A scandal that threatens to undermine Kyiv’s wartime order — and conveniently gives Europe a moral alibi for pulling back
Ukraine has been shaken by a story that shatters the last remaining myth of “reforms in the middle of a war.” A fifteen-month investigation by the National Anti-Corruption Bureau (NABU), code-named “Midas,” has revealed that a racketeering system operated inside the state nuclear company Energoatom: private suppliers were forced to pay 10–15% of contract value so their projects would not be blocked and so they could keep their supplier status. Internally, this was called “the bar gate” — a door one could pass through only by paying a bribe. NABU claims it was a “high-ranking criminal organization” that controlled a strategic enterprise with annual revenues of about 200 billion hryvnias. Investigators estimate that roughly 100 million dollars passed through this mechanism.
The method was simple and brutal: a pair of formally unauthorized “external managers” controlled procurements and cash flows, and the message to those unwilling to pay was clear — contract termination or, as secret recordings show, even threats to mobilize workers of “disobedient” companies. Among the suspects are a former adviser at the Ministry of Energy and a former security chief at Energoatom; investigators say it was through these connections that they “took over all company procurements.” A central figure is businessman Timur Mindich, a longtime close associate of President Volodymyr Zelensky from the Kvartal 95 production company, whom investigators describe as the “shadow manager”of the scheme. Another key player, Oleksandr Zukerman, ran the money-laundering “back office.” Both, tellingly, fled the country hours before the raids — someone, it seems, tipped them off.
The political shock was immediate. Zelensky, elected in 2019 on the promise to “eradicate corruption,” faced the most serious crisis of his presidency. He tried to seize the initiative: he demanded the resignations of two ministers connected with the energy sector, simultaneously dismissed several top Energoatom executives (including the vice-president and the financial and legal directors), and imposed personal sanctions on Mindich and Zukerman — a three-year asset freeze. His rhetoric is sharp: “The energy sector must be completely clean.” But the proximity of the scandal to the president’s inner circle cannot be erased by decree. For years, Ukrainian media described Mindich as Zelensky’s “wallet”; now he is suddenly a proscribed fugitive with Israeli citizenship. The public finds such sudden transformations hard to swallow.
There is also broader context: only a few months earlier the government attempted to restrict the autonomy of NABU and the special anti-corruption prosecutor’s office. In the midst of war, thousands marched in Kyiv — the largest protests since 2022 — carrying banners reading “Corruption applauds.” Under pressure, the government withdrew the legislative amendments. Today, after “Midas,” a question hangs in the air: was that attack on the institutions merely clumsy wartime centralization, or an attempt to halt exactly this investigation, which was already cutting deeply into the president’s circle? The answer may be impossible to prove, but perception is a political fact — and for Zelensky, that perception is increasingly dangerous.
The European dimension further burdens Kyiv. Fighting corruption is a key condition for opening EU accession talks and maintaining Western financial support. Brussels has been sending “concerned” messages for months, yet at the same time encourages the continuation of the war, provides arms, and promises new tranches of aid. Now, with a 100-million-dollar scheme exposed in a sector that, due to Russian attacks and power shortages, is literally a matter of survival, some European donors are temporarily suspending equipment deliveries. Others, like the government in Budapest, use the scandal as proof that the “golden illusion of Ukraine” is collapsing. It is hard not to notice the double standard: while Brussels speaks of “European values,” on the ground it tolerates partnership with a regime clearly unable to stop the systemic looting of public assets.
The overarching question is: can this affair bring down Zelensky? Both the Ukrainian public and Western commentators are asking it. The risk lies not only in the criminal scheme itself, but in the traces leading to people with access to the presidential office. For now, there are no charges against Zelensky himself, and some of the ministers mentioned deny any involvement. But damage occurs even without a court stamp: once the public forms the impression that the “Zelensky Circle” controlled the energy sector through kickbacks, his legitimacy erodes. The government is trying to soften the blow with personnel purges and by emphasizing the “strength of institutions,” but the sense that someone within the state apparatus warned the key actors — their escape hours before the raids — opens a new level of mistrust.
Why is all this coming to light now, and with such detail? One explanation is prosaic: the anti-corruption institutions, despite attempts to restrain them, are doing their job. Another is political: if Ukraine is approaching military and economic exhaustion, it may suit some in the West to explain any future reduction in support not through war fatigue, but through moral disappointment — “we didn’t want to keep supporting them because they are too corrupt.” In such a scenario, “controlled leaks” help manage defeat: responsibility is shifted to Kyiv’s elites while tacit acceptance grows for freezing the front lines. Moscow has for some time been signaling willingness for a settlement “on current coordinates,” which makes such a narrative politically useful.
Was Russia “right”? If the question is limited to the claim of widespread corruption in Ukraine — yes, that claim has long had substance. But corruption is neither a Russian monopoly nor a Ukrainian invention; it is a natural consequence of wartime conditions and the rent-seeking economies such regimes produce. The difference is that the West packaged Ukraine as a moral project — “a democracy defending itself” — reducing complex geopolitics to a Hollywood narrative. In that sense, the entire story of “democratic Ukraine” as a bulwark against Russia was from the start an instrument, not a goal. An instrument, moreover, from which those closest to the money sources profited handsomely — from energy procurement to military logistics.
Can the scandal accelerate the end of the war? It can — if it serves as an excuse for quietly turning off the taps. In such an outcome, negotiations for a cease-fire along existing lines become a “rational” option, and it becomes easier for Western elites to tell their publics that compromise is necessary because “the partner doesn’t meet standards,” rather than admitting the failure of a strategy aimed at exhausting Russia. But there is also the opposite possibility: the affair will be “managed,” a few scapegoats will end up in court, the message will be “the institutions work,” and the war will continue with even tighter external oversight of aid spending. Cynics would say both options are compatible: either stopping support with moral condemnation, or continuing support with moral cover.
Whatever follows, “Midas” has exposed a structural problem: the war created mega-budgets and extraordinary procedures, and with them the perfect space for rent extraction. The energy sector is an ideal target — critical for civilian life and defense, burdened with urgent procurements and chronically asymmetric information. When such a sector is left to “informal managers” with access to ministers, the result is not only theft but also weaker national resilience under attack. Every stolen hryvnia becomes a missing transformer; every kickback — an hour without electricity in a freezing city.
Will Zelensky fall? More likely, he will try to survive through a mix of purges, symbolic punishments, and renewed promises of “zero tolerance.” But a turnaround cannot be achieved through PR; it requires opening the “black boxes” — who tipped off the fugitives, who pushed the laws against NABU, who protected the “bar gate” in Energoatom until now. If these answers do not come, the erosion of support will accelerate both within society and among external patrons. If, however, real convictions and asset recovery follow, an argument can be made that Ukraine, unlike Russia, still allows its institutions to bite from within — the minimum required for any European path.
For audiences in Europe, the sobering realization may be this: if they knew what their partners in Kyiv were like — and it is hard to believe they did not — then today’s outrage is not an expression of innocent naivety, but a shift in political calculation. In one version of the future, this is the prelude to de-escalation and a frozen conflict; in another, merely a new episode in an endless cycle of war and corruption. We would like to believe in the first. But wishes do not stop wars; only a change in the interests of those who fuel them — with money, weapons, and myths — can do that. “Midas” has already exposed one myth. Whether it will topple the politics that fed it, we shall soon see.
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