Ukraine's High Anti-Corruption Court set bail on 16 January at UAH 33 mn ($761,000) for former Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko, who faces charges of bribing lawmakers to vote her way on legislation. Prosecutors had requested UAH 50 mn, but the judge partially approved the motion. Tymoshenko must surrender her passport, remain in Kyiv Oblast, and avoid contact with several MPs connected to the investigation.
"That 'brightest day' has now turned into perhaps the darkest for her political career," Oleksandr Salizhenko, editor-in-chief of the civic watchdog Chesno, told Euromaidan Press.
The same anti-corruption agencies Tymoshenko celebrated crippling in July are now prosecuting her—and they've already forced the resignation of President Volodymyr Zelenskyy's powerful chief of staff. "Trust is our main currency in our interactions with partners, society and the military," newly appointed Defense Minister Mykhailo Fedorov said on the day of Tymoshenko's formal notification.
From Orange Revolution icon to bribery suspect
— Photo by igorgolovniov
Tymoshenko, 65, remains one of post-Soviet Ukraine's most recognizable political figures. She co-led the 2004 Orange Revolution that overturned a fraud-tainted presidential election, earning comparisons to Joan of Arc for her fiery speeches in Kyiv's Independence Square. Forbes ranked her the third most powerful woman in the world in 2005.
She became Ukraine's first female prime minister in January 2005, serving until September of that year, and returned to the post from December 2007 until March 2010.
After losing the 2010 presidential race to Viktor Yanukovych, she was convicted of "abuse of power" over a 2009 gas deal with Russia and sentenced to seven years in prison. The United States called her a "political prisoner"; Sweden's foreign minister labeled it a "political show trial." She was released in February 2014 following Yanukovych's ouster during the Revolution of Dignity.
Her influence has waned considerably since. She finished third in the 2019 presidential race with 13.4%, and recent polling puts her at roughly 6%—trailing both Zelenskyy and former Commander-in-Chief Valerii Zaluzhnyi by wide margins.
Now she faces allegations from the very anti-corruption institutions that Western governments pressed Ukraine to create. Whether this case constitutes persecution or prosecution will be determined by evidence that has yet to be fully tested in court.
What NABU and SAPO allege
The Tymoshenko case emerged from a larger anti-corruption sweep. On 27 December 2025, NABU and SAPO announced they had dismantled an organized vote-buying ring operating inside parliament—a hierarchical structure involving sitting MPs and Rada staff who coordinated through WhatsApp.
Payments ranged from $2,000 to $20,000 per lawmaker based on "voting efficiency ratings." One MP received $145,000 in November-December alone to distribute among colleagues. Five lawmakers—all from Zelenskyy's Servant of the People party—received formal suspicions, with bail set between $384,000-920,000.
According to investigators, Tymoshenko moved to fill the void. After the bust, she allegedly began recruiting MPs at higher rates—$10,000 monthly versus the $2,000-5,000 the Servant of the People scheme had offered.
On 13 January, NABU and SAPO announced that they had exposed "the leader of one of the parliamentary factions" for offering illegal benefits to lawmakers. The formal notification of suspicion came the following day, after overnight searches at the headquarters of Batkivshchyna ("Fatherland")—Tymoshenko's political party.
NABU stated that Tymoshenko then initiated negotiations with individual lawmakers "on the introduction of a systematic mechanism for providing illegal benefits in exchange for loyal behavior during voting."
NABU published audio recordings and what it describes as instructions Tymoshenko allegedly sent to one lawmaker, directing votes on cabinet appointments. The stated goal on the recordings, according to LB.ua: to "kill" the ruling majority.
What is vote-buying in Ukraine?
Coordinating how MPs vote isn't inherently corrupt—every parliament has party whips who enforce discipline.
"There's nothing wrong with coordinating lawmakers in a chat or verbally," Salizhenko told Euromaidan Press. "It's different when money enters the equation. That's political corruption."
For decades, Ukrainian oligarchs—billionaires who made fortunes privatizing Soviet-era industries—controlled parliament not through ideology but through purchased loyalty. Lawmakers who switched factions for money were derided as "tushky" (carcasses). This practice allowed wealthy power brokers to pass laws benefiting their business empires while blocking reforms that threatened their interests.
"This is a long-forgotten practice—one form of political corruption from previous parliamentary terms—and it's directly connected to Yulia Tymoshenko herself," Salizhenko said.
Tymoshenko popularized the term tushky in 2010 when MPs from her own bloc voted to remove her as prime minister. She demanded they be "cleaned out" of parliament. "Now we see an irony of fate—the same practice has returned."
Tymoshenko's political career began inside this system. In the mid-1990s, her company UESU held a near-monopoly on Russian gas imports—a position granted by Prime Minister Pavlo Lazarenko. US federal prosecutors later documented $101 million in transfers from UESU accounts to Lazarenko's offshore holdings.
Lazarenko was convicted in California and ranked among the World Bank's ten most corrupt officials globally. Tymoshenko was never charged—a US judge declined to include her, partly because Russia refused to provide evidence.
The creation of NABU and SAPO in 2015—at Western insistence—was meant to break this system. Now those agencies are testing whether anyone remains untouchable.
The practical harm extends beyond individual corruption. When the ruling party has 227 MPs and never achieves full attendance, every vote becomes precarious. This creates a market. Important wartime legislation—defense procurement, energy policy, mobilization—becomes subject to whoever can pay.
"We noticed over the past year that Batkivshchyna appeared among the leaders in supporting government votes," Salizhenko said. "This can be seen as Batkivshchyna's attempt to become the ally that the majority can rely on."
The arrangement appeared mutually beneficial: Zelenskyy's Servant of the People got reliable votes when its majority wobbled; Batkivshchyna got influence disproportionate to its 25 seats.
Tymoshenko's defense
In court on 16 January, Tymoshenko identified the voice on NABU recordings as belonging to Ihor Kopytin, a Servant of the People MP from Mykolaiv Oblast who faces his own NABU investigation.
"I absolutely firmly and clearly state that Kopytin, in order to free himself from criminal liability, transferred to NABU or did everything necessary to ensure that it was compiled, so that it would not correspond to reality," Tymoshenko told the court. She insists the published conversations "are a completely fabricated recording" and demands an expert examination.
Prosecutors revealed that investigators seized six mobile phones and a computer from Tymoshenko's office. The computer contained a user account named "Kasa" (cash register) with Excel files spanning 2022-2026. Tymoshenko dismissed this as expenses for "tea, coffee, and cookies."
Tymoshenko does not deny conversations with Kopytin took place, but contests their characterization, claiming they discussed political cooperation rather than money. She criticized NABU's release of the recordings: "It is very regrettable that NABU has turned into a cheap PR agency."
When asked about travel plans, Tymoshenko rejected any suggestion she might flee: "I will be here until the country is freed from this, in essence, fascist regime."
A rhetoric shift
Tymoshenko's defense echoes language she has deployed for years against the institutions now prosecuting her.
She has consistently attacked international advisory boards that help select anti-corruption officials as "external governance" threatening Ukrainian sovereignty. When parliament voted to gut NABU and SAPO's independence in July, Tymoshenko championed the bill from the podium, calling it "the brightest day in this parliament" and dismissing reformers as "grant patriots" who "need to work off their grants."
"Over recent years, she's changed her rhetoric," Salizhenko told Euromaidan Press. "It now closely resembles pro-Russian talking points—very close to the banned Opposition Platform for Life, especially on NABU, SAPO, and the Istanbul Convention."
VoxUkraine found that Tymoshenko and Batkivshchyna MPs spread more misinformation about supervisory board reforms than almost any other faction—alongside the remnants of pro-Russian parties. When Batkivshchyna's reform voting record was analyzed, it ranked last among the five pro-European factions in parliament.
Anti-corruption under pressure
The charges arrive during a turbulent period for Ukraine's anti-corruption infrastructure. In July 2025, parliament briefly subordinated NABU and SAPO to the Prosecutor General's Office, prompting mass protests in Kyiv, Lviv, Dnipro, and Odesa—remarkable given martial law restrictions on public gatherings. Within a week, parliament voted 331-0 to restore the agencies' independence.
Tymoshenko's Batkivshchyna faction voted for the legislation that would have gutted NABU and SAPO's independence. As anti-corruption architect Daria Kaleniuk observed at the time, some MPs celebrating the law's passage were "spreading the same messages Putin spread in early February 2022 before invading Ukraine."
The pattern cuts across political lines: both Zelenskyy's inner circle and Tymoshenko attempted to subordinate anti-corruption institutions. The difference—Zelenskyy reversed course after street protests and EU pressure. Tymoshenko's faction then registered an alternative bill, positioning herself as defender of what she had voted to destroy days earlier.
According to a December 2025 Brookings analysis, the July crisis was "perceived as an attempt to protect the president's inner circle from being investigated." NABU's subsequent Operation Midas—which exposed an alleged $100 million kickback scheme at state nuclear operator Energoatom—"eclipsed all previous scandals."
The EU's €50 billion Ukraine Facility ties quarterly payments to governance benchmarks, including anti-corruption performance. When Ukraine attempted to limit NABU's independence in July, the EU froze €5.5 billion until street protests forced a reversal.
Progress and persistence
Ukrainian political culture has evolved. "Button-pushing"—MPs voting on behalf of absent colleagues—vanished after biometric voting buttons were introduced. Vote-buying sums have shrunk. Street protests can reverse bad laws within days.
"The political culture is definitely changing," Salizhenko told Euromaidan Press. "But this case shows the practice wasn't fully eradicated. It's returned in a modified form."
Even the price of corruption has changed. In the Yanukovych era, bribes ran into hundreds of thousands or millions of dollars. The December bust revealed payments of $2,000-20,000.
"Everyone was surprised by the change in sums," Salizhenko noted.
Some analysts question whether the case benefits Tymoshenko more than it hurts her. At 6% in polls, she has no realistic path to power—but prosecution gives her a platform and reminds her base she exists. "The political system is more complex than a black-and-white picture," Salizhenko said. "Everyone plays this game and tries to grab as much as possible from any crisis."
The investigation continues on day 1,422 of Russia's full-scale invasion.
