It’s the Economist, so there is a paywall. See below for the article content:
In the autumn sunshine Kyiv looks glorious. The leafy streets are full of life: café terraces bustle and hipsters throng the bars of Podil, a trendy neighbourhood. The odd air-raid siren aside, the main signs of the 18-month-old war with Russia are rusty tanks turned into makeshift war memorials and the various men in uniform enjoying some leave with their loved ones.
To Valery Zaluzhny, Ukraine’s top soldier, the scenes of children eating ice cream and men presenting flowers to their sweethearts are satisfying. “This is what we are fighting for. I just want people to have a normal life in the whole of Ukrainian territory,” he says. The critical word is “whole”: Ukraine’s counter-offensive has not yet produced the results he and others had hoped for. Russian lines have not crumbled. Almost a fifth of Ukrainian territory remains in Russia’s hands. In the war of attrition that looms, it is not clear which side has more staying power. In part, of course, that depends on a second uncertainty: in what quantities the military and financial support supplied by Ukraine’s allies will keep flowing as the war grinds on.
A break in the clouds
For all its superficial normality, Kyiv is awash with apprehension. Ukrainians know that Russia has been stockpiling missiles and drones to attack their energy infrastructure when temperatures drop. They know that the supply of volunteers has dried up, and that men are being conscripted to replace casualties at the front. And they know no end is in sight: a year ago 50% of them thought it would be over within a year. Now only 34% believe that. Whereas Vladimir Putin, Russia’s dictator, does not care about the lives of his own troops, Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine’s president, presides over a democratic society which does. “It is not just about de-occupation [at any cost]. It’s about de-occupation, but not losing a lot of lives,” he recently told The Economist.
The prospect of an attenuated struggle has started to seep into Mr Zelensky’s speeches. “We need to learn to live with [the conflict],” he told Ukrainians recently. “It depends on what kind of war. We are prepared to keep fighting for a very long period of time…[while] minimising the number of casualties. Like in Israel, for example. We can live like that.”
A war of endurance, however, will require big changes in military planning, the economy and society more broadly. The heroic improvisation and decentralisation of the early part of the war will no longer suffice. On the military side, Mr Zelensky has initiated a clear shift by installing a new minister of defence, Rustem Umerov. Like almost all Ukrainians, he has a personal stake in the war, as a Crimean Tatar, an ethnic group persecuted for Ukrainian sympathies since Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014. But, he says, “Ukraine is not about emotions, it is about a system, logistics and industries.”
Mr Umerov, a 41-year-old former entrepreneur and investor, says his mission is to build the capacity of both Ukraine’s defence industry and its soldiers, so that Western allies see Ukraine not as a dependent always begging for aid, but as a partner, capable of shaping its own fortune. His previous job was managing the government’s property portfolio, and he wants to bring an efficient managerial mindset to his new role. Red tape must be eliminated. “Anything that can be digitised, needs to be digitised,” he says. He is not afraid to make waves: after two weeks in the job, he replaced six of his seven deputies.
An explosive legacy
When it was part of the Soviet Union, Ukraine had a vast defence industry. Some 1.5m Ukrainians laboured in 700 military enterprises, including 205 factories and 130 research and development sites. Leonid Kuchma, Ukraine’s second president, ran the world’s biggest rocket plant in the city of Dnipro in Soviet times. A flagship factory in Kharkiv produced 900 tanks a year. But corruption and neglect after the break-up of the Soviet Union in 1991 gradually killed these businesses.