The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 ushered in a period of optimism among Ukrainians. It also created a blank canvas of unprecedented political creativity for its citizens. A blank canvas is famously a blessing and a curse—it promises exciting possibilities but also poses a daunting task ahead. The magnitude of creative effort required in Ukraine was formidable: The creation of a new nation-state. Three decades later, Ukraine is now a nation-state strong enough to exist, even after three years of Russia’s war of aggression. Yet even without the war, Ukraine struggled with building the internal cohesion needed for self-directed development. 

While creative optimism flourished between 1989 and 1991, the end of the Cold War was not about radical revolution. The aspiration was not to create something new or to return to something that was there before. In Ukraine, the goal at the time was to become “normal,” and normalization meant “Europeanization.” The abruptness of the fall of communism and the clarity with which the Western system prevailed suggested that there was an obvious, ready-made blueprint for the newly established states and societies that emerged from the collapse of the Soviet Union. 

The Soviet elites pulled the plug on their system in the expectation that it would be quickly replaced by something richer, but fundamentally understandable and not radically new. No one expected to struggle and suffer. Throughout the post-socialist space, the hardship endured by those expected to catch up with the West by copying the West led to what the Bulgarian political scientist Ivan Krastev called a “moral asymmetry”: Citizens in the post-communist East felt inferior to their counterparts in the West. This sense of inferiority bred resentment, which later manifested itself in the “ill-liberalization” of Eastern Europe.

Ukraine, however, never managed to integrate with the West to the extent that its neighbors now toying with illiberalism did. For three decades it retained both the promise and the profound disorientation of 1991. This lack of place is reflected in the titles of history books written about Ukraine throughout its independence. Andrew Wilson’s Unexpected Nation, first published in 2000, tells of a surprising new presence in the eastern part of Europe that is searching for its place in the world. Other titles, from Westerners to Ukrainians alike, include words like “borderlands,” “bloodlands,” “reconstruction,” “transformation,” “gates,” and “overcoming history.” All of them underscore the “work-in-progress” character of Ukraine.

Some Ukrainian scholars have described the post-1991 period as “reluctant transformation” and “contradictory nation-building,” referring to the tensions within the national project. The more optimistic among them saw the process of increasing Westernization. Others saw it as a process of increasing nationalization. Still others saw a process of decline compared to the late Soviet period.

In the Ukrainian public sphere, such nuances were weaponized by rival oligarchs and pitted homogenizing nationalism against post-Soviet paternalism—a conveniently simplistic scheme useful for political propaganda. 

To the extent that such divisions were real, the first “nationalist” group sought to solve Ukraine’s problems through ethno-national unity. When they looked at the socio-cultural mosaic of modern Ukraine, they lamented the “unnatural combinations” and “post-communist schizophrenia” of Ukrainian society, by which they meant the coexistence of different social values, historical images, and ideological plurality. Instead, they envisioned a more homogeneous body politic, rooted in the ideal of romantic nationalism and coupled with state-led nationalization policies similar to those of 19th-century France. Ukrainian cultural purists tended to promote a national identity rooted in language and supposed national historica`l continuities that, in their view, transcend the Soviet period. 

On the other side of the ideological divide were those who emphasized continuities with Soviet Ukraine. They viewed Ukraine’s predicament as a function of an infantile underestimation of predatory geopolitics. Within this worldview, only a paternalistic state— one inevitably dependent on Russia—could protect Ukrainian lands.

There were, in fact, many more parties to the national debate. But what all of them had in common was a nascent socio-political system. Its raison d’être was to transform itself into something else. It was incomplete for everyone, for better or worse. People loved Ukraine, but that love was often for an imagined future Ukraine. For three decades, the discourse was about fundamental change leading to a kind of bifurcation of the collective consciousness. 

Ukraine began to exist in two parallel versions: the current provisional one and the anticipated future one. The present was too flawed to be accepted as permanent; it was only to be changed. The building of expectations became widespread, while social reality lagged behind. This bifurcation of consciousness expressed itself as an aspirational love for an ideal Ukraine (one that was never more than partially real), while at the same time pragmatically making do with Ukraine in its temporary, provisional form. The existential necessity of a better future was linked to an idea of Ukraine that was far removed from the real one. The collective consciousness split into two parts: one part aspired to the future and the other resigned to the present. 

The aspiring part wants to see their desires as already realized, at least in part. That’s why opinion polls in Ukraine often paint a picture of national consensus. More and more Ukrainians identify themselves as citizens of Ukraine, above any other cultural or economic divisions. 

This can certainly be viewed as a collective achievement of the past 30 years. But I would argue that this success is partial. It reflects only the aspirational part of the collective consciousness. Ukrainians who imagine a better future can sometimes respond as if it were already here. To respond otherwise can feel like a betrayal of that future Ukraine. Our intellectual canvas is filled with aspirational visions that transcend the reality of predatory capitalism, unpredictability, and discord. 

The Maidan revolutions of 2004 and 2014 powerfully transformed the aspirational visions of many Ukrainians into reality. The Euromaidan of 2013-2014 manifested the collective “we.” Hope and activism erupted against a backdrop of apathy and resignation. Disagreements were set aside in the name of a collective demand for “dignity,” hard coded in the name “Revolution of Dignity,” as a reaction to the blatant violations committed by the government of President Yanukovych and the deepening darkness of President Putin’s Russia. The reactionary war Putin unleashed raised the stakes yet again, pushing many Ukrainians to double down on the aspirational side of their split consciousness. The vision of a better future became a reason to sacrifice.

By 2016, the blank canvas of 1991 was no longer blank. It contained rival Ukrainian oligarchs, Russian interference, the war, and the difficult and ultimately divisive experience of the two Maidan uprisings. Encouragingly, a peculiar kind of democracy and pluralism had emerged, and Europe remained an aspirational ideal. 

The net result has been Ukraine’s achievement of basic legitimacy as a civic project, which still remains burdened by internal disagreements about the nature of that project and its place in the world. By 2019, society was once again existentially dependent on change. It voted for change in the form of a comedian, actor, and political novice—Volodymyr Zelensky. He was aspiration personified. Zelensky’s presidency was the continuation of the self-discovery by a split consciousness that had allowed only one incumbent—Leonid Kuchma—to be re-elected in the country’s first three decades. 

Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. That war now defines Ukraine’s image. The war has demonstrated Ukraine’s collective ability to resist and refusal to submit. Early on, the belief that a better future was possible, sustained by the aspiring part of consciousness, became a key mobilizing force that played a crucial part in defeating Russia’s assault on Kyiv. Ukrainian sociologists noted a paradoxical surge of optimism in those days. But as the war dragged on, turning into a prolonged battle of attrition, it once again revealed deep internal contradictions and the resulting fragility of political legitimacy. Ukraine is strong enough to exist, but it needs a higher level of socio-political organization to thrive. 

Ukraine needs a political order that is commensurate with the complexity of Ukrainian society and the challenges of a predatory world. The path forward lies in a national dialogue among Ukrainian citizens, organized into meaningful political parties, guided by the principles of responsibility for the common good and recognition of each other as co-creators of the nation-state. Ukraine’s political canvas went from blank to a work in progress, where the achievements and disappointments of the first 30 years highlight its untapped potential. There is plenty of space on this canvas for Ukraine’s collective creative energy to continue shaping a better future.

The opinions expressed in this article are those solely of the author and do not reflect the views of the Kennan Institute.