About a year ago, Ukrainians took to the streets to protest the president's attempt to strip anti‑corruption bodies of their independence. NABU and SAP — the anti‑corruption bureau and special prosecutor's office — came under attack. Ukraine's Western partners, especially the EU, protested as well. As a result, the Verkhovna Rada restored the independence of the anti‑corruption bodies a week after removing it, again at the president's initiative. This showed how well President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and the parliament under him understand Ukrainian society.

Over the past year, the situation has worsened. Two weeks ago, the same MPs dismissed Prime Minister Yulia Svyrydenko at the president's request. The departing PM was thanked for her work, and Zelenskyy awarded her a medal. Long‑time opposition politician Yulia Tymoshenko remarked ironically: if the government was so good, why dismiss it at all?

Zelenskyy hinted that Svyrydenko would become Ukraine's ambassador to the US and spoke of it as a done deal. Unexpectedly, she refused.

Even more surprising for the president were protests against the dismissal of Defense Minister Mykhailo Fedorov. For the first time in Ukraine's history, people took to the streets not to demand that a high official be removed, but that he be kept in office. Protesters instead demanded the dismissal of Commander‑in‑Chief Oleksandr Syrskyi, because he had clashed with Fedorov.

Their disagreements go beyond generational differences. It is easy to criticize Syrskyi for beginning his military career in Soviet times and graduating from Moscow's Higher Combined Arms Command School. Yet this did not prevent him from successfully leading the defense of Kyiv at the start of the full‑scale invasion and later the liberation of Kharkiv oblast.

Fedorov began his political career in Zelenskyy's campaign headquarters, responsible for digital strategy. After Zelenskyy's victory, he became deputy PM and digital minister. He is one of the few ministers with concrete achievements — for example, Diia, Ukraine's e‑government platform. But many generals loyal to Syrskyi argue that building an electronic state is not the same as running the defense ministry of a country at war.

Amid protests, Zelenskyy was forced to explain his decision to dismiss Fedorov. He admitted he was tired of the constant conflict between Syrskyi and Fedorov and said that ideally both should be dismissed. Since this was impossible during wartime, he chose to fire only Fedorov.

It is strange to hear a wartime president say he does not want to delve into a conflict between the defense minister and the commander‑in‑chief. A professional leader should not simply dismiss them but clearly define their responsibilities so they do not interfere in each other's domains.

Two days later, under pressure from protesters, Zelenskyy was forced to dismiss Syrskyi as well. Protests continue, and if Zelenskyy eventually reinstates Fedorov, a legitimate question arises: what was the point of this entire circus?

The defense minister's post remains vacant, with duties temporarily handled by former SBU chief Yevhen Khmara — a strange choice, since by law an active‑service officer (which Khmara is) may not head the defense ministry.

Major General Mykhailo Drapatyi has replaced Syrskyi as commander of Ukraine's armed forces. Drapatyi is considered a battlefield general who values soldiers' lives, whereas Syrskyi was seen as a hard‑line commander willing to sacrifice entire brigades to hold individual villages.

In reality, the front is critically short of soldiers, and Drapatyi will also have to deal with mobilization. This requires unpopular laws, but parliament does not seem ready. Ukrainian society is already split in two: those who fight and those who do not want to fight. The latter are more numerous, and neither Zelenskyy nor parliament wants to anger this majority.

Zelenskyy justified Fedorov's dismissal by pointing to slow mobilization, although mobilization is handled not by the defense ministry but by the military.

During his half‑year as defense minister, Fedorov tried to change at least something. He proposed fixed‑term service contracts for recruits, after which they would receive extended leave of one to three years before being called up again. If enough contract soldiers were recruited, demobilization of those who have fought since the start of the full‑scale war could begin by the end of this year.

Fedorov also proposed raising the pay of infantrymen in the greatest danger to €6000 or more, and more actively recruiting foreigners into Ukraine's armed forces. After his dismissal, all these plans may end up in the trash.

It cannot be said that Syrskyi opposed higher pay or new recruitment, but he and many Ukrainian officers believed Fedorov's measures would have an effect only in the long term — if at all.

There is near‑consensus in Ukraine that immediately after Russia's State Duma elections on 20 September, Vladimir Putin will announce a new mobilization wave. This could give the Russian army an additional 300,000–500,000 soldiers by year's end.

Fedorov's and Syrskyi's conflict is a conflict between two strategies. One seeks to systematically destroy the enemy's infrastructure, eventually depriving it of resources to continue the war. The other is based on the simple fact that the front must be held, and without soldiers no weapon can fire.

Yes, Ukrainians are glad to see Russian oil refineries and depots burning, but these strikes have not yet had a direct impact on the front or stopped Russia's slow advance.

My Ukrainian friends hope that strikes on Russia's economy will force Putin to spend less on the war. I always quote a well‑known Russian joke: an alcoholic father tells his son that vodka has become more expensive. The son asks, "Dad, will you drink less now?" The father replies, "No, son, now you will eat less."

So Putin will still have money for war. This is what a war of attrition looks like.

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