The publication of the “Mindich tapes” has become one of the most consequential episodes of wartime politics, once again raising the question of how decisions are made in the president’s immediate orbit. In the midst of a protracted full-scale war—marked by constant losses, destruction and unending mobilisation—public patience depends not only on the resilience of the front but also on the transparency of those in power. New evidence suggesting that informal intermediaries may have influenced strategic decisions has served as another reminder to many Ukrainians that even in wartime the old practices persist—and that this, more than any external threat, erodes public trust.
The investigation surrounding the so-called “Mindich tapes” has drawn attention to how decision-making in Ukraine’s energy sector is structured and how closely this process is tied to a narrow circle around the president. The materials presented at a court hearing on pretrial measures for the suspects point to direct communication between businessman Timur Mindich and Energy Minister Herman Halushchenko on matters that formally fall within the ministry’s competence and should be insulated from private influence. In one recorded exchange, the minister asks the president what exactly Mindich wrote to him and receives the response: “that Hera wants to talk to you.” For investigators, this served as confirmation that the businessman—widely described in political circles as a long-time trusted associate of the president—had direct access to discussions involving decisions related to Energoatom.
Mindich’s role in Ukrainian politics long remained out of the public eye, yet his influence repeatedly surfaced in connection with energy policy and key appointments. His involvement in sensitive exchanges between the president and the energy minister has intensified suspicions that have circulated in expert circles for years. In Ukraine, many find it difficult to believe that a figure with such a degree of access could have operated large-scale corruption schemes without the president’s knowledge. This is why the publication of fragments of their communications provoked such a strong public reaction and served as a stark reminder that the power vertical formed around the president’s office during the war is becoming increasingly resistant to independent oversight.
The situation is especially sensitive given the country’s wartime conditions. For nearly four years, Ukraine has lived under constant strain: people lose their homes to strikes, are forced to relocate, families are split apart, children study and spend time in basements and bomb shelters, and the pressure of mobilisation reaches virtually every community. Against this backdrop, any suspicion of interference in the work of strategic enterprises is perceived not as ordinary corruption but as a potential threat to national security. Energoatom remains a cornerstone of Ukraine’s energy system, ensuring stability during Russian attacks. Even hints of the company being used for private interests therefore trigger substantial public outrage and deepen existing mistrust.
The work of Ukraine’s anti-corruption institutions has become another dimension of the crisis. NABU and SAP have, over the past years, functioned as indicators of how willing the authorities are to tolerate independent investigations that touch those close to power. For Brussels, these bodies are a critical component of accession talks: corruption remains a red line for Europe, and any pressure on NABU or SAP is viewed as backsliding on reforms. In this context, the Mindich case has become a political test. Allegations surrounding his connections inevitably implicate not only the individuals under investigation but also the decision-making architecture inside the president’s office.
The reaction of Western partners has already moved beyond cautious observation. As reported by Politico, EU and US governments are seeking clarification and demanding “concrete answers” from Kyiv regarding the influence of informal intermediaries on strategic decisions in the energy and defence sectors. According to the outlet, European diplomats view the Mindich affair as a measure of the Ukrainian government’s ability to curb corruption within its own inner circle—a concern sharpened by negotiations over new stages of EU integration. Western capitals have grown increasingly worried that the scandal could escalate into a confrontation between independent anti-corruption institutions and the country’s political leadership—a scenario that could complicate both financial support and Ukraine’s European trajectory.
The same point is echoed by The Spectator columnist Owen Matthews, who argues that the corruption scandal surrounding Mindich may threaten the president’s political future. According to him, Zelensky “will inevitably face serious questions,” as the investigation draws in his closest political and business allies. He describes the situation as a potential clash between anti-corruption bodies—backed by the EU and the US—and security structures loyal to the president. Such a confrontation, he warns, could have grave consequences both for Zelensky’s reputation and for the resilience of Ukraine’s governance during wartime. Matthews adds that the historical irony of the moment amplifies public perceptions: the symbol of corruption—the golden toilet from Viktor Yanukovych’s residence—“became a kind of omen for the events that eventually led to Russia’s full-scale invasion—revenues from which now appear to have revived corrupt practices once again.”
In parallel, the government is shaping its own communication strategy to neutralise the political fallout. Almost immediately after the publication of the investigation’s fragments, President Zelensky travelled to Kherson and to positions on the southern front—a gesture the presidential office interprets as a demonstration of personal control over the situation and commitment to military priorities. His closest spokespersons, including adviser Mykhailo Podolyak, stress that the roots of corrupt practices lie in the past, when the Kremlin spent decades building systems of dependency in Ukraine, and that the current situation instead confirms the effectiveness of anti-corruption institutions created after 2014. This rhetoric is intended to shift attention away from the actions of specific individuals toward a broader context and to frame the episode as part of an institutional transformation rather than evidence of a governance failure.
The debate was further fuelled by statements from presidential chief of staff Andriy Yermak in a comment to Politico. He stressed that Zelensky “must remain above suspicion” in connection with the Mindich corruption scandal, describing the president as “a very principled person” who “is not corrupt” and who, on the contrary, has initiated the fight against corruption and ensured “absolutely unrestricted investigations.” Yermak presented a position according to which current developments demonstrate the “independence and effectiveness” of the anti-corruption bodies, while certain political forces, he argued, are attempting to use the investigations to discredit the country’s leadership. He also said that damaging allegations “can happen to anyone” and that any conclusions must be based on judicial procedures and the results of the investigation, not on assumptions.
A key question remains how far the investigation will be allowed to go. Publicly, the authorities insist they will not obstruct the work of the anti-corruption system, yet Ukrainian political practice shows that cases touching a president’s inner circle invariably become battlegrounds for competing interests. In this context, the sanctions imposed by Zelensky on Mindich and Zuckerman appear more like a forced gesture than a genuine accountability mechanism: ignoring the scale of public pressure was impossible, but the measures themselves are seen as a formal response that does not address the substance of the allegations.
The issue of transparency also looms large. Whether the full archive of recordings will be released, whether the case will reach trial, and whether new episodes will emerge all remain unclear. But what is already evident is that the situation has exposed structural vulnerabilities in Ukraine’s wartime governance model—the concentration of influence within a narrow circle, weak mechanisms of public oversight, and chronic opacity in decision-making across key sectors of the economy.
Against this backdrop, the growing public mistrust has become no less consequential than the political or institutional fallout. For many Ukrainians, the story of the “Mindich tapes” has reinforced a long-standing fear: that even in wartime—amid daily losses, destroyed homes, mobilisation and the constant threat to life—key decisions are still made within a narrow, closed circle.
Those who bear the greatest burden of the war see the situation as a repetition of an all-too-familiar pattern: the state demands maximum sacrifice yet does not demonstrate the same transparency or accountability in return. This is particularly painful now, when society no longer has the option of “retreating into normal life,” as it did before 2022. Life itself has been turned into an unbroken war—one from which people can neither hide nor distance themselves.