(Image: Zennie/Private Media)

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy did not have a good 2021. He was accused of using the anti-corruption platform that got him elected two years earlier to crack down on dissent, attack his opponents and consolidate power. His business affairs were exposed in the Pandora Papers, and his approval rating, having won the presidency in a 73% landslide, dipped to 30% and below.

In other words, he was well on his way to becoming another failed anti-establishment populist — at worst a cynical phoney, at best a naive lightweight, whose promises could not survive the system into which they had delivered him.

And then in February of this year, Russia brutally and illegally invaded Ukraine. It flicked a switch in Zelenskyy, almost instantly. On February 25 he posted a short video from the streets of besieged Kyiv, surrounded by unsmiling members of his leadership team, his suit substituted for olive-green khaki. His message was simple: “We are here.”

He had not fled, and he would not. He turned down evacuation offers from the US and Turkey, saying, “I need ammunition, not a ride.” He has survived several assassination attempts since.

The sight of Zelenskyy communicating to his people and the world through hurriedly shot mobile phone footage, looking haunted but unbowed, became a symbol of moral and physical courage — both his and Ukraine’s.

At the same time, the ease with the camera he’d displayed during the election campaign returned, and with it his ability to give the impression he was quickly sharing something with just you, the viewer, that gravelly baritone dropping to just above a whisper. From bunkers and offices in Ukraine, he embarked on a virtual world tour, addressing parliaments the world over, telling Ukraine’s story, raising support. One such address to the European Parliament reduced his translator to tears.

The past few years have done nothing much for the idea of “entertainers” as world leaders. Boris Johnson, Donald Trump and Scott Morrison, to different extents and in different ways, found their way to power via their ability to play to the crowd, and were ultimately humiliated by their failure to do much else. As the first truly online wartime leader, Zelenskyy has inverted that prospect.

The comedian and political neophyte found depth and gravitas through just those traits — his power has been derived from an understanding of political theatre, the ability to craft a story that will cut through. Fundamentally, Zelenkskyy’s triumph in 2022 has been his ability to make himself understood, both to and on behalf of the people he is leading.

And here’s the thing — what appeared to be a heroic, ultimately tragic and doomed stand against an aggressor actually ended up working. As professor Ben Saul told Crikey in a different context: “Russia’s annexation and occupation of Ukraine was met with textbook enforcement of international law — Western sanctions, weapons, intelligence-sharing, war crimes investigations, humanitarian aid, and a welcome mat for refugees.”

The invasion — which many Ukrainians view as merely the most explicit recent move in a war that has been ongoing since 2014 — is not over, but it has been a military humiliation and geopolitical disaster for Russia.

Zelenskyy’s story could have ended up a sour joke, a taunting reminder to never get your hopes up. Instead, thanks to the awful intervention of brute history, he became that rarest of things, in politics and in life: someone able to return to the hopes he once inspired and fashion them into something greater still.

Read about this award’s esteemed counterpart: the 2022 Crikey Arsehat of the Year.