In public life, there are, as they say, moments of truth—when some event suddenly makes a certain point clear, and you say to yourself: “aha, so that’s how it is.” Until recently, the author of these lines was wondering whether Ukrainians had begun to approach politics more rationally. And then, a kind of answer came during a discussion about deputy salaries. Let me remind you: Mustafa Nayem claimed that 5 (or 6—I don’t remember) thousand hryvnias a month isn’t enough for a deputy, and the progressive public rushed to condemn him.
What does this discussion—even more, the condemnation—reveal? In my view, it clearly shows that Ukrainians, at least among their progressive public, are still quite far from rationality in politics, guided instead by myths, and rather childish ones at that.
Judge for yourself. It’s obvious that 5 or even 6 thousand a month must be weighed against the value of the work done for that money. How do Ukrainians evaluate being a deputy? Very highly. They hold elections, create scandals at elections, are literally ready to tear each other’s throats over a deputy mandate. Even someone not running himself actively participates—he watches Shuster, discusses it with friends and colleagues, stops posting cats and instead shares party slogans and calls. In general, such work is clearly valued highly. And for it they offer 5 or 6 thousand a month—a laughable price, even if you don’t rent an apartment in Kyiv but live in your own place. There’s an obvious contradiction here. The work is valued sky-high, but they don’t want to pay for it. How is this possible? Only one way: they don’t consider being a deputy to be work—i.e., something requiring qualification and the expenses that come with it, requiring experience you can’t simply buy, and so on. This is possible only if they see being a deputy not as work but as a heroic deed. Like saving the people. Everything and all at once. You know how it goes: “Danko, tear out your heart—it’ll burn!” Accept this approach, and the contradictions vanish; everything falls into place. Gandalf works for free—that’s an axiom.
This makes understandable, for example, the inattention to party programs that troubles some of the progressive public. Everything is logical: a savior doesn’t need programs. He simply saves. Selflessly, risking his life. It also explains why people who speak about practical matters—property rights, HOAs, housing and utilities, Germans, Congress—cannot get elected. These are obvious things. And they seem to mean a lot for most Ukrainians’ lives. So what? Ukrainians listen, nod silently, and vote for Gandalf. Why? Because Gandalf saves. Promises to, at least. And here you are with your property rights, your HOA, housing and utilities, Germans, Congress… The 40% of votes for power and the entire phenomenon of voting for power, whatever it may be, become understandable. Why do they vote? Because it’s power. It can do anything. It will love us if we vote for it. The same Gandalf, only without the romance.
In general, despite the Maidan and the war, the Ukrainian—again, at least a significant part of the progressive public—remains an infantile creature. He doesn’t want to do anything himself; he wants to be saved.
Why does this matter? After all, readers of this column know the author’s attitude toward deputies and other state officials, an attitude such that it would be better if they simply didn’t exist at all. It matters because the understanding that state officials are never needed in any capacity doesn’t emerge from thin air. It’s the result of a process in which myth gives way to rationality, and rationality is reinforced by logic. The author, too, was once a salvation-craving infant. And that’s normal. The question, however, is: at what stage of this path are we? It seemed to me that many had already reached the rational stage—that they had begun to understand the limitations of any resources, the necessity of choice, of sacrificing something for the sake of something more valuable, and so on. But the story about Mustafa’s 5 thousand showed I was wrong. After all, Gandalf.