In a format licenced from the BBC, last December Ukraine prepared to vote for the nation’s greatest ever Ukrainians. It was billed as the television event of the year, the start of a spectacular series which promised to be of historic importance in a country struggling to come to grips with its troubled past. Popular elsewhere in the world, the format proved a huge hit in the history-hungry new Ukraine, with star-studded shows regularly attracting record audiences.
However, just weeks since the series reached a climax, Great Ukrainians has become engulfed in a scandal with the show’s former editor Vakhtang Kipiani claiming that the viewer vote was rigged by pro-Russian forces keen to claim a pan-Slavic propaganda victory and prevent Ukrainian nationalist icon Stepan Bandera from sweeping to first place. The allegations come within days of the fraud marred Kyiv mayoral elections, where according to numerous reports the practice of purchasing votes was once more prevalent, suggesting that the black arts of voter fraud remain alive and well in post-Orange Ukraine.
The pan-Slavic choice
Mr. Kipiani is a well-known Kyiv journalist who worked as a magazine editor before moving to Inter in 2007 to help co-ordinate the Great Ukrainians project alongside TV journalist Savik Shuster. However, hours after the final was recorded Mr. Kipiani walked out of his job with the channel over what he claims was the use of computer technology to boost the vote for Yaroslav the Wise from around 50,000 to a winning total of over 500,000. Despite going to the channel’s hierarchy and sharing his suspicions over changes occurring in the overall vote totals, the victory of Yaroslav the Wise was allowed to stand leaving Mr. Kipiani with no choice but to resign in protest, he says. The show’s former editor alleges that Yarloslav’s credentials as a pan-Slavic figure who is equally revered by modern-day Russians, Ukrainians and Belarussians made him the candidate of choice for the show’s organisers, who he claims are connected to leading figures within the pro-Russian Party of Regions. The channel Inter is officially owned by the media group belonging to Ukrainian magnate Valeriy Khroshkovskiy but is also often linked to Dmytro Firtash, the billionaire owner of the controversial energy trader Rosukrenergo which was at the centre of Ukraine’s murky gas trade with Russia.
Appeal for independent observers
The channel have denied the allegations, while the show’s host Mr. Shuster, who made his name in Ukraine as the figurehead for a new generation of frank and open political talk shows, has refused to be drawn on the subject. Last week a group of MPs entered the fray, sending a letter to the BBC asking them, as the owners of the franchise, to investigate the allegations of voter fraud. However, it seems unlikely that some kind of BBC election observer mission will be created and dispatched to address what is in effect the latest skirmish in Ukraine’s history wars.
Despite the blanket denials and forced smiles from the Inter team Mr. Kipiani’s claims are not to be taken lightly. Rigging TV shows may seem mildly comical but the Great Ukrainians series achieved a level of national prominence which should have obliged the channel to position itself above suspicion and adopt a totally transparent voting system. Instead, Inter has been too slow in moving to counter the allegations with the kind of hard facts that would dispel any lingering doubts. Presumably officials at the channel are counting on the relative indifference with which many Ukrainians react to allegations of mass fraud. The Orange Revolution protests themselves were actually more exception than rule in a society well-versed in doublespeak and the art of fraudology.
The school of fraudology
Mr. Kipiani claims that computer programmes were used to simulate thousands of text message votes per hour and says he has the figures to prove it. Such hi-tech schemes would be nothing new to Ukraine’s leading vote riggers and political alchemists, who have made a science out of falsification over the past two decades. This school of Ukrainian fraudology has matured to such a level since independence that in recent years its leading practitioners have been able to teach even the Russians a few new tricks. Many of the tactics employed to beef up the Kremlin’s vote in recent Russian elections, ranging from voter lists to the so-called carousel voter convoys, had all been honed to perfection long ago in Kuchma-era Ukraine. Last month’s Kyiv mayoral election was marred by widespread claims that the fraudulent practices of the old regime were creeping back into the political process.
This is only to be expected. The failure by successive Orange governments to bring any of the ringleaders of the infamous 2004 presidential election fraud to justice has sent out a message that institutionalised falsification is not considered strictly criminal, undermining the central principles that underpin any functioning democracy.
The Great Ukrainians project was supposed to be a celebration of the country’s rich and ancient culture, but it has ended amid allegations that the long national tradition of fraudology also remains very much part of today’s Ukrainian society. As a result there is a very real danger that the real impact of the show will be to reinforce existing negative stereotypes about rigged Ukrainian elections and encourage cynicism towards the voting process in general.
