihilated Grozny; thousands of civilians were killed. And he has never seemed as inflamed as he does now.
In contrast to Zelensky, Putin is increasingly disconnected and delusional. His high approval ratings are inflated by incessant propaganda, coercion, and the projection of national stability through bare-chested strength. Having taken note of the world’s tepid reaction to his military adventures in Georgia, in 2008, and in Crimea and the Donbas region, in 2014, Putin carried out this operation with seemingly serene confidence. He clearly believed that he could rely on the modernization of his armed forces and on distraction, weakness, and division in his enemies. He was mistaken.
The complex of economic sanctions thrown at Russia are hardly symbolic. The ruble has dropped sharply. To forestall a colossal sell-off, the Russian stock market was closed all of last week. Swiss banks froze many Russian accounts. Germany abandoned its cautious postwar posture, increasing its defense spending and moving to reduce its dependence on Russian energy. The International Olympic Committee, the various soccer bureaucracies, and countless corporations—entities rarely known for their moral bravery—have coöperated in sanctioning Russia.
Thousands of Russians, particularly among the urban élite, anticipate the end of a tolerable existence and are leaving for Georgia, Armenia, Turkey, and beyond. Those who remain in Russia––the vast majority––are likely to find themselves living in an isolated and profoundly more authoritarian country, perhaps under martial law. “The state is falling apart right before your eyes,” Misha Fishman, one of the lead broadcasters for TV Rain, Russia’s last independent television station, said.
The only person capable of putting an end to the invasion is the man who instigated it. An optimist would point out that, with at least a small number of energy executives and oligarchs voicing displeasure, Putin may be vulnerable to a revolt. But, in the short run, he will do everything he can to suppress dissent on the streets and among his cronies and satraps. Zelensky knows this only too well. His is a voice not only of inspiration but of stark realism. “It’s not a movie,” he said. Spoken like a man who knows that he may not live to celebrate the liberation of the country he has sworn to defend. ♦
