Why Fundamentals is not a technical annex but the basis of the negotiations

Cluster 1 — Fundamentals of the Accession Process — brings together, among others, the chapters that matter most to us: the rule of law, the fight against corruption, public procurement, and financial control. This is no random set of topics, because it is precisely these areas that determine whether a state is governed by the rule of law, whether it can be trusted as a partner, and whether the rights of its citizens and businesses are protected.

The EU’s logic is simple: Cluster 1 is the first to open and the last to close, because it lays the foundation for legal certainty within the country and, ultimately, shapes the trust that other partners place in it. In other words, it determines whether a country is ready to join the European family.

Even if Ukraine meets all the requirements in the other five clusters — on energy, transport, agriculture — membership in the EU is impossible without closing the commitments under Fundamentals. 

For us at TI Ukraine, this means one thing: rule-of-law reform and anti-corruption reform are no longer a “parallel track.” They are the main road to the EU.

What Ukraine has actually done to fight corruption over the past year

Critics like to record failures — and there are grounds for that. But an honest analysis requires acknowledging real achievements as well. And however difficult it is right now to pass new reforms, let alone implement them, there have indeed been concrete gains.

The most recent: in late May, the Verkhovna Rada passed the new Law on Public Procurement. This is a step the European Commission had been awaiting for several years, since the new law is intended to align our procurement rules with European ones. 

Beyond that, a notable anti-corruption achievement is that the NABU, the SAPO, and the HACC continue to markedly improve their performance. The number of verdicts is rising, as is the number of cases involving ministers, heads of central executive bodies, members of parliament, and representatives of the judiciary. 

Moreover, after the new law took effect, the ARMA completed a large-scale inventory of assets for 2017–2025, so it is finally clear how much property is under the Agency’s control. And by the end of 2025 alone, the body concluded more asset management agreements than in the previous two years combined. Following a drawn-out selection process for its new head, the Economic Security Bureau has entered an active phase of reform now that a director has been appointed. And finally, the NACP has drafted a new Anti-Corruption Strategy 2026–2030 — so there are now three draft laws before the Verkhovna Rada that should set this crucial document in motion.

Each of these steps is the result of long-running cooperation between civil society, the government, MPs, international partners, and the anti-corruption institutions themselves. But the key is for each of these examples to see the full cycle of change completed. 

Where the risks remain — and why NABU’s investigations change the rules of the game

But I have to be candid — many systemic problems remain. Let us consider them through examples.

The average time to hear a case at the HACC has reached a record 618 days. The mandatory external assessment of the NACP has not been carried out for more than four years. For several years now, the Accounting Chamber has operated with six of its eleven positions vacant — the competition has still not been fully launched, even though the relevant item kept appearing and disappearing from parliament’s agenda throughout last year and half of this one. The current State Anti-Corruption Program has been only half implemented.

And all of this against the backdrop of a latent political crisis triggered by last year’s attempts to neutralize the independence of the NABU and the SAPO. Those attempts failed, which ultimately gave rise to high-profile anti-corruption investigations such as Operation Midas and the Dynasty mansions case. 

This genuinely effective work by the anti-corruption bodies unexpectedly, for many, set off a different narrative in the socio-political space: that high-profile anti-corruption cases supposedly undermine the state’s capacity and damage its international image. But this, of course, is an utterly manipulative claim. 

First, because all of NABU’s and SAPO’s actions took place within the legal framework: the notices of suspicion were authorized by prosecutors after the evidence base had been gathered, those facing charges were able to mount a defense, and the process was open to the public. Second, removing from office those involved in corruption schemes in energy and defense during the war cleanses the public administration system rather than weakening it. So such investigations should clearly work in favor of the state’s internal capacity.

And given Ukraine’s European integration potential, it is worth recalling that in all our key commitments to our partners, strengthening the anti-corruption institutions is written in as a mandatory condition of support. Because our European partners view the fight against corruption as an investment in the country’s security, not an obstacle to it. 

At a meeting in Kyiv, Marta Kos said plainly that our officials must avoid any thought of rolling back reforms — especially in the areas of anti-corruption, judicial reform, and the independence of key institutions. What is that, if not confirmation of support for our anti-corruption bodies?

Quality work by the NABU and the SAPO is a signal of the system’s institutional maturity, clear to everyone who follows Ukraine. And that should be remembered on Bankova, Hrushevskoho, and the other capital streets where Ukrainian politics is made. 

What comes next, and how realistic membership is

Here I will recall that, as of now, there are no official timelines for Ukraine’s accession to the EU. And this is an honest position: the speed of our progress depends not on dates on the calendar but on the consistency of reforms. As Commissioner for Enlargement Marta Kos noted, the reforms Ukraine has already carried out — including under the Ukraine Facility — must come together into a single negotiating process. But for that, they must be real, not declarative.

For us at TI Ukraine, the opening of Cluster 1 is not a cause for celebration but the start of a new stage of responsibility. Negotiations with the European Union create an external framework, but only internal political will can fill it with substance. And the consistency of that will is perhaps the most important indicator by which the EU will assess Ukraine in the coming years. The European Union has opened the first doors for us — and now the question is whether we can walk through them. 

 

This publication has been produced with financial support from Norway. The contents of this publication are the sole responsibility of [grant recipient’s name] and can in no way be taken to reflect the views of the Government of Norway.

How do sanctions work?

Yurii Ivaniushchenko, also known as “Yura from Yenakiieve,” is a former Party of Regions MP of the 6th and 7th convocations and one of Viktor Yanukovych’s closest associates. After the Revolution of Dignity, he fled the country and has since lived primarily in Monaco. But despite all the cases opened against him, Ivaniushchenko is still not under sanctions.

A reminder here: sanctions in Ukraine are governed by the dedicated Law on Sanctions. Under this law, proposals to apply such restrictions to a specific individual, company, or state can be submitted to the NSDC by parliament, the president, the Cabinet of Ministers, the National Bank, or the Security Service. And although the SSU is not the only body that can propose sanctions against someone, it is entirely logical that the NABU turned to it as a law enforcement agency.

The grounds for applying sanctions, while described fairly broadly in the law, form an exhaustive list, and all of them relate to protecting the state’s national interests or the rights of its citizens. That said, we cannot know for certain why sanctions are imposed on any specific person, since such reasoning is not made public.

By way of example, we can recall the rapid imposition of NSDC sanctions on Timur Mindich and Oleksandr Tsukerman following NABU’s release of materials from the Midas case.

At the time, the tapes published by NABU referred, among other things, to “two [million] to Moscow.” And although we cannot assert that this was precisely what underpinned the sanctions, it is clear that, unlike in the Ivaniushchenko case, there was enough evidence of activity threatening national security to impose on Mindich and Tsukerman more than half of all available restrictions. The package even included deprivation of state awards — which Mindich and Tsukerman do not hold — and a ban on foreign non-military vessels and warships entering Ukraine’s territorial waters, although that sanction also has little bearing on these particular figures in NABU’s case.

At the same time, we do not know the reasoning behind the sanctions imposed on Mindich, Tsukerman, or other figures on such sanctions lists. The general problem with Ukrainian sanctions is that we cannot find out which specific actions and supporting evidence underpin the application of such measures to any given person. This is because sanctions are often based on the materials of criminal cases in which the sanctioned individuals are involved, and that information cannot be disclosed. That said, under the EU standard, the NSDC’s decision should at least include a general statement of reasons for sanctioning a person.

In Ivaniushchenko’s case, once again, we can rely on the materials the NABU has published, the contents of court rulings, and the SSU’s own public statement — all of which refer to his ties to Russia. Despite this, it is impossible to understand why the NSDC applied sanctions against Mindich and Tsukerman but the SSU refused to take the same approach with Ivaniushchenko, because the law does not require the reasoning behind such decisions to be made public.

How does Ivaniushchenko’s citizenship affect the application of sanctions?

There is one more contested aspect to the “Yura from Yenakiieve” case — his Ukrainian citizenship. The practice of states imposing sanctions on their own citizens is generally very rare, since it runs counter to the very logic of such measures. For its own citizens, the state has internal means of influence — chief among them criminal liability for offenses against national security and the like.

Under the law, all sanctions other than deprivation of state awards may be applied to Ukrainian citizens only if those individuals engage in terrorist activity. But there is room for maneuver when it comes to people who hold dual citizenship, have been stripped of Ukrainian citizenship, or hold only a residence permit. In particular, the Law on Citizenship of Ukraine sets out, as a ground for termination of citizenship, the voluntary acquisition by a person of citizenship of a state recognized by the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine as an aggressor state or occupying state.

The European Convention on Nationality likewise allows a state to deprive a person of citizenship if they have voluntarily acquired the citizenship of another country or if their conduct seriously harms the state’s interests.

 

Many sanctioned Ukrainian citizens have also held Russian citizenship — Viktor Yanukovych, for example. As for other cases, Ihor Kolomoiskyi was stripped of Ukrainian citizenship by a presidential decree, and Hennadii Boholiubov holds only a permanent residence permit in Ukraine (although the sanctions register lists him as a Ukrainian citizen). 

In the cases of Petro Poroshenko, Kostiantyn Zhevaho, and, more recently, Andrii Bohdan, however, the NSDC must have evidence of their terrorist activity, since these individuals do not hold any citizenship other than Ukrainian and have not been stripped of it.

As for Yurii Ivaniushchenko, according to Radio Liberty, back in 2004 he obtained a passport of a citizen of the Russian Federation in Rostov-on-Don. In the same investigation, journalists indicate that the former MP held at least two Russian international passports and used them to travel to Russia. In particular, since the start of the full-scale invasion, he has flown there at least ten times. 

Thus, Ivaniushchenko’s citizenship should not stand in the way of applying NSDC sanctions against him — given the now-established practice of sanctioning even Ukrainian citizens who hold no other passport.

*** 

The Ivaniushchenko story is yet another piece of evidence that Ukraine’s sanctions policy has shifted from confronting Russia to using such measures as a substitute for justice or a tool of selective political pressure.

A situation in which the SSU itself publicly labels someone an “FSB resident in the ‘DPR’” and then does not find sufficient grounds to impose sanctions on that person amounts, at the very least, to institutional inconsistency that requires a better explanation than the one NABU received in response to its petition.

As long as the reasoning behind sanctions remains opaque and their application remains situational and reactive, this instrument will continue to be perceived not as part of the national security system, but as a lever whose use depends on the political climate.

Not every mayor actually talks to residents

Another warning sign is how mayors report to their communities. By law, a city’s top official must meet with residents twice a year, look them in the eye, and honestly account for what has been done. In practice, this obligation is routinely reduced to a formality — dense slide decks, departmental wrap-ups, polished promotional videos, or scripted live streams.

Our check of 100 of the largest communities was stark: one in five mayors simply ignored the obligation to report to residents for 2024. In many other cities, reporting consisted only of a text posted on the website — no public meeting, no opportunity for questions. A genuine dialogue took place in fewer than one in four cases. Even a legal requirement is not always enough to move city councils.

Among the 20 regional centers, only Lviv and Khmelnytskyi held open public meetings, presented budget execution reports for the prior year, and explained where community tax revenues went in 2025. 

Five years of full-scale war — and still no clear picture on humanitarian aid

Across several cities studied, we found persistent gaps in areas that became critical after the full-scale invasion and should have been systematized by now: humanitarian aid, compensation for damaged property, services and information for IDPs and defenders, social services, shelter locations, healthcare, and energy consumption data. These are the areas where cities show the least structured, least consistent approaches.

Humanitarian aid is the starkest example. Only 3 of the 50 largest cities — Mykolaiv, Chernivtsi, and Shostka — publish the full range of required information on aid flows and distribution. Meanwhile, 20 cities publish none of the requested categories: no thematic page, no reports, no distribution criteria, no list of recipients.

This problem is solvable. Mykolaiv, Chernivtsi, and Shostka have each built dedicated pages with key information on humanitarian aid — eligibility rules, priority groups, and reporting. Even in wartime, cities can create clear, structured communication when they treat it as a governance priority.

Across all our research, one pattern holds: city governments that think strategically — with baseline policies, programs, and a coherent development logic — are better positioned to survive crises, build new ecosystems, and sustain what they have created. 

When initiatives are treated as standalone projects, sometimes as a favor to international partners, the system quickly loses coherence, frustrating residents and officials alike.

In one regional center, international partners helped fund an app intended to consolidate the city’s digital services. The city never integrated it into its own management infrastructure, and after a few years of developer support, the project effectively shut down.

Separately, a local open data portal — also created with international support — has gradually lost functionality for lack of proper governance. Its most recent datasets date from 2023. The resource formally exists but no longer serves as a source of current information for residents, businesses, or researchers.

The result: cities accumulate tools but never build a system.

What needs to change 

The question local governments must ask is not whether communities will integrate into the EU, but how ready a given city is to start now. The coming years are the critical window for that preparation.

Our research shows that most problems stem not from a lack of technology or resources, but from the absence of a systematic approach to resident communication and to organizing information and services. 

The European approach to governance is grounded in the principles of good governance, codified in the Council of Europe’s 12 Principles — benchmarks for building transparent, effective, and accountable public institutions that serve citizens. They cover everything from fair elections and the rule of law to transparency, accountability, ethics, and sustainable development.

Cities need to start with the foundations: restructure official websites, create dedicated thematic pages for key topics, build a complete publication cycle for council activity, strengthen digital tools for social services and vulnerable groups, and make the site’s search function an actual navigation tool rather than a decorative feature.

Genuine public engagement requires local authorities to go out and speak with their taxpayers — to report, explain, and build mature, accountable relationships. The principle is simple: go where your audience is. If you actually want to reach people and be accountable to your community, follow your audience rather than waiting for residents to monitor city council websites around the clock. Developing social media channels, using engagement tools, working with local media, and proactively going to people — this is demanding, constant work. The payoff is visibility, respect for the council’s representatives, and a calmer public environment. 

We have already developed recommendations and self-assessment tools that let local authorities see themselves through a resident’s eyes. That matters, because change in this area does not begin with large budgets — it begins with recognizing the problem and being willing to rethink how you work.

EU integration is not about hanging an EU flag on city hall. It is about cities where authorities speak not only about their successes but also about their problems — and begin building spaces that genuinely work for people. A city is truly ready for European transparency standards when its resident can find needed information, access assistance, or check how community funds were spent in two taps on a smartphone. Trust is built from transparent digital tools and honest dialogue — and without trust, no community can thrive. Especially in wartime.

 

This material is made possible with the support of the MATRA Programme of the Embassy of the Kingdom of the Netherlands in Ukraine, and with the financial support of Sweden within the framework of the program on institutional development of Transparency International Ukraine.

Content reflects the views of the author(s) and does not necessarily correspond with the position of the Embassy of the Kingdom of the Netherlands in Ukraine or the Government of Sweden.

What were candidates asked about?

Over the final two and a half weeks, PCIE and HQCJ members conducted 36 interviews. The participation of two candidates — Maksym Hloba and Stanislav Nesterenko — was terminated by the commission. So what were the most notable lines of questioning?

 

Bitcoin, solar panels, and billion-hryvnia businesses

Assets, business interests, and automobiles dominated the experts’ questions. Ihor Omelian, a lecturer at the International European University, was asked about companies in which he appeared as a co-founder: Podil Agro Invest LLC (with a charter capital of UAH 4.2 billion, of which UAH 1.4 billion belonged to the candidate) and Sea Investment Group LLC (with a charter capital of UAH 560 million, of which UAH 140 million was his share). Omelian claimed he had voluntarily withdrawn from both ventures due to their failure, walking away from his billion-hryvnia stakes without complaint.

Curiously, Omelian appeared to be trying to impress the PCIE and HQCJ with a display of integrity, noting that he could have omitted a property from his declaration since it “wasn’t even in the registry” and no one would have noticed.

Another business arrangement that drew the panel’s attention was the solar panel operation of attorney Volodymyr Bubleinyk. Through the sale of electricity under a green energy tariff, he managed to earn half a million euros — while the seven buildings used to house the panels had been transferred to him free of charge by the local municipal council. He explained that the properties had no market value and that the council’s motivation was to boost budget revenues and promote renewable energy development.

Attorney Olena Roik faced extensive questioning about the origins of her assets — most notably, the lack of documentation for the purchase of two bitcoins she allegedly sold in 2021 for $155,000, without paying taxes. She claimed to have subsequently lent that money to a friend, and had to take legal action to recover it. Also raising eyebrows was the purchase of an Aston Martin for UAH 14 million in 2025 — a sum far exceeding her declared income. Roik described the car as a particular way of “storing cash” accumulated through savings, an inheritance, and a loan. When asked about the ethics of purchasing a luxury vehicle just one month before the competition, she responded with confidence: she was “not ashamed” of her declaration and considered herself “modest.”

 

Searches in the Court Decisions Registry

The commission also continued probing candidates about searches of restricted personal information — their own or that of close associates — conducted through full-access mode in the Unified State Register of Court Decisions, information they could have exploited for personal gain. The explanations varied. Tetiana Troian, a judge of the Sosnivskyi District Court in Cherkasy, admitted to conducting such searches in order to monitor potential debt collection proceedings initiated by a bank. 

Yuliia Retynska, a judge of the Zavodskyi District Court in Zaporizhzhia, attributed the searches to a technical mix-up between browser tabs with different access levels during her work. She separately confirmed that she had shared information about the criminal liability of a friend’s ex-husband, insisting she had only disclosed data from open cases. The commission apparently found these explanations satisfactory — Retynska advanced to the next stage.

Ihor Chaikin, a judge of the Pokrovskyi District Court in Kryvyi Rih, explained that he had searched for himself and close relatives on over 100 occasions while preparing documents for various competitions, to verify information about any potential criminal proceedings or court summons. The PCIE and HQCJ found this sufficient grounds to pass him through as well.

Oleksandr Leonov, a judge of the Khadzhybeiskyi District Court of Odesa, additionally reported that his profile had been accessed without authorization, resulting in nearly 1,000 queries.

 

The charitable attorneys

During one interview, a PCIE expert could not help but remark that Ukraine, unlike most other countries, appears to have an unusually widespread practice of attorneys providing their services free of charge. The pattern surfaced, for example, during the interview with Oleksandr Zavhorodnii, who — despite having no declared income in 2015–2017 and 2020–2021, and having relocated from occupied territory — continued offering his legal services at no cost. 

Ivan Kravchenko, a lecturer at Sumy National Agrarian University, attributed the absence of revenue from the law firm he co-founded to pro bono work. 

Anton Baida, an associate professor at the Yaroslav Mudryi National Law University, similarly stated that despite holding an attorney’s license, he handled nearly all cases for free — for acquaintances — citing it as a way to test his theoretical knowledge in practice. He also noted that he lacked the funds to cover the mandatory continuing professional development required of licensed attorneys.

 

Pardoning drunk drivers

The HQCJ and PCIE also scrutinized candidates’ judicial track records, specifically a pattern of mass case closures involving drunk driving charges on grounds of statutory time limits having lapsed. 

Oleh Marchuk, a judge of the Vasylkiv City-District Court in Kyiv Region, explained that procedural notification issues were common in such cases and that his workload had been excessive overall. It also emerged that Marchuk himself had accumulated more than 20 administrative traffic violations — he suggested that some may have been committed by his wife, though he acknowledged that in roughly 15 instances, he was indeed the offender.

Similar concerns were raised with Iryna Tokarska, a judge of the Manevychi District Court, Volyn Region. She justified the mass closures of DUI cases — either on the basis of expired time limits or by imposing fines without license revocation — by pointing to the difficulty of summoning military personnel to court and the fact that some offenders lacked driving licenses. Her decision to close a case involving an intoxicated serviceman, which she explained as a “gesture of leniency” following combat near Bakhmut, drew particular criticism. 

 

I also cannot omit the high-profile moment when NABU and SAPO exposed Ivan Posokhov, a judge of the Siverskodonetsk City Court, Luhansk Region, on charges of soliciting a $30,000 bribe — while he was actively participating in the HACC judicial selection competition. What made it especially striking was his statement during the interview that he was unaware of any misconduct among colleagues or anyone else. On the subject of corruption, he remarked that the phenomenon exists — but that he had never personally encountered it.

On the results

The interview stage, conducted with the participation of international experts and the qualification commission, proved to be an indispensable part of the competition — a moment where candidates could be confronted directly with the most sensitive aspects of their professional histories. It is worth emphasizing that the picture drawn in this article is inevitably incomplete: what matters most is how candidates respond to tough questions when pressed. As we have seen, some answers were deemed sufficient to carry candidates forward.

As for the process itself — we once again have reason to believe in the effectiveness of this selection model, despite the considerable skepticism that has surrounded it. What this round demonstrates is that involving international experts can genuinely ensure transparency, quality, and independence in the appointment of HACC judges — and that this is not merely a box-ticking exercise. 

Following this stage, interviews are also conducted by the High Council of Justice (HCJ). If the Council endorses the HQCJ’s decisions, the President appoints the judges upon its recommendation.

The results of this stage are, in my opinion, something of a compromise. Among those who may advance to become judges are four candidates whose interview responses were notably unconvincing. 

Vladyslav Kukhta, presiding judge of the Chernihiv District Court, was called out by the PCIE on ethical grounds. He secured a third term as court chair by exploiting a two-month administrative “pause” in his tenure to circumvent a legal two-term limit. That same maneuver also allowed a colleague to secure lifetime financial benefits at a salary inflated by 10% for the administrative role. In addition, in 2020 he recused himself from a prominent espionage case with Belarusian dimensions, for which the HCJ formally reprimanded him.

Another prospective HACC judge is Iryna Teslenko, currently a judge of the Kreminna District Court in Luhansk Region, seconded to the Solomianskyi District Court of Kyiv. She was questioned about failing to declare rented housing in Kreminna, a questionable valuation of an apartment in Kharkiv, and a series of profitable car resales by her family. She explained the absence of a registered address by claiming she stayed in hotels on working days and paid in cash; the car profits she attributed to her husband’s repair work. The HQCJ also flagged a discrepancy between her savings and expenditures during maternity leave, as well as trips to Russia after 2014 — which she justified as an unavoidable necessity in order to purchase medication for her parents.

Yuliia Retynska, mentioned earlier in connection with the registry searches, also had to explain a significant jump in her savings: in 2020 she managed to set aside approximately $15,000, as her net income rose from UAH 300,000 to UAH 700,000. She explained this by deliberately saving for a home purchase and cutting personal expenses sharply following the start of the full-scale invasion.

The final candidate to raise concerns is Olha Pevna, a judge of the Troitske District Court in Luhansk Region. PCIE and HQCJ members found inconsistencies in her asset declarations for 2016–2022. Among the financial red flags: in 2019, after accounting for savings, she was left with just UAH 290 per month. She insists her expenses were covered by her children’s father. The commission noted, however, that this should have been declared. Additional concerns include late submission of financial disclosure reports and suspicious transactions involving the purchase and refund of a defective vehicle bought in the Czech Republic. 

The commission was also intrigued by her relationship with her ex-husband: the couple divorced in 2015, yet had a child together in 2020, traveled as a family, and shared property. There is speculation that the divorce may have been fictitious — a means of shielding assets from seizure following a traffic accident in which the husband was involved and victims sustained serious injuries. Pevna denied this, saying contact with her ex-husband was strictly limited to co-parenting.

What remains critically important now is to see the full written reasoning behind the PCIE and HQCJ decisions for each candidate — and to await the High Council of Justice’s review.

On the Agency’s insistence on using the term “automated verification,” which is absent from the law

The concept of “automated verification” was added by the NACP to the current Procedure for Conducting a Full Verification of the Declaration of a Person Authorized to Perform the Functions of the State or Local Self-Government back in December 2023 (the Procedure). This Procedure is the document that “sets forth the procedure by which the National Agency on Corruption Prevention conducts a full verification of the declaration of a person authorized to perform the functions of the state or local self-government.”

Under Section V, Part 1, clause 1 of the Procedure, a full verification is conducted in order of priority based on risk assessment, including where “the declaration is filed by an official holding a responsible or especially responsible position, by a declarant holding a position associated with a high level of corruption risks, the list of which is approved by the National Agency, except for a declaration for which there is a report on the results of an automated verification of the declaration.”

Yes, Herman Halushchenko, who held the positions of Minister of Justice and Minister of Energy, was an official in a “responsible or especially responsible position.”

Halushchenko’s declarations for 2021 and 2024 were precisely the ones that underwent the automated verifications referred to in the provision above from the Procedure for Conducting a Full Verification. We include a screenshot from the NACP website below.

That is exactly why, under the Procedure, they were not selected for a manual full verification that is envisaged by the Law of Ukraine on Corruption Prevention. At the same time, the law does not provide any definition of “automated verification of declarations,” because such a verification should not have existed at all. By insisting that “automated” and “full” verification are two entirely different instruments, the NACP raises even more questions about its free interpretation of the law. The result is that the Agency does not act “within the limits of authority and in the manner” prescribed by the Constitution of Ukraine. Instead, it exercises financial control over declarants under a procedure that does not exist in legislation, while publicly rejecting any connection to the legal norms established by the legislator.

The NACP introduced the artificial concept of automated verification into the Procedure for Conducting a Full Verification, providing that if it is successfully completed, a declaration, under certain conditions, may never be subject to a full verification by an Agency employee.

Moreover, the Procedure also provides that declarations marked as high-risk based on the results of logical and arithmetic control (LAC) will also not be selected for a full manual verification if such declarations have passed an automated full verification. This further weakens the LAC mechanism as well, the rules of which, it should be recalled, remain closed to external observers—just like the rules of automated full verification.

It is precisely this approach to selecting declarations for manual full verification that TI Ukraine criticizes in the article on Herman Halushchenko’s declarations, as well as in earlier publications. In particular, we suggest reviewing the analysis TI Ukraine published immediately after amendments were introduced to the Procedure regarding automated verifications—here.

The term “automated full verification” is used in the article to highlight the problem of the NACP’s increasing move away from conducting full verifications manually. In addition, a similar term is also used in reports by international organizations, for example, in the latest OECD report.

On the article’s references to NABU materials concerning the activities of certain legal entities located outside Ukraine

The article clearly describes the tools the NACP could have used to verify Halushchenko’s assets and those of his family members more thoroughly in the course of a manual full verification, including by submitting additional inquiries both to the declarant and to national and international bodies.

The need to strengthen cooperation with foreign states to exchange information as part of the Agency’s financial control is objective. This is also stated in the Independent External Assessment Report on the NACP’s Activity for 2020–2021: “The NACP’s cooperation with the competent bodies of other countries should be intensified, in particular in the area of exchange of data for the purposes of administrative verifications within the NACP’s mandate, for example, on the basis of Art. 43 of the UN Convention against Corruption or on the basis of other provisions of existing international treaties). The NACP should increase its interaction with international organisations and non-governmental organizations from foreign countries.”

Verification of declarations is an administrative procedure that precedes criminal proceedings. It is precisely within administrative and civil procedures that the NACP is not limited in international cooperation. This is also provided for by law, which states that the Agency’s powers include cooperation with state bodies, civil society organizations of foreign states, and international organizations within its competence, as well as exchange of information with competent authorities of foreign states and international organizations. To date, the NACP has also not fully leveraged the potential of regional instruments such as the Regional Data Exchange on Asset Disclosure and Conflict of Interest, which our neighbor Moldova recently joined.

In addition, the NACP should deepen cooperation with national authorities as well. In this context, it is also worth considering whether the Agency could cooperate with NABU on obtaining information in response to requests for international legal assistance in criminal jurisdiction while carrying out financial control.

TI Ukraine does not compare the NACP to law enforcement bodies. Rather, we propose that it use and develop the instruments at the Agency’s disposal to ensure effective manual full verifications of declarations. The fact that the NACP previously obtained access to Europol’s SIENA platform can be assessed positively, as it opened new opportunities for information exchange with law enforcement bodies of EU member states, even though the NACP is not a law enforcement body.

On the NACP’s assessment of TI Ukraine’s expertise 

Finally, I would like to comment on the Agency’s claim that TI Ukraine “misinterprets” financial control measures, which “creates a distorted perception of the NACP’s work and undermines trust in the anti-corruption system as a whole.” It should be noted that, in addition to TI Ukraine analysts, the NACP’s activities are assessed by a number of international organizations, including the IMF, the European Commission, and the OECD, among others. In their most recent reports, these organizations are fairly aligned in criticizing the Agency’s approaches to financial control, particularly with respect to full verifications.

For example, the latest European Commission Enlargement Report on Ukraine points to the need to strengthen the e-declaration system so that it can truly prevent and detect unjustified assets effectively. The Commission stated that the system has practical and legal shortcomings, primarily relating to the automated verification process.

And here is what the OECD wrote in its 2025 report regarding the NACP’s automated full verifications: “Statistics from the Register suggest that as of December 2024, there are ca. half a million high risk declarations, of which only 13 600 passed the automatic control, which is an approach to full verification of the declarations that fall within the lower risk range. Even if the NACP increases the proportion of the automated full verifications to 75%, as initially planned, this will not cover the entire range of high-risk declarations. This significant gap between legislation and practice indicates the need to reassess the appropriateness and potentially undesirable consequences of maintaining such a broad list of persons required to file declarations.”

It is also worth mentioning the most recent  Independent External Assessment Report of the NACP’s Activity for 2020–2021, in which the commission members stated directly: “The NACP informed the Commission that the issue of the possibility of conducting full verification in an automated mode using the software tools of the Register is being studied. The Commission would like to express doubts that the full verification of the AD could be automated, as under the current mandate of the NACP the procedure was designed for manual checking by authorized persons of the National Agency.”

Therefore, it appears that it is not only TI Ukraine that underscores the need to reconsider the Agency’s approach to automated full verifications and make them more effective. 

P.S. From this entire situation, I am glad that Herman Halushchenko’s declarations will, at last, be subject to a full manual verification by the NACP, as they should have been from the very beginning. 

The Anti-Corruption Court competition

Back in June of last year, the High Qualifications Commission of Judges (HQCJ) announced the third competition for judicial positions at the HACC. This time, 23 seats are vacant: 13 at HACC (trial court) and 10 in the HACC Appeals Chamber.

A key change is that the selection is now “unified”: candidates were allowed to apply for both the trial and appellate levels at the same time. Seats in the Appeals Chamber will go to those candidates who applied for both and score the highest during the assessment process.

It is worth mentioning why there are so many vacancies across both levels of HACC. The previous competition largely failed. After a lengthy selection process, only two candidates secured the coveted positions, even though there was a need to fill 25 seats. Moreover, expanding HACC’s staffing is one of the requirements for receiving financial assistance under the Ukraine Facility Plan.

At the end of last year, we learned the results of the candidates’ practical exam. At that stage of the previous competition, 84% of participants were eliminated. This time, however, 73 out of 85 candidates passed on the second attempt. That means there are now 3.2 candidates per vacant HACC seat—far better than last time, when there were only 0.3 candidates per seat before interviews began.

And now, for the past two weeks, the most extensive stage of the competition has been underway: interviews with candidates conducted with the participation of the Public Council of International Experts (PCIE) and the HQCJ. So far, 33 interviews have already taken place. Transparency International Ukraine’s experts have been closely monitoring these conversations and have found several key points.

I should emphasize that interviews focus primarily on problematic aspects of candidates’ backgrounds, so the overall picture may seem more negative than it actually is. In addition, the commission does not provide feedback on candidates’ answers, so we can only guess whether the experts found particular explanations satisfactory.

What stands out in the interviews?

A new feature of this year’s assessment is that commission members analyzed candidates’ search history in the Unified State Register of Court Decisions (USRCD) under full-access mode. The increased attention to this issue is well-founded: not long ago, the NABU opened criminal proceedings over the systematic use of full access by attorneys to deliberately search for information about criminal proceedings and investigative actions. 

During the interviews, PCIE and HQCJ members repeatedly asked some judges and former judicial assistants about searches concerning themselves and people in their close circle. Full access allows them to see personalized decisions, and that raises concerns that closed information could be used for private purposes. This is the first competition in which analysis of search history in the USRCD is a full-fledged element of candidate assessment. For that, the HQCJ and PCIE deserve specific recognition—not only for obtaining the relevant data, but also for integrating its analysis into the evaluation process.

Over the first two weeks of interviews, the question was posed to six candidates: Nazar Hryn, Vita Matolych, Dmytro Movchan, Andrii Dudikov, Viktor Antypenko, and Oksana Yevlakh. In particular, Dudikov searched 240 times for information unrelated to his own cases, including 75 searches concerning his sister’s ex-husband. Movchan’s search history has more than 100 requests containing the full name of a person close to him. Candidates’ explanations varied—from professional curiosity to a desire to avoid potential conflicts of interest. 

A large share of questions from PCIE and HQCJ members concerned significant underreporting of income and property values in candidates’ asset declarations. For example, attorney Iryna Kuzina reported receiving about UAH 50,000 during her time at Ilyashev & Partners for part of 2015 and for 2016–2017, and she refused to provide information about her income, citing a non-disclosure agreement. 

Another “record in frugality” came from the family of Associate Professor Oleksandr Ostrohliad. In 2016, his five-person household reportedly spent only UAH 25,600 (about $83 per month), and in 2017—UAH 36,000. The candidate explained that his in-laws paid utilities, while his parents provided food and preserved goods. When asked about the substantial undervaluation of a house Ostrohliad purchased from the son of his academic adviser, he described the property’s neglect: “The tiles were covered with a layer of pine needles, and chanterelle mushrooms were growing on them.” Despite the modest lifestyle described, the family purchased three new cars from dealerships, and the in-laws became owners of two apartments in a residential complex in central Kyiv. 

The integrity of Oleksandr Dudchenko, an associate professor at the Criminal Procedure Department of Yaroslav Mudryi National Law University, raised questions due to an unusual income of UAH 1 million from a single retail outlet with a margin of up to 120%, which he closed immediately after receiving the profit. He explained his assets, including a car, housing, and $12,000 in student savings, by citing orphan status, inheritance, help from relatives, and extreme thrift.

As for Vita Matolych, a judge of the Nadvirna District Court in Ivano-Frankivsk region, commission members suspected she was using her mother’s undeclared car—the same vehicle in which she was involved in a traffic accident. Her explanation that she spends up to seven hours a day commuting to work by public transportation did not persuade the PCIE and HQCJ experts.

Another candidate, Yevhen Kapitonov, a judge of the Vilniansk District Court in Zaporizhzhia region, failed to list housing in Vilniansk in his declarations, and—based on the information he provided—appeared to have purchased a Mercedes-Benz from himself. Ultimately, Kapitonov acknowledged these facts and agreed with the Ethics Council of the High Council of Justice’s decision from December 2025 finding that he did not meet the criteria of professional ethics and integrity. 

Gifts are another revealing element of candidates’ declarations. For example, in the summer of 2022, a person not close to the family gifted a house in Romny to Oksana Yevlakh, a judge of the Romny City-District Court in Sumy region. That naturally drew the commission’s attention. The candidate explained that her former husband bought the property for her as part of their divorce settlement, and that he had already arranged with the owner to use a deed of gift, despite it being a purchase in substance. In another case, Yevhen Didenko, a judge of the Pryazovske District Court in Zaporizhzhia region, received a house as a gift from his mother valued at UAH 20,000. His mother had purchased it for UAH 193,000, but the candidate could not recall why there was such a difference.

Some candidates also showed noticeable gaps in their understanding of legal concepts. Ivan Posokhov, a judge of the Siverskodonetsk City Court in Luhansk region, could not explain the meaning of habeas corpus or the substance of the Anti-Corruption Strategy. Nataliia Doroshenko, a judge of the Rivne District Administrative Court, did not fully understand the concept of a “whistleblower” and how a whistleblower’s reward is determined. Nazar Hryn, a judge of the Saksahanskyi District Court of Kryvyi Rih, could not clearly list corruption-related offenses and gave vague answers about how to distinguish administrative corruption offenses. 

Special attention was also paid to some candidates’ prior public actions and decisions. For example, sitting HACC judge Olena Tanasevych, explaining her participation in the so-called “Kivalov party,” attended by people involved in widely known criminal proceedings, emphasized that the event was merely formal. Attorney Dmytro Ostapenko, explaining his vote for Olena Duma as head of the ARMA (a vote he later withdrew after public backlash) said the experience taught him a lesson about the importance of thoroughly verifying information. 

Viktor Maslov, a sitting HACC judge, faced many questions about an alleged breach of deliberation secrecy in the Onyshchenko case, after which the HACC Appeals Chamber sent it back for a new trial. The panel had remained in deliberations for several months, during which judges attended training events and the congress of judges. Maslov emphasized that physically remaining in the courthouse for that long is impossible, and argued that there was no violation because the judges did not communicate with outsiders and attended only mandatory events.

Attorney Oleksandr Shtifonov had to address a profile on the Pravoved.ru service, where, in September 2014, someone using his name appears to have provided consultations on Russian law. Shtifonov said he was “not aware of such a registration.” However, taken together with trips to occupied Crimea, this raises concern. 

There were also candidates who stood out for sheer persistence. For example, Oleh Kimstachov, an assistant to a judge of the HACC Appeals Chamber, is participating in the HACC competition for the third time. His attempt last year ended negatively precisely at the stage involving PCIE assessment. At the time, the candidate apparently failed to dispel well-founded doubts related to the circumstances of his dismissal from a judicial position, his handling of a case involving a fellow judge of the same court, and the origin of funds connected to a cryptocurrency gift he received from his mother. This time, the main question from the experts was straightforward: what, exactly, has changed in the candidate’s explanations and position? Yet we did not hear anything new.

So, what motivates candidates to go through such a long and difficult competition? That, too, was one of the commission’s questions.

Marta-Mariia Yatsynina, a senior lecturer at Ukrainian Catholic University, described her desire as a logical career step, driven by an interest in practical work and a deep academic focus on criminal law and special subjects (public officials). Viktor Antypenko, a judge of the Rokytne District Court in Kyiv region, justified his decision in part by a desire for a “more prestigious profession,” adding that while working at HACC is much harder, “it is offset by a strong benefits package.” Attorney Oleksandr Shtifonov said his motivation was a desire to be useful to society because as an attorney, he is constrained by the interests of his client.

It is also telling that Mykola Rubashchenko, an associate professor of criminal law at Yaroslav Mudryi National Law University, is simultaneously participating in a competition for an appellate court in Kharkiv. He candidly said that if he succeeds in both competitions, he would prefer the Kharkiv court, because it is his alma mater and appellate work attracts him with its broader range of cases compared with HACC’s narrow specialization.

***

Let me reiterate: these types of questions are typical for any competition in which candidates undergo integrity screening. Assets, prior decisions, contacts with the aggressor state—candidates are always asked about all of this, and that is a good thing. What matters is how candidates answer and how they refute the concerns raised.

More than two weeks of interviews still lie ahead—they will continue until March 17. We can see that members of the competition commission have taken a thorough approach to reviewing and analyzing candidates’ dossiers, and there is no shortage of questions for each candidate. At TI Ukraine, we will continue to monitor the interviews and highlight the key moments. We hope that this time, all 23 vacancies at the High Anti-Corruption Court will finally be filled and that the selected candidates will distinguish themselves by their commitment to the office.

Why is this result happening despite government action? 

I’ll admit it: when I saw the first CPI numbers, I felt a certain dissonance. On paper, we’re up. In the reality of 2025, we saw a near-total paralysis of systemic anti-corruption change. Most reforms didn’t just slow down—they moved into the risk zone. Even the critically important transformation of ARMA was accompanied by such delays in Parliament that they resulted in direct financial losses for the state budget.

Instead of systemic steps, we saw an escalation of corruption scandals. At one point, it became hard to shake the impression that key anti-corruption “safeguards” were being deliberately dismantled. How else can one interpret a situation in which people from the president’s inner circle become subjects of NABU and SAPO investigations? 

It’s important to state this honestly: law enforcement activity in these cases is not the result of political leadership’s goodwill or some internal “self-cleansing” of the system. It is solely the result of NABU and SAPO’s professional autonomy. They kept pressing top-level corrupt actors even under direct political and coercive pressure.

So where did this point increase come from? 

A detailed analysis of the CPI components confirms that we are dealing with a unique shift in perception. For years, our organization has explained that the Index does not measure the physical volume of bribes; it measures how corruption is seen and perceived by experts and business — both inside and outside the country. We always want to see steady “pluses,” because they signal partner trust. But last year, even inside the country, there was no sense of progress. On the contrary, we felt a familiar and highly dangerous taste of a return to arbitrariness, where real fighting is replaced by imitation.

External factors also weighed on the situation. We cannot ignore the change in the United States’ focus regarding Ukraine’s reform agenda. The demanding stance of Western allies eased somewhat, while European leaders had to concentrate on their own security. Constant assurances of unconditional support for Ukraine created a dangerous illusion of permissiveness “on the Pechersk hills”—as if, in domestic policy, anything would now be tolerated.

People in the president’s circle felt beyond reach. And society gave a clear response: Ukraine in 2025 is no longer the country it was twelve years ago. The avalanche of public anger moved in a very different direction than the initiators of last July’s reform rollback had expected.

Who actually saved our numbers?

The CPI captures processes dynamically over the last two years. For me, the most telling signal was that Ukraine gained five points at once in the Bertelsmann Foundation’s research—an index that records whether officials face real accountability for corruption. In other words, researchers saw and assessed not politicians’ promises, but real procedural actions by the NABU, the SAPO, and the HACC.

That is the core answer to why the authorities failed to break the anti-corruption vertical in the summer of 2025. If detectives’ work used to be perceived as something intangible, we now have proof: this work is seen and counted by global institutions and by Ukrainian citizens alike. No one would have taken to the streets to defend powerless bodies. Instead, we witnessed the first major social protest of the full-scale war period.

That public resolve had deep meaning. In July, people came out with cardboard signs to defend institutions; by the end of the year, we understood that fighting corruption is a matter of physical security — as basic as heat, electricity, and defense capacity. Citizens preserved NABU and SAPO, and in the fall, those agencies exposed the “Barrier” scheme and the high-profile Mindich case. These investigations literally stopped the state from sliding into the abyss of chaos.

What is more, 2025 proved that political influence is no longer an indulgence. Today, law enforcement can reach any corrupt actor — a challenge even for developed democracies. If cases used to be launched mainly after investigative media reports, anti-corruption institutions themselves have now seized the initiative. This is a fundamentally new quality of the fight.

Breakthrough strategy: what comes next?

Still, we should be realistic: even NABU and SAPO at peak effectiveness cannot radically change the situation without systemic reforms. Politicians may try to play on their own field by their own rules, or sabotage votes for months. But in the end, obligations will have to be met. This is no longer a matter of “good behavior” for the IMF. It is a matter of survival.

We understand it’s impossible to implement all reforms at once because of shortages of resources and human capital. But some steps require not billion-dollar investments, only political will. Transparency International Ukraine has identified six priorities for 2026:

1. Unconditional safeguarding of the independence of anti-corruption institutions.
2. Better results in confiscating criminal assets.
3. Stronger institutional capacity and focus of the NACP.
4. Comprehensive modernization of the Criminal Procedure Code to ensure swift justice.
5. Involvement of international experts in selecting HQCJ members.
6. Full adoption and implementation of the State Anti-Corruption Program.

Delivering on these points will make it possible to convert high-profile notices of suspicion into real convictions. This year’s additional point is progress at the margin of error. But for Ukraine it weighs more: our society has definitively changed its paradigm. 

Corruption has stopped being “background noise” or the government’s internal affair. This intolerance, documented in protests and in action, reshapes not only how the world perceives us, but also the very boundary of what is acceptable inside the state.

What exactly has changed in the approach to the competition

The new selection procedure gives a key role to experts delegated by international partners: without their votes, it becomes impossible to adopt any decision. This is a significant step forward compared to the previous model, which left the competition more vulnerable to undue political influence.

Previously, the selection commission consisted of three representatives of the Verkhovna Rada and one representative each from the Prosecutor General, the NABU Director, the Minister of Justice, the Head of the State Financial Monitoring Service, and the Minister of Finance. The new model, by contrast, provides for a six-member commission appointed by the government. At the same time, the Cabinet of Ministers must appoint half of its members based on nominations from international development partners.

The pool of potential candidates has also expanded. From now on, not only lawyers, as in prior selections, but also economists may apply, which significantly broadens the range of professionals. In addition, the law introduced a mandatory requirement that the new Head of ARMA command one of the official languages of the Council of Europe.

The law also detailed the integrity and professional competence criteria for candidates—shortcomings that TI Ukraine repeatedly highlighted in its publications. The political neutrality requirement has been strengthened as well: candidates must now have no ties to political parties for two years, whereas previously the cooling-off period was one year.

Finally, the selection procedure has been supplemented with a stage involving practical tasks. By decision of the commission, additional testing or other assignments may also be introduced. The current commission selecting ARMA’s Head has already approved all of these elements.

Who can take part in the competition and how

As provided by the new law, preparations for the new selection of ARMA’s Head began practically immediately after Olena Duma’s dismissal. On September 25, the Cabinet of Ministers appointed members of the selection commission, and on November 20, it held its first meeting. 

Then, on December 19, the start of document submission was announced—anyone willing to take part may apply until January 19.

As I have already mentioned, the competition is now open to a wider circle of candidates. A person may apply for the position of ARMA Head if they are a citizen of Ukraine, have a higher legal or economic education, at least five years of professional experience and at least three years of managerial experience, are fluent in the state language and one of the official languages of the Council of Europe, and meet integrity and competence requirements. All requirements are set out in detail on the Cabinet of Ministers’ website.

However, submitting documents is only the first stage. In addition to the above, the Commission has approved the criteria and methodology for evaluating candidates as well as the procedure for conducting the competition. It also described in detail all stages that applicants will need to pass. 

The competition itself is intended to be as transparent as possible. Before adopting the above-mentioned evaluation criteria and methodology and the competition procedure, the Commission presented them for public comment and reviewed all feedback received in order to refine these documents. In addition, at its most recent meeting, commission members explained how knowledge and skills would be assessed and stated that the practical assignments completed by participants would be made public. 

And, of course, all interviews assessing integrity and professionalism will also be public—so anyone interested will be able to watch and form their own impression of who may go on to lead the Asset Recovery and Management Agency.

***

ARMA’s reform is a necessary step towards building an effective system for managing seized assets obtained through corruption and other crimes. The institution was created to prevent losses, both for asset owners and for the state, if seized assets are ultimately confiscated. But so far, the Agency has not achieved these goals. And, unfortunately, an obstacle has too often been the reluctance of previous Heads to initiate and properly implement the necessary changes.

That is precisely why meaningful reform of ARMA is impossible without professional leadership of the institution. We therefore call on all ethical professionals to apply for the competition.