The Dictatorship Of War: Why Zelensky’s Rule Cannot Be Called Democratic

A common view, particularly in Western capitals, is that Volodymyr Zelensky represents the last stronghold of democracy on Europe’s eastern frontier. Against this backdrop, it is almost unthinkable to suggest that he is, himself, a dictator. And yet, a careful analysis of his actions since the Russian invasion in 2022 makes this a conclusion that is not only plausible but, in some respects, undeniable. This issue has become especially topical in light of former U.S. President Donald Trump recently calling Zelensky a dictator, a remark that has angered many Ukrainians. Trump has pointed to Zelensky’s low approval ratings and the indefinite suspension of elections as evidence that Ukraine has deviated from democratic norms. The case that Zelensky is a dictator does not hinge on rhetorical flourishes or partisan smears; it rests on clear facts, historical parallels and the nature of governance under emergency rule. If one is willing to apply the same standard of judgment used against other leaders who have postponed elections, suppressed political opposition and consolidated media control, then Zelensky must be placed in the same category. A dictator need not wear a military uniform or govern with undisguised brutality; sometimes, the most effective dictators are those who claim necessity, invoking crisis as justification for indefinite rule.

One must begin with the political structure that now exists in Ukraine. Zelensky was elected in 2019 under the standard conditions of a democratic system: open elections, press competition and political pluralism. That system no longer exists. Since the Russian invasion, Zelensky has declared martial law, suspended elections indefinitely, banned opposition parties, consolidated control over the press and refused to negotiate a peace deal. If the measure of dictatorship is the indefinite suspension of normal democratic processes, then Ukraine has already crossed the threshold. It is true that war creates extreme conditions, and emergency powers are sometimes necessary. But necessity does not negate the reality of dictatorship; it merely explains its emergence.

A defining feature of authoritarian rule is the elimination of political competition. Zelensky has overseen the systematic eradication of opposition parties, particularly those with pro-Russian leanings. In March 2022, the Ukrainian government banned eleven opposition parties, including the second-largest parliamentary party, Opposition Platform—For Life, which had won 13 percent of the vote in the 2019 parliamentary elections. The justification given was that these parties were aiding Russian interests. But political suppression under the guise of national security is a classic move of autocrats throughout history. Spain’s Francisco Franco did the same after his victory in the Spanish Civil War, outlawing all leftist and separatist parties under the pretense that they were communist sympathizers. In Nazi Germany, Hitler used the Reichstag Fire to ban the Communist Party, consolidating one-party rule. Stalin, of course, allowed no competition at all. While Zelensky’s bans do not reach the same extreme, they follow the same logical trajectory. When the ruling power determines that all opposition is illegitimate or treasonous, democracy ceases to function.

Control over information is another hallmark of dictatorship, and here, too, Zelensky has followed the path of autocrats. In March 2022, his administration ordered the unification of all major television channels into a single platform called “United News.” The justification was that this measure would prevent disinformation and ensure a consistent wartime message. But in practical terms, this nationalized television news, ensuring that the government’s narrative would be the only one available to the Ukrainian public. This is not mere wartime censorship—it is centralization of media, a move that has been characteristic of autocracies across the world. During World War II, Britain and the United States practiced censorship, but their media remained independent. By contrast, Putin’s Russia and Xi’s China ensure that television, the most powerful medium for shaping public opinion, is under direct state control. Zelensky’s move was not a minor limitation on the press—it was a decisive step toward a monopoly on information.

A government’s legitimacy ultimately rests on elections, and it is here that Zelensky’s status as a dictator becomes most evident. His term was set to expire in 2024, yet he has declared that no elections can be held until the war ends. This is not a temporary delay—it is an indefinite extension of his rule. If elections are the essence of democracy, then their cancellation is its negation. History provides abundant warnings. During the American Civil War, Abraham Lincoln refused to cancel elections, holding them even in the midst of national crisis. By contrast, authoritarian leaders have routinely used emergency rule to justify their continued power. The most egregious example is Adolf Hitler, who invoked an indefinite state of emergency following the Reichstag Fire, thereby eliminating the need for future elections. Zelensky is no Hitler, but his actions follow the same principle: indefinite delay becomes permanent rule. The argument that elections cannot be held during war is unconvincing. Israel, a country perpetually at war, has never suspended elections. Even in 1944, as the world was consumed by conflict, the United States held a presidential election. The refusal to allow elections is not a logistical necessity—it is a political choice.

Perhaps the strongest counterargument is that Zelensky’s measures are necessary to preserve Ukraine’s sovereignty. It is said that his actions are a response to an existential threat, not a consolidation of personal power. But this line of reasoning assumes that necessity and dictatorship are mutually exclusive. They are not. Many of history’s most infamous dictators came to power in times of war, arguing that extraordinary circumstances required extraordinary authority. Stalin wielded absolute control during World War II because the Soviet Union faced an existential crisis. His dictatorship was no less real because of it. Even relatively moderate autocrats, such as Charles de Gaulle, suspended democratic processes in moments of national crisis. The point is not that Zelensky relishes dictatorship, but that he has embraced it as a wartime expedient. That, however, does not make it any less dictatorial.

To call Zelensky a dictator is not to equate him with history’s worst tyrants. It is, rather, to recognize that the fundamental condition of dictatorship—the indefinite suspension of democratic norms—has already been met. Elections have been canceled, opposition has been eliminated and media has been centralized. These are not speculative concerns about the future; they are the realities of the present. If a different leader, in a different country, engaged in these actions, Western observers would have no hesitation in applying the label.

If democracy means anything, it means the ability of citizens to choose their leaders, criticize their government, and receive information from diverse sources. By these standards, Ukraine no longer qualifies. Zelensky may be a reluctant dictator, a necessary dictator, even a popular dictator—but a dictator nonetheless. If democracy is to be preserved, it must be restored not after the war, but in the present. For every month that passes without elections, every broadcast that airs only the government’s voice and every opposition party that remains banned, Ukraine’s status as a dictatorship becomes more entrenched. And if history teaches anything, it is that dictatorships, once established, rarely surrender power willingly.

Zelensky, like many before him, has argued that extraordinary times require extraordinary measures. That is often true. But as the world watches, one must ask: if elections, opposition and independent media are all casualties of war, what is left to distinguish Ukraine from its adversary?

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