Sébastien Gobert is a journalist and expert on Central and Eastern Europe. He was based in Ukraine from 2011, reporting for Libération, RFI and Mediapart. He now works with the NGO Team4UA in Lviv. He is the author of L’Ukraine, la République et les oligarques (Ukraine: the Republic and the Oligarchs).
– Your book Ukraine: the Republic and the Oligarchs explores one of the murkier sides of the country’s political life. What sparked your interest in this subject?
– This book grew out of more than a decade reporting from Ukraine. Oligarchy has been central to my work from the very beginning — my first article as a correspondent was on 5 August 2011, the day Yulia Tymoshenko was arrested. She was sentenced just days later, on 11 August. Those dates stick with me because that moment really shaped my career. And even then, the story was about the power struggles between oligarchic groups and the legacy of the Orange Revolution — it left a strong impression.
Over the years, I kept following these networks. They’ve been a constant force in Ukraine’s politics, economy, finance, and media. I felt it was important to unpack this phenomenon and show what makes Ukraine’s oligarchy so distinctive in the post-Soviet space.
Ukraine stands out because of the scale, variety, and intense competition within its oligarchic republic. It offers a unique way to understand the country, which can often seem complex and hard to penetrate for outsiders.
For a long time, I wasn’t sure this story would find much interest. But after 2022, it was clear the moment had come to tell it.
– A week ago, Andriy Portnov, a shadowy figure close to the ousted president Yanukovych, was killed in Madrid. How do you see this assassination in relation to the “oligarchic republic” you discuss in your book?
– Portnov was one of the key fixers within this oligarchic republic. He was clearly someone who sold his services to whoever paid the most. He started out working with Tymoshenko, then had close ties with Yanukovych, and even re-emerged around Zelensky between 2019 and 2020. He was a master at adapting to political shifts, which makes him a very typical figure of this oligarchic system.
When I talk about the oligarchic republic, it’s a concept well-known to Ukrainians. It refers to the near-total entanglement of oligarchic groups with state institutions—the executive, legislative, judiciary—and of course, the media, the so-called fourth estate. This system was born from a sort of informal pact between Leonid Kuchma and the oligarchs in the late 1990s.
That pact brought these young, aggressive, and often ruthless entrepreneurs into politics, aiming to integrate them into public life. Remarkably, it has persisted through elections and revolutions alike.
At the heart of this oligarchic republic is the presidency. The president acts like a control tower and a mediator between the different oligarchs. Various presidents have played this role to different extents. Kuchma was very much the referee; Yushchenko much less so. Yanukovych tried to build his own vertical power structure. Poroshenko aimed to maintain the oligarchic system while positioning himself as the first among equals. As for Zelensky, his approach has been marked by a lot of amateurism and incompetence in how he’s tried to manage this complex system.
– You say the Ukrainian system is unique compared to other post-Soviet countries. Are there any points of comparison, say, with Georgia?
– When I talk about Ukraine’s system being unique, I mean the durability and scale of its oligarchic republic. We’re dealing with billionaire groups holding vast industrial and energy assets. That really sets Ukraine apart from countries like Georgia and Moldova, which have had lively and competitive oligarchic republics too, but on a much smaller scale. In those countries, the systems eventually ended up dominated by a single oligarch—something that hasn’t happened in Ukraine.
There have been attempts to centralise power here, but each time they’ve been met with resistance—from both the oligarchs themselves and civil society.
In Ukraine, that resistance has taken shape through elections and revolutions, preventing the rise of a vertical power structure. In contrast, in Moldova and Georgia—the two post-Soviet countries most comparable to Ukraine—we saw figures like Plahotniuc in Moldova and Ivanishvili in Georgia take control.
– You describe the oligarchs as largely indifferent to ideology. But what about Poroshenko’s famous slogan, “Army, language, faith”? Did that mark the beginning of a more moderate conservative outlook? Are we gradually moving towards a more organised political system?
– For a long time, Ukraine didn’t really have ideological parties—apart from some on the far right, like Svoboda or the National Corps. Then Holos appeared, representing a wave of liberal reformers from the urban middle class and so on. But is the oligarchic system moving towards clearer political stances and ideologies? I’m not convinced yet. And Poroshenko’s slogan—was it a true ideology or just an electoral platform? I see it more as a political project than a fully formed ideology.
What we still see with the oligarchs is a high degree of flexibility and adaptability. They shift according to circumstances. Fundamentally, they’re capitalist entrepreneurs trying to maximise profit, power, and influence by any means. In the 1990s and 2000s, those means were often illegal. Later on, they sought legitimacy—through politics, media, charity and philanthropic organisations. But the logic hasn’t changed: it’s always about legitimising their holdings, buying influence, and expanding their power and profits.
Take Rinat Akhmetov, for example. Despite losing a huge number of assets since 2014, and especially since 2022, he remains Ukraine’s richest man. He’s still very much in the game, already gearing up for elections, and he continues to have the president’s ear. No matter who sits in the presidency, Akhmetov always has their ear. That just shows how adaptable he is—he knows how to adjust to anything.
– How do you explain that another powerful oligarch, Ihor Kolomoisky, who was a strong supporter of Zelensky during his election campaign, is now in prison?
– It’s a classic case of the biter getting bitten. Kolomoisky operates on the same logic as Akhmetov, but with a much more old-school, aggressive style. He never really left the 1990s ‘bandit’ phase behind—the corporate raiding, the business takeovers. He just couldn’t adapt to the changing times.
What set him apart is that, between 2022 and 2023, the other oligarchs realised they had to lay low, support the war effort, keep on good terms with the presidency—especially under martial law, where the president’s power is much stronger than before. Kolomoisky refused to play that game. He even launched media campaigns against the government through his outlets.
Zelensky and Kolomoisky had an informal alliance early on. Zelensky benefited hugely from Kolomoisky’s media empire, which gave him a powerful platform and helped him run a campaign without making concrete promises—and win. Kolomoisky, for his part, used Zelensky as a tool to fight against Poroshenko.
But it quickly became clear in the first months of Zelensky’s presidency that Kolomoisky wouldn’t get what he wanted—especially the re-privatisation of PrivatBank. He got some concessions, but not the key demands, and tensions escalated fast between them.
– You talk about the mafia side of the oligarchic system. How has that changed under different presidents? Has its influence grown, faded, or stayed about the same?
– The underlying logic hasn’t changed much. The methods have evolved, though, because the times have changed. The oligarchs who were in their 30s in the 1990s are now in their 60s. I often cite Mykhailo Minakov, who pointed out back in the mid-2000s that the oligarchs’ secretaries had changed—from pin-up types to well-groomed, highly efficient professionals fresh out of business school. So both their style and their surrounding institutions have shifted.
The brutal, violent criminal tactics of the 1990s are less visible today, but they haven’t disappeared. The assassination of Portnov is a case in point. We don’t know who ordered it, but it could easily be linked to clashes between mafia-like groups.
The key thing to understand is that oligarchs, no matter the era or place, operate on the same principle: they’re entrepreneurs aiming to maximise profit, power, and influence. They maintain monopolies, run rent-seeking economies, and invest heavily in politics and media. What really sets them apart is the ecosystem they operate in—and the counter-powers that challenge them.
– So, can we say Ukrainian oligarchs are evolving toward the model of Vincent Bolloré or Bernard Arnault?
– It’s not really a fair comparison. The oligarchs of a century ago—Rockefeller and his contemporaries—are very different from the post-Soviet oligarchs of the 1990s, 2000s, and 2010s. That post-Soviet oligarchy arose in a unique context: state collapse, the breakdown of all counter-powers, and the rise of a kind of wild capitalism.
How they’ll evolve now really depends on how the war ends. At the end of my book, I lay out a few possible scenarios. It all comes down to what happens after the war—whether reforms take root, the economy steadies, investment picks up, development moves forward, and if Ukraine gets closer to European integration.
If we imagine the worst-case scenario—a crushing defeat for Ukraine, no support from the EU, a lack of investment—then we could slip back into chaos, something like the 1990s again. In that case, the oligarchs would have little reason or incentive to “civilise” themselves.
But if Ukraine emerges from this war with its head held high, followed by a Marshall Plan and real progress toward European integration, then yes, the oligarchs will put on their suits and ties and show up polished at international conferences. That said, it’s still too early to say for sure.
Another important point is that Ukraine’s oligarchs are getting older, and within the next 10 to 15 years, they’ll have to pass the torch. This could mean a second generation taking over—their children or relatives. These younger figures might be more polished thanks to a Western education and less street savvy or criminal background. But will that really change how they behave? We’re already seeing some of these heirs—children, cousins, nephews—active in Ukraine, and they’re not necessarily much more civilised than their predecessors.
Finally, new groups are emerging that differ from the traditional oligarchs I focus on in the book. These newcomers come from the defence sector, smuggling networks, and new technologies. How they’ll position themselves remains to be seen.
– In your book, you mention three categories of oligarchs: the “old,” the “young,” and the “neo-feudals.” Can you explain this classification in more detail?
– That classification comes from Victor Androusiv. He breaks the oligarchy down into three tiers. The “old” oligarchs came of age in the 1990s—they were around 30 back then, and now they’re in their 60s or 70s. These are the classic post-Soviet figures who built up industrial monopolies and shaped politics and the media.
Then there are the “young” oligarchs, who have risen more recently, often benefiting from martial law and the ongoing war. They’re still carving out their space and are definitely figures to watch because, given their age, they’ll play a key role in Ukraine’s future.
Finally, there’s the group Androusiv calls the “neo-feudals.” These operate mostly on a regional level, acting like all-powerful kings within their own domains—monopolising areas like Odesa or Lviv, but without real national influence.
– You also mention the idea of a “republic of clans,” with the well-known clans from Dnipro, Donetsk, Kyiv… Is that still a useful way to look at things?
– That concept really belongs to the 1990s and early 2000s. It centres on three major clans—Donetsk, Dnipropetrovsk, and Kyiv—alongside smaller regional clans from Odesa, Lviv, Kharkiv, and so on. But today, that territorial focus has largely faded. The Donetsk clan, for example, has all but disappeared—there’s effectively no Donetsk clan anymore. And when people talk about the Dnipropetrovsk clan now, what they usually mean is the Privat Group, which is quite telling.
Over time, these clans have been replaced or at least overshadowed by more structured oligarchic groups that go beyond simple territory, geography, or sectoral lines. Take SCM, for instance—it started with an industrial monopoly in mining and metallurgy in Donbas but expanded into banking, insurance, real estate, energy, and more.
This shift happened through the 2000s and really took shape in the 2010s. So, the old idea of a republic of clans doesn’t really apply anymore.
– You also mention the phenomenon of de-modernisation within the oligarchic economy. How does that come about?
– When we talk about an oligarchic republic, corruption, nepotism, and a monopoly-driven economy that stifles innovation immediately come to mind. It’s basically a rent-seeking system. With a few exceptions, most oligarchs haven’t really modernised or upgraded their productive assets. Take MetInvest and the Donbas industrial base, for example—they’ve mostly just maintained the status quo, with occasional minor upgrades. Their main focus has been extracting resources like coal and metal, then exporting them for quick profits.
Pinchuk’s Interpipe might be a rare exception. But if you look at the Privat Group’s operations, their oil monopoly and iron extraction activities were all about short-term gain. They would move in, take what they could, avoid reinvesting, and funnel the profits into safe havens abroad. It’s a pattern typical of the post-Soviet oligarchy. Long-term investment requires patience, discipline, and a willingness to take risks—qualities Ukrainian oligarchs have generally lacked.
On the other hand, this unique aspect of Ukraine’s oligarchic republic has prevented the rise of a vertical power structure and, with it, the emergence of an authoritarian regime. The ongoing competition between oligarchic groups has actually helped foster a strong culture of free expression in the media—encouraging debate, controversy, and investigative reporting. Ukraine’s investigative journalism scene is quite advanced and something you don’t find in many other post-Soviet countries.
One final point: for roughly two decades, this oligarchic republic has been built on a tacit agreement between oligarchic groups and state institutions to protect the country’s sovereignty.
– You probably meet a lot of French entrepreneurs working in Ukraine. How do they feel about it, aside from the war? Is it tough for them?
– Actually, French entrepreneurs seem happy to be here. They say doing business in Ukraine is pretty straightforward, even with the usual challenges like dealing with bureaucracy—nothing unusual, really. Honestly, I haven’t come across a single French entrepreneur who’s complained. Compared to other countries, it’s actually simpler here. Plus, the workforce is well-trained and professional, which they really appreciate. I keep hearing positive things. On top of that, the government offers quite a bit of support to foreign investors, especially Europeans and French, since they want to attract them. So, they often get a bit of extra help compared to local businesses.
– What role do you think the oligarchs played in the two Ukrainian revolutions, in 2004 and 2014?
– During the Orange Revolution, civil society was just starting to wake up. People had only recently regained a bit of material comfort and confidence that made it possible to take to the streets. It began back in 2001 with Ukraine Without Kuchma, then became more organised and visible during the Orange Revolution itself. The whole movement was really shaped by the influence of oligarchs. I completely agree with the idea of a revolt of millionaires against billionaires—especially millionaires like Poroshenko, who were trying to break through that glass ceiling and secure their place within the oligarchic system. You could say entrepreneurs helped lead the mobilisation of civil society, which was genuine, along with the broader public’s engagement. They provided the means for people to make their voices heard—whether through funding, media support, or steady political backing.
What about ten years later? The Revolution of Dignity was a huge, grassroots movement driven by a population that had come of age in already independent Ukraine. This was a new generation—people who had never lived under the USSR—strongly attached to their country and its sense of dignity.
They genuinely wanted to modernise Ukraine, align with Europe, and fight corruption. The oligarchs, who were also opposed to Viktor Yanukovych, joined the movement but didn’t lead or organise it like they did during the Orange Revolution—they simply rode alongside it.
This shift reflects how much Ukrainian society has evolved and matured, and how Ukraine itself has grown as an independent state. After the revolution, this civic energy transformed into volunteer efforts to resist the early Russian aggression in Donbas. From there, citizens pushed hard for real reforms, getting involved directly in ministries, public forums, and reform initiatives.
Fast forward to 2022, and it’s clear that it wasn’t just Volodymyr Zelensky holding the country together, nor the oligarchs fighting off Russia—it was Ukrainians as a united people standing up to protect their state. Watching this evolution unfold has been truly remarkable.
