“The Knight of the Checkered Blanket”: Why Nasirov’s Mobilization Didn’t Convince Anyone

In the past two days, a wave of news has swept in about one of Ukraine’s most notorious corruption suspects — Roman Nasirov. First came the announcement that he had “voluntarily mobilized” into the Armed Forces. Then the public was stunned to learn where exactly he had been assigned. But the story took another turn just as quickly: Nasirov’s mobilization fell through — whether due to the backlash it sparked or because the military command realized what kind of controversial figure they were about to take in.

The story might have seemed amusing if it hadn’t raised so many serious questions. After all, the case is high-profile, the name of the accused-turned-mobilized is well known, and his move, while not unprecedented, came as an unpleasant surprise. Whatever the legal nuances of the former head of the State Fiscal Service’s actions may be, they have already left a strong impression. And that deserves a closer look.

First of all, why did Nasirov suddenly decide to mobilize? Just last week, he was attending court hearings and made no mention of any plans to join the Armed Forces.

Now Nasirov will have to appear in court. But if he truly believes the charges against him are absurd, why didn’t he want to stand before the prosecutor, who has already presented their case in the debates, and respond directly, in full voice? Instead, he left the public with a pitiful line from his courtroom testimony: “If I had known that I would be held accountable, I would have quit or not joined the civil service at all.” Is that really how he wants to be remembered after eight years of legal proceedings? Or for the cringe-worthy post he made this morning, calling himself a “humble guy from Chernihiv”?

And after all this, how can anyone seriously believe that Roman Nasirov’s actions were sincere — that he was truly ready to defend Ukraine, and not simply trying to evade justice?

The court didn’t take his word for it and postponed the hearing on suspending the proceedings. Thankfully, the Ukrainian army didn’t buy it either, and the case went ahead. Still, for the umpteenth time — even if just briefly — the genius of the checkered blanket managed to stall the process once again.

And here, by the way, one wonders what talents Nasirov hoped to reveal through such a convenient placement in the Armed Forces. How exactly did he plan to serve, after years of his lawyers citing poor health, requesting medical expert testimony, all in hopes of easing his pre-trial restrictions or securing release from custody? For months, the court denied those motions, until Nasirov finally scraped together the money to post bail.

This absurd, amusing, and outrageous story caused a real stir in the media and on social networks for a reason. The Nasirov case is yet another test for Ukraine — a test of whether the country is capable of holding top officials accountable for possible corruption. An exam not just of justice, but of whether such cases can actually be brought to a final point.

We’re talking about a case that Ukrainians have followed closely from the very beginning. A case rooted in events that unfolded after the Revolution of Dignity, when society demanded real action against corruption and those who enabled it. Nasirov’s detention, which gained wide public attention, became one of the first high-profile cases after the establishment of the NABU. His choice of interim measure at the Shevchenkivskyi Court was broadcast almost all night, with thousands watching live on Ukrainian social media. Back then, MP Mustafa Nayyem and other concerned citizens physically ensured — simply by their presence — that the suspect couldn’t slip away without real travel restrictions being imposed.

From the very beginning, this case was loud and public. For many, including the author of this text, those live broadcasts from the courthouse courtyard were a signal: these investigations wouldn’t be quietly buried. They showed that the fight against corruption could actually move forward — and that, for ordinary citizens, it was possible to help change the country for the better through their own engagement.

So how could anyone believe that Nasirov’s latest move wasn’t just another attempt to escape — when it seems he’s been trying to dodge accountability from the very beginning?

This sudden leap into heroism, after years of supposedly “deadly” illness, is hardly a new trick in the corrupt officials’ playbook. Just last year, ex-MP Ruslan Solvar, accused and ultimately convicted of abuse of power, tried to pull the exact same maneuver. Conveniently, right before the verdict, it turned out he was already a soldier. A patriot in uniform, no less. But the High Anti-Corruption Court wasn’t impressed. It handed down the sentence anyway. Solvar’s military service ended as abruptly as it began — and he finally got the title he’d earned: a convicted corrupt official.

With Nasirov, the story is more complicated. In the case tied to Onyshchenko’s infamous “gas scheme,” the statute of limitations runs out next year. So, no matter what decision the Anti-Corruption Court delivers, there’s a high chance it will be dragged through the appellate court, and possibly even the Supreme Court, all in a likely attempt to run out the clock and avoid any real punishment, even if the former chief taxman is found guilty.

However, the very fact of mobilization by individuals accused of high-level corruption at the final stages of their trials is increasingly beginning to resemble a strategy to avoid responsibility. At the very least, it looks like an attempt to delay, or even prevent, a fair verdict.

But the most troubling part is that Nasirov has already shaped public perception of what the final court decision should be, regardless of what the verdict ultimately says. No matter how balanced or well-reasoned the court’s ruling may be, public opinion, doubts, warnings, and outrage over Nasirov’s actions will linger. The attention around him will only grow. In this way, the accused casts a shadow not only over the case itself, but also over the judgment, which, in the end, could still be in his favor.

Now we see that society is more determined than ever to see Nasirov punished — no longer because of the strength of the evidence, but because of everything he has come to symbolize. Just scroll through the news or social media from the past two days, and it’s clear: hardly anyone believes in his innocence. Not even him.