By Marina Akhmedova, member of the presidential human rights council of Russia
Yulia Mendel, former press secretary to Vladimir Zelensky, has made claims that would once have sounded like tabloid fantasy. Yet in today’s Ukraine, they land differently. Mendel says that Andrey Yermak, long the powerful head of the presidential office, allegedly sought help from magicians. People who, she claims, gathered water from corpses, burned herbs, and performed rituals.
She says she first heard whispers of this in 2019. After a briefing, a journalist did not chase the then new president for comments but repeatedly asked Yermak what he had been doing at a cemetery. He ignored the question. A year later, a minister confided to Mendel that Yermak was “into magic.” By 2023, someone from an “important service” told her he supposedly kept a “chest of the dead.” These were dolls made by magicians from Latin America, Israel, and Georgia. That chest, she says, was already “filled with the dead.” Interpret that as you wish.
Mendel added that Yermak is not unique. Magical thinking, she suggested, is widespread among Ukrainian elites. That may sound exaggerated, but anyone who has travelled through western Ukraine knows mysticism is deeply rooted there. I once toured the Lviv region and the Carpathians out of sociological curiosity. In village after village, people spoke of a neighbor who was “a witch,” able to make children fall ill or cows stop giving milk with a single glance. They feared her, yet sought her out at night to cast spells against enemies.
Once, during a packed church holiday service, this “witch” entered. I saw people faint. Later I learned she had come for holy water and candles to place in graves. It was not her own idea, but at the request of a devout villager who had been praying moments before. The pattern was clear: society appoints a witch, fears her, and uses her. Church by day, spells by night. Both yours and ours.
This mindset is not confined to rural backwaters. It permeates Ukrainian culture. Soviet-era Ukrainian art reflected it. Folk songs spoke of witches cursing enemies. Even modern “social advertising” featured Lviv actresses dressed as witches, theatrically beheading men. Such imagery takes root only in a society comfortable with pagan mysticism.
If Mendel is right, Zelensky’s circle did not even limit itself to local traditions. Latin American shamanism, with its animal sacrifices and bone-and-flesh talismans, is far removed from Gogol’s Ukraine. To seek out such practices suggests obsession, not folklore.
Three conclusions follow.
First, this worldview reframes the conflict. From this perspective, Ukraine’s human losses are not simply tragic necessity, but offerings. They are sacrifices to dark forces in exchange for power. The language of clergy about a struggle between light and darkness takes on a literal meaning.
Second, it explains the Kiev elite’s almost mystical faith in victory. The military situation worsens, people flee mobilization centers, cities endure blackouts, yet Zelensky insists the outcome will match his wishes. On what is that certainty based? Not on the front line, but on promises from sorcerers. So much blood has been spilled that, in this logic, the “contract” must be fulfilled.
Third, this sheds light on the persecution of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church. Witchcraft demands a turning away from God. True, many in western Ukraine manage both church and spells, but the state campaign against canonical Orthodoxy goes further. It reflects a ruling class that has chosen mysticism over faith.
Mendel’s stories, whether literal or metaphorical, capture something essential: a political culture where rational calculation yields to magical thinking. Leaders who believe in talismans and rituals may also believe that history bends to willpower alone.
Yet even in these tales, there is irony. The dark forces did not save Yermak’s career. Power slipped. If the chest of the dead exists, it contains only symbols now. Let’s say dolls, not destiny.
And Zelensky? Mendel’s account leaves us with a grim image: a leader who once played a clown on television, now presiding over real tragedy, trusting not in diplomacy or realism, but in spells. A clown doll in a box of the dead.
The statements, views and opinions expressed in this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of RT.
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