In early April, Ukraine’s leadership quietly began taking preliminary steps toward holding new elections, presumably in the event of a cease-fire. “We see lots of signs of activity at [some political parties’] headquarters,” Oleksiy Koshel, head of the nongovernmental organization (NGO) Committee of Voters of Ukraine, told Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. This includes “advertisements quietly circulating [and] millions of special informational bulletins about party leaders being distributed.”
Ukraine’s president and federal legislature were elected in 2019, and new elections had been scheduled for 2024; local and regional votes were planned to happen this year—and almost surely won’t at a time of war and countrywide martial law. This means that Ukrainians won’t have the opportunity to switch out parliamentary parties that polls show have grown distinctly unpopular. Other restrictions apply, too: like limited freedom to assemble and a ban on military-age males from traveling abroad, among others.
“Sure, democracy means regular voting,” says Olexiy Haran, a political scientist at the National University of Kyiv Mohyla Academy. But he, like the overwhelming majority of Ukrainians, doesn’t believe this should happen while war rages. Ukraine’s political class—and polls show that its population, too—is largely agreed that the lack of security during full-fledged combat and the mass displacement of voters undermine the conditions required for a vigorous campaign and national vote. Moreover, it is in clear violation of its constitution, which forbids elections during martial law.
But Ukraine’s political parties are cautiously stepping up campaign-like activities, even though they aren’t broadcasting it — part of a broader pattern indicating the health of Ukrainian democracy.
Haran, among other scholars, experts, and NGO leaders who spoke with Foreign Policy last week in Ukraine, argued that the country’s democratic culture is surprisingly vital. Democracy in wartime Ukraine functions differently than in peacetime countries that take democracy for granted, they underscored. It primarily takes the form of nongovernmental civic engagement—and such activity has deepened since 2022, despite war-related stress, exhaustion, and the war’s financial burdens. “Given the war, the amount of open discussion and political activism is tremendously impressive,” Haran said.
“You can believe we take democracy very seriously, elections or not,” said Iryna Fedoriv of Holka, an NGO that addresses democracy. “After all, we’re fighting and dying for democracy, so we insist that our voices are heard, at the very least. And we’ve invented ways to make this happen.”
In stark contrast not only to Russia, but also to most Western democracies, Ukraine’s democratic impetus emanates above all from the popular solidarity that burst forth during the Revolution of Dignity in 2014 and its aftermath, when Ukrainians united to depose its pro-Russian president, Viktor Yanukovych, and then in response to the Russian invasions that year and again in 2022.
Over a decade, civil society engagement, social solidarity, and public participation have defined the new Ukraine. It is a country in which citizens have bolstered or taken over fields traditionally covered by the state, including the tackling of corruption, environmental protection, caring for refugees and wounded soldiers, and even providing weaponry for front-line brigades. Moreover, Ukrainian volunteers build drones, train paramedics, cook for the front, counter Russian disinformation, and track Russian war crimes.
The furious public engagement reported in much of the international media with the full invasion has become more organized and structured since 2022, its leaders recognized as prominent representatives of society. Surveys show that trust in the fourth sector is second only to the military—both of which will likely rise to the top when Ukrainians vote again.
One such public figure is Oleksandra Matviichuk, a lawyer who founded the Center for Civil Liberties in 2007, an NGO that catalogues Russian war crimes and in 2022 co-won the Nobel Peace Prize for its human rights work. It is one of several nongovernmental groups that actively does so, and has to date recorded 68,000 war crimes, the most recent stemming from the mistreatment of Ukrainian prisoners of war and Ukrainian citizens in the occupied territories.
“In contrast to its weak governmental institutions, Ukraine’s strength is its incredible human capital,” Matviichuk asserted. “Confronted with authoritarian regimes, ordinary Ukrainians took to the streets and threw them out—twice, and then the war. We’re very much a self-organized society,” she said, “which stands behind this state now, but we don’t expect it to do everything. Ordinary people have accomplished extraordinary things: as volunteers, donors, recruits, and across civil society. Our political culture is distinctly democratic, despite postponed elections.”
The nongovernmental sector, attuned to Ukrainian society’s shifting needs, is also involved at the policy level: It fills the gaps as they arise and can work together with the state, including at local levels. A recent Chatham House study underscored how ever more independent experts, think tanks, and civil society organizations have arisen to work together with the state to address the mental health crisis. Their number nearly doubled from 2022 to 2024, and NGOs like Krisenchat Ukrainian, Barrier-Free, and the Institute of Traumatherapy participate in assisting with long-term health policies, too.
Where citizens and citizens’ groups have sought more accountability and transparency from the state, they have spoken out through diverse means, not least through “e-petitions,” an electronic means of collective appeal that with a specified number of signatures—usually 25,000—can entreat government authorities, including Ukraine’s president, the parliament, the cabinet of ministers, and local governments. These branches of the government must respond to the appeals—although there is no prerogative that the petition’s cause (there are thousands a year) be rectified to the signatories’ satisfaction.
In 2023, for example, 62 civic groups and independent media called Ukrainian lawmakers on legislation that limited access to open data—for reasons of security, the law’s backers contended. The petition demanded—and eventually won through the president’s veto—the reopening of registries and reporting on all public spending—as measures instrumental to curbing mismanagement and corruption, as well as self-government. Today, according to the Ukrainian government, more than 7 million Ukrainians use open-data products and services every month. Ukraine even considers itself a pioneer in open-data registries and transparent public procurement platforms.
In another instance, in October 2022, at least 25,000 Ukrainians signed a petition insisting upon the removal of the scandal-ridden Oleksandr Tkachenko as minister of culture. Zelensky eventually had Tkachenko replaced.
“What we’re seeing now is that whenever the government cannot reach the citizens in a traditional way,” said digital rights expert Maksym Dvorovyi of Digital Security Lab Ukraine earlier this year, “it’s using technology to make up for the lost connections. And the citizens respond. This is how the public gets to influence the policy makers, even if this influence is limited by the war.”
In contrast to Russia and many of the post-Soviet states, Ukraine’s governance is highly decentralized, the upshot to legislation dating back a decade. It gave mayors and other authorities of nearly 1,500 municipalities substantial power to administer their own affairs and pitch in when Russia invaded again in 2022. Local authorities organized the refugee effort and directed territorial defense units, which won them—and the reforms—broad respect. Perhaps most importantly, according to an OECD report, the towns and cities underpinned their bond with their citizenry and mobilized them to resist the Russian advance.
“In contrast to the federal government, our local governments are fast, unbureaucratic, and close to the people,” said Oleksandr Slobozhan, executive director of the Association of Ukrainian Cities. Moreover, since local elections take place every five years, they remain legitimate into 2025.
Slobozhan and Ukraine’s mayors, like Andriy Sadovyi of the western city of Lviv, are critical of the sparse funding that the municipalities receive, and demand more control over taxation and the territorial units. But there is no better example than Lviv as an urban center that has forged its own way—and with the enthusiastic support of most of its citizenry. Under the maxim “unbroken,” picturesque Lviv is turning itself into Ukraine’s hinterland center for recovery and rehabilitation: complete with a recently renovated St. Luke’s Hospital, state-of-the-art prosthetics sector, advanced physical therapy services, and clinics for psychological treatment.
All of Ukraine’s democrats want elections to happen again soon—as soon as there is peace. Many, like Inna Sovsun, a professor and liberal-minded politician of the party Holos, are wary of an ever more powerful executive, among other shortcomings in Ukraine. She called Ukraine an “imperfect democracy.” But until citizens get the chance to vote it out or confirm its popular legitimacy at the ballot box, Ukraine’s democracy, Sovsun said, “is a lot of people all doing a lot of small things that together add up.”
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