
Seven time zones east of Washington, a story is unfolding with profound impact for the twenty-first century. It centers on the tumultuous Ukrainian presidential election, and it involves three intertwined forces — democracy, corruption, and moral courage — that came into sharp focus last Friday.
That was the day Ukraine’s Supreme Court ruled that the November 21 runoff election had been marred by “systemic and massive violations.” It also ordered a new runoff, now scheduled for December 26, between the declared winner of the previous election, Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovich, and the Western-leaning opposition leader, Viktor Yushchenko.
Commenting on the first of these three forces — the yearning for democracy, bubbling up everywhere across the old Soviet Union — Russian political guru Grigory Yavlinsky noted the historic precedent set by Friday’s ruling. “For the first time in the territory of the former U.S.S.R.,” he told the Interfax news agency, “a top judicial body has rejected falsification … and mockery of the people’s will.”
He knows whereof he speaks. As the leader of Yabloko, Russia’s liberal party, Yavlinsky is one of the canniest tour guides along the circuitous road from Communism to democracy. I talked with him in Moscow in 1998, a month after former Russian president Boris Yeltsin’s government was engulfed by a political crisis concerning the mysterious disappearance of nearly all of a $4.8 billion infusion from the International Monetary Fund (IMF). It was a crisis of global proportions, leading to a free fall of the ruble and a one-day, 512-point drop in the Dow. When I asked why it happened, Yavlinsky pointed to two causes. First, he said, the West ignored the fact that Russia’s legal system was incapable of supporting a Western market structure. Second, the IMF, when it made its loans, silently ignored corruption in the Russian financial system.
Little wonder, then, that Yavlinsky sees this week’s Ukrainian decision as such an important milestone. This time, the legal system proved up to a task that many doubted it could perform: asserting the primacy of the Constitution over current electoral laws. Doing so, it took a giant step along the road to replace the rule of men with the rule of law.
Yavlinsky’s second point, about corruption, also figures here. The name of Leonid Kuchma, Ukraine’s current president, has become almost synonymous with corruption. Few observers were surprised when the campaign of his hand-picked candidate, Yanukovich, careened into fraud, violence, and even an alleged effort to poison his rival. The surprise, instead, was reserved for the justices of the Supreme Court who, like so many of their peers in the post-Soviet states, were suspected of being under the thumb of the central government. Asserting their independence, they came down forcefully against those most able to do them harm.
That’s where the third strand of moral courage comes into play. The justices were courageous, but they weren’t alone: They had been joined already by a host of courageous individuals including young police cadets, Western-looking business leaders, independent journalists, a prominent media owner, and at least one well-placed member of the secret security services. They, along with the street crowds of citizens and students supporting Yushchenko, had read their modern Eastern European history. They must have known they were headed toward one of two Czechoslovakia-like options: 1968, when Soviet tanks crushed the democracy movement of the Prague Spring; or 1989, when street protests centered in Prague finally toppled the Communists in the famous Velvet Revolution. Ukrainians must have glimpsed the promise of the 1989 solution. Yet with Russian president Vladimir Putin swinging his weight behind President Kuchma and Yanukovich, they must have felt a frisson of dread about a possible 1968-like reprise.
But that’s what moral courage is about: the willingness to take a stand for principle in the face of significant danger and often significant ambiguity. It’s the ingredient that determines which of the other forces prevails. Take away moral courage, and the corrupt use of state power can easily squelch the forces of democracy — as it still might do in Ukraine. Add moral courage to the mix, and it has a winner’s edge in the long term — although democracy may still fail in the short term, as it did in Prague in 1968 or Tiananmen Square in 1989.
Such failures, however, don’t diminish the moral courage of those involved. It’s just that we don’t know their names. The names we most revere in the struggle for democracy — India’s Mahatma Gandhi, South Africa’s Nelson Mandela, Poland’s Lech Walesa, the Czech Republic’s Václav Havel, Myanmar’s Augn San Suu Kyi — all exemplify moral courage. The history of democracy’s twenty-first-century battle with corruption, in Ukraine and elsewhere, will add to this list. Either that, or there won’t be much history to write.
©2004 Institute for Global Ethics