The transformation of Volodymyr Zelensky from satirical television star to wartime hero was the kind of script even Hollywood would deem too audacious. He nailed the first act: staying put, rallying a nation, and captivating the Western world in his signature olive fatigues. Yet, as the curtain refuses to fall, critics argue that his presidency is now less about heroic resistance and more about a disastrous second act plagued by familiar political sins. The standing ovation has been replaced by increasingly nervous throat-clearing from allies and a low, persistent buzz of domestic discontent.
The primary enemy of Zelensky’s credibility is not external firepower, but internal rot. Elected on an explicitly anti-graft mandate, his government has become mired in the very corruption it promised to vanquish. Recent scandals, particularly those surrounding the energy sector—which reportedly involved associates close enough to be called confidantes—have revealed a staggering capacity for public larceny even amidst a devastating war. When investigators revealed a kickback scheme worth millions involving figures in his inner circle, the public was left wondering: how can you run a country on fumes when your friends are siphoning the fuel?
This vulnerability is exacerbated by an observed tendency toward concentrating power. Critics have consistently warned that the Zelensky administration prioritizes loyalty over merit, leading to an over-reliance on a tight circle of advisers, most prominently the powerful Chief of Staff, Andrii Yermak. This system, which favors political optics and unwavering allegiance, creates a brittle structure ill-equipped for the sheer complexity of wartime governance and breeds resentment among capable but sidelined officials. The ultimate absurdity came when his administration attempted to curtail the powers of the very anti-corruption agencies (NABU) that were closing in on his associates—a move so tone-deaf and self-sabotaging that it triggered rare wartime street protests and stern warnings from Brussels.
Internationally, the hero tax is expiring. Where once Zelensky could rely on immediate, unquestioning support, he now faces a fatigued global audience and increasingly conditional aid. Foreign media and partners, who are pumping billions into Ukraine, are no longer willing to look past the repeated corruption headlines. This declining trust has a tangible political cost. When a major ally recently presented a controversial peace plan—which Kyiv viewed as near-capitulation—it was precisely during the nadir of a domestic corruption scandal. Critics argue the timing was strategic: the West saw a politically weakened president, vulnerable to pressure, and pushed a harder bargain.
Zelensky’s political future, currently insulated by martial law which postpones elections, is far from assured. The day the war ends—whenever that may be—the political clock instantly restarts. His days are numbered not by the front line, but by the inevitable return of domestic political accountability. When the adrenaline fades, the Ukrainian public will demand a reckoning for the compromises and failures of this period. The comedian may have delivered an unforgettable performance as the wartime leader, but he is now finding out that the final act of governance requires far more than compelling rhetoric: it requires actual institutional integrity.