State- and Nation-Building

After the disintegration of the British, French, and other European colonial empires, the process of building new, independent states was frequently repeated throughout the world.

Not surprisingly, state-building in Ukraine and other post-Soviet countries also experienced the childhood maladies of newly and hurriedly established states. There were, of course, singular features in the Ukrainian experience. The non-violent disintegration of the USSR meant that the former Soviet elite in Ukraine was not displaced. In 1990–1, the pro-independence forces realized that they were not strong enough to attain their goal on their own. Therefore, they reached an informal agreement with the more flexible elements of the Communist establishment, led by Krav-chuk. Essentially, it allowed the Communist elite to retain its dominant political, administrative, and economic positions in return for its support of independence. No longer controlled by Moscow and the Communist party, this elite could pursue its own interests at will. Discredited Communist ideals were quickly abandoned by the more flexible (or opportunistic) members of the nomenklatura, as the Soviet elite was called. But long-denigrated nationalism was still too alien to embrace. Consequently, most of the Ukrainian leadership adopted pragmatic, non-ideological positions.

The result was that ambiguity in ideals, goals, and even policies became the distinguishing feature of the leadership’s views on the entire spectrum of issues and problems that faced Ukrainian society. This, in turn, meant that in organizing the new state, the political elite would have to work without ideological guidelines, a rare occurrence in post-imperial state-building.

In certain ways, the leaders of the new Ukraine were better off than the builders of postcolonial states. Ukraine had many features of a modern society: a highly educated workforce, health and welfare systems, efficient communications, extensive urbanization, and a highly developed industrial and agricultural base. It had a bureaucracy in place, especially at the local level. But what this largely modern society lacked were the traditions and institutions of self-government, decision-making, and policy formulation. Until 1991, Kiev had been, in political and institutional terms, little more than a branch office of a highly centralized corporation based in Moscow. For generations, the most talented Ukrainian apparatchiki had been drawn to the greater opportunities afforded by the Soviet metropolis. Those who remained in Kiev concentrated on following instructions from Moscow. Therefore, initially, state-building in Ukraine would be very much a venture into the unknown.

Most of the external attributes of statehood were put in place quickly. Without quite realizing the impact of its decision, parliament (Verkhovna Rada), which was the highest authority in the land, established the office of president in July 1991. On 9 September, Ukraine introduced its own provisional currency. One month later, parliament passed the law on citizenship, which granted full rights of citizenship to all who resided in Ukraine. By early 1992, state symbols, adopted from the short-lived national state of the 1917–21 period, were accepted, but not without the momentarily subdued grumbling of the disorganized Communist hardliners. About 50 central ministries, staffed by about 13,000 officials from the old regime, were reorganized. However, their authority over the roughly 450,000 local bureaucrats was poorly defined, which at first caused considerable disruption.³

Especially important was the formation of the Ministry of Defense in September 1991.

In Soviet times, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was an essentially symbolic institution, consisting of about 150 officials who staffed Ukraine’s mission to the United Nations. Soon after independence, however, it established embassies in over 180 countries and hosted close to 120 missions in Kiev. As embassies proliferated, ministries grew, and numerous foreign delegations and leaders made official visits, Kiev began to take on the appearance of a genuine capital. Indeed, regional elites, who had lobbied, unsuccessfully, for the introduction of a federal system, complained that the new ministries in Kiev, called the cabinet of ministers and headed by the prime minister, were as much concerned with maintaining a centralized, unitary state as Moscow had been.

At the outset, parliament, consisting mostly of Communist deputies who were elected in 1990, considered itself to be the highest authority in the land. However, while president, both Kravchuk and Kuchma insisted on expanding the as-yet-undefined prerogatives of their office. Their primary goal was to gain control of the administrative structure. One of the first steps in this direction was the appointment of presidential representatives, who actually functioned as governors, in the 25 oblasts of the land.

One of the central themes of Ukrainian history has been the extraordinarily tortuous process of nation-building. Due to the nature of tsarist and Soviet rule in Ukraine, this process was among the most repressed, delayed, and deformed in Europe. As a result, when independence and statehood finally came, Ukrainians were far from constituting a well-defined national community. This, in itself, was not unusual. Many states were established before nation-building had been completed, as the famous statement by Massimo d’Azegli, one of the founders of the Italian state, attests: “We have made Italy; now we must make Italians.”⁴ However, in Ukraine the problem had an added dimension: given the extraordinary difficulties and delays that Ukrainians experienced in developing their national consciousness, there was a question of whether the nation-building process was not irreparably debilitated. Even with the existence of an independent state, could a national identity and solidarity be consolidated?

A major complication was that, from the outset, there were divided opinions within the political elite as to what kind of nation should be formed.

Others, especially in the eastern part of the country, adopted a very different point of view: for them, citizenship should define who was and who was not a Ukrainian. A young historian argued that the new state should “create a new Ukrainian nation, which is based not on an exclusive ethnic, linguistic, religious or cultural principle but on the principle of the political, economic and territorial unity of Ukraine.”⁶ The irreconcilable differences between the ethnic and civic views of nationhood created major complications for politicians. One was terminological: how should they refer to the population of the new state – as “the Ukrainian people” or as “the people of Ukraine”? Stressing the civic/ethnic distinction, however, led many to miss the point: ethnic and civic states are ideal types that rarely exist in reality. Usually citizenship is defined in civic terms, but most states have an ethnic core. The issue in Ukraine was actually whether this ethnic core would be Ukrainian or some vague East Slavic or Ukrainian-Russian amalgam.

In 1991 it appeared that the new government would attempt to make up for centuries of national repression by instituting a systematic program of Ukrainization. At this point, the brief upsurge of national pride and consciousness that coalesced around the Rukh movement in 1989 was still a force to be reckoned with. Consequently, Kravchuk, who vacillated between the ethnic and civic concepts of nationhood, laid greater stress on the use of Ukrainian in government and the media.

In eastern and southern Ukraine, meanwhile, disillusionment with independence and resistance to linguistic Ukrainization grew. Here the expectation had been that Ukraine, once it shook off Moscow’s exploitative rule, would have economic dividends to share among its citizens. Instead the country experienced an economic collapse. This greatly weakened support for independence and the national idea that stood behind it. Furthermore, the new state was increasingly associated with incompetence and corruption. Moreover, since most of its officials were former members of the russified nomenklatura, they often had little interest in implementing Ukrainization. A major reinforcement to the rising anti-Ukrainization tide was the legalization of the previously banned Communist party in October 1993. Militantly critical of nationalism, independence, and Ukrainization – to the point that, in 1994,64 of their deputies in parliament refused to swear allegiance to Ukraine – the Communists became the leading spokesmen for disaffected elements in eastern and southern Ukraine, especially those who wanted recognition of Russian as a second official language, dual Russian-Ukrainian citizenship, and closer ties with Russia.

In the populous and economically vital Donbas, where the Communists were most influential and Russians and Russian-speaking Ukrainians were in the majority, anti-Kiev attitudes spread rapidly. In order to win over the disgruntled eastern regional elites, Kravchuk and, later, Kuchma offered them positions in the central government. As east Ukrainians accepted more and more senior positions, the threat to the unity of the state diminished, but government support for nation-building also declined. Furthermore, the government made a point of adopting a very liberal policy towards the country’s ethnic minorities, most notably its 11 million Russians. While laudable in terms of human rights, this meant, in effect, the acceptance of a multicultural model of society. Meanwhile, many in the western regions of the country remained staunchly committed to making Ukraine more Ukrainian. Consequently, the perennial dichotomy between the nationally conscious West and the nationally ambivalent East became ever more glaring.

Promising to take the attitudes of easterners into account, Kuchma won the presidential election in July 1994. A typical product of the nomenklatura system – and, moreover, one who hardly spoke Ukrainian – the new president openly declared “that the national idea has not worked.”⁸ For the new state to survive, he argued, it should concentrate on economic development, not issues of identity. These statements reflected the cosmopolitan views, which included a pro-Russian or so-called Eurasian orientation for Ukraine, espoused by many of the new president’s advisors. They also clearly appealed to many east Ukrainians, to the 11 million Russians in Ukraine, and to the various minority groups who, for the most part, had voted for the new president.

Despite these attitudes, the Kuchma administration could not ignore the fact that close to 75% of the population was ethnically Ukrainian. In time, the presidential team realized that if Ukrainian society was to consolidate and if it was to possess a distinct cultural identity, it would have to preserve key aspects of Ukrainian ethnicity. The logic of a national state was undeniable: if the existence of a Ukrainian nation led to the formation of a Ukrainian state, then the state was obligated to cultivate a sense of Ukrainian national identity. Consequently, the longer Kuchma, who quickly learned Ukrainian himself, stayed in office, the more his administration attempted to encourage a synthesis of civic and ethnic elements of nationhood. Parliament adopted a similar approach. This was reflected in the 1996 constitution, which referred to both “the Ukrainian nation” and “the people of Ukraine.” Despite Communist pressure to give Russian equal status with Ukrainian, the latter remained the single official language of the state.

Official policy notwithstanding, the general use of Ukrainian – commonly viewed as a bellwether of national consciousness and distinctiveness -showed little progress. Throughout the 1990s somewhat less than half of the country’s inhabitants, mostly in the West and in the villages, spoke Ukrainian, while slightly more than half, primarily in the East and the cities, used Russian. Of course, a large proportion spoke both, and many, especially the less educated, used surzhyk, an ungainly mixture of the two languages.

Many critics of linguistic Ukrainization did not object to it in principle. Rather, they wanted it to be applied gradually so as to cause a minimum of inconvenience and disruption. Since many Russian-speakers staunchly and regularly supported Ukrainian interests and independence, it would be unjustified to view them as less patriotic. But the fact remained that, with the widespread use of Russian, the task of creating a sense of national solidarity and distinctiveness was that much more difficult.

There were old and new reasons for the appeal of Russian: education, habit, and inertia played a role, as did the traditional identification of the language with the city and modernity. Moreover, in the post-Soviet period, burgeoning consumerism had a major impact. Russian capital was stronger and Russian products were more attractive. Therefore, they dominated the products of mass culture – music, popular literature, and print and electronic media – in Ukraine. Moreover, Ukrainian dependence on Russian markets meant that the language of business and therefore of computers and technology was also Russian. As a result, Ukraine remained essentially bilingual. Indeed, in certain ways Russian was more widespread than before.

The language issue highlighted another complex problem, that of regionalism. Given the regional diversity of the country, some, notably in the East and specifically the pro-Russian, Kharkiv-based Interregional Bloc for Reforms, argued that the new state should be organized as a federation of regions. Surprisingly, this federalist option did not gain much support. The Soviet tradition of centralized government might have been part of the reason. The argument used in Kiev that Ukrainian society was too weakly integrated to allow for governmental decentralization was also effective. Certainly, public opinion in both the East and West strongly supported the country’s territorial integrity and evinced little sympathy for decentralization, although the idea of creating special economic zones had some appeal.

This is not to say that regionalism did not pose difficulties for Kiev. It did, most notably in two areas, the Donbas and especially in the Crimea. The Donbas, with its two cities of Donetsk and Luhansk, is a crucial region. It accounts for close to 20% of the country’s industrial production, 17% percent of its population, and 9% of its territory. Its multi-ethnic population consists mainly of russophone Ukrainians and Russians. But the Russians are mostly long-time inhabitants whose ties are primarily to the Donbas, not to Russia. Indeed, even after 1991, many in the Donbas considered themselves to be neither Ukrainian nor Russian; they preferred to describe themselves as Soviets. The disintegration of the USSR was particularly painful for the Don-bas. Its huge industries had been a Soviet showcase and its miners were among its most highly paid workers. Economic collapse hit the region especially hard. Blaming Ukrainian independence for their problems, many called for the re-establishment of closer ties to Russia. The openly pro-Russian Civic Congress called for the adoption of Russian as an official language, dual Ukrainian-Russian citizenship, and federalism. Although widespread, these views did not lead to a serious separatist movement. This was due, in part, to Kiev’s caution in pursuing Ukrainization in the region and, largely, to its policy of co-opting members of the regional elite into the central government. When Kuchma, the favored candidate in the Donbas, won in 1994, the region’s commitment to the Ukrainian state became even stronger.

Crimea was a much more difficult problem for Kiev. It was generally recognized that the sunny peninsula, transferred to the Ukrainian SSR only in 1954, had a strong claim to special status. First, it had been autonomous prior to 1945. Second, it was the only region in Ukraine with an overwhelmingly Russian population: over 65% of its inhabitants were Russians, about 24% were mostly russophone Ukrainians, and about 10% were Tatars. Expelled en masse by Stalin in 1944, about 250,000 to 300,000 Tatars had returned to their Crimean homeland since 1989. Most of the Russians, many of whom were retired military officers or party officials, were relatively recent arrivals, as were the Ukrainians, who were concentrated in northern agrarian regions. Indeed, it has been estimated that roughly three-fourths of the 2.5 million inhabitants had settled in the peninsula only after the Second World War. The fact that the Russian Black Sea Fleet was based in Sevastopol, the scene of heroic wartime exploits by Russian imperial and Soviet forces, added greatly to the delicacy of the Crimean problem.

As might be expected, the Russian majority in Crimea reacted negatively to its inclusion in an independent Ukrainian state. In May 1992 the Crimean parliament declared independence with the intention of joining Russia and the CIS. Kiev rejected the declaration as unconstitutional. This initiated a protracted war of nerves, which reached a dangerous highpoint in 1994 when a Crimean president and parliament were elected. Kiev had backed Nikolai Bagrov, candidate of the local “party of power,” while the pro-Russian elements, united in the broadly based Russia Bloc, of which the Republican party was the key element, supported the party’s leader, Iuri Meshkov. The latter won overwhelmingly. In his campaign, Meshkov promised immediate economic benefits from breaking away from Ukraine and uniting with Russia.

It quickly became apparent that Meshkov could not deliver on his promises. Little concrete support was forthcoming from Russia: involved in a war with separatists in Chechnya, it could hardly support separatism in Crimea. Meanwhile, the peninsula’s complete dependence on Ukraine for subsidies, energy, and water became ever more apparent. When Meshkov became embroiled in fierce conflict with his own parliament, public opinion turned against him and his policies. This allowed Kuchma to step in, abolish the office of president, and install a pro-Kiev prime minister. Under pressure from Kuchma, the Crimean parliament passed a constitution in May 1996 that, while formalizing wide-ranging autonomy, clearly recognized the peninsula as an integral part of Ukraine and subject to its laws. The situation further stabilized in 1997, when Russia and Ukraine signed a bilateral treaty that apparently settled the vexing question of Sevastopol and the division of the Black Sea Fleet. As in all of Ukraine, in the Crimea and the Donbas the focus of attention turned to economic issues.