Dispatch

A Probationary Presidency

Ukrainian billionaire Petro Poroshenko won the election. But can he win over the people?

KIEV, Ukraine — Just before 9 p.m. on May 26, former Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko appeared at Kiev's President Hotel, her campaign headquarters, to concede defeat. Earlier that day, when 80 percent of the votes had been counted, her main rival, Petro Poroshenko, had 54 percent of the vote while she trailed with 13.1 percent. Supporters picked listlessly at chocolate cake in a reception area as her arrival was announced. With the aid of an assistant (she reportedly suffers from back pain), Tymoshenko hobbled across the stage to the podium. She was uncharacteristically brief. "The elections were democratic," she said to a sparse and subdued audience in the hotel amphitheater. "I want Ukraine to be happy and strong."

An hour later across town, the 48-year-old Poroshenko spoke from his campaign headquarters, a grand, stone building on Lavrska Street in central Kiev that once housed the city's military arsenal. Hundreds of supporters and reporters had already spent two hours enjoying wine and the extensive buffet. The mood was triumphant; here, the chocolate cake disappeared quickly. In measured tones he promised to build closer relations with the European Union and tackle the problems facing Ukraine's troubled east. He also declared he would never recognize Russia's March annexation of Crimea. When asked about relations with Moscow, he replied that Ukraine's "sovereignty and territorial integrity" was his priority. Poroshenko's message was clear: Despite the Kremlin's meddling, the spirit of the Euromaidan revolution would live on.

Across Kiev, voters sensed the unique importance of these elections in helping to bring stability to Ukraine. The lines outside polling stations stretched across the capital as thousands queued to vote; even a vicious midafternoon hailstorm couldn't dampen the overall turnout, which is estimated to have been between 55 and 60 percent. "We are here because we want Ukraine to move into the 21st century," said a couple of young IT professionals as they stood in line to vote in the late afternoon. "For years under [former President Viktor] Yanukovych we went backwards. Now we want to go forwards -- with Poroshenko."

But Poroshenko is a complex figure. The oligarch made his fortune in the cowboy years following the Soviet Union's collapse, and questions exist over his past business practices. He made his money not just by asset stripping (the traditional means of acquiring wealth among Ukraine's financial elite) but by building a business. He owns Ukraine's largest confectionery manufacturer, Roshen, earning him the moniker the "Chocolate King," though he also has many other interests, including owning 5 Kanal TV, Ukraine's most popular news channel. Still, by oligarch standards, he is not especially rich. (In March 2013, Forbes estimated his wealth at $1.6 billion; Rinat Akhmetov, Ukraine's richest man has $12.5 billion.)

Poroshenko has also held a number of ministerial posts under previous governments (notably minister of foreign affairs from 2009 to 2010 and minister of trade and economic development in 2012). He is unquestionably a part of the system. And this is where skepticism over whether he will bring any real (and badly needed) political change to Ukraine begins to show. The general feeling among Kiev's intelligentsia is that the endemic corruption and bureaucracy that has smothered the political system for over 20 years will likely take a generation to fix and is at any rate unlikely to come from an "insider."

"He is an oligarch and oligarchs are part of the reason the country is in such a mess," said Bogdhan, a Ukrainian journalist filming people as they cast their votes at a polling center in central Kiev. "But he is better than most of them," he conceded. "Still, in many ways it's a step back."

Bogdhan's ambivalence is typical of much of the post-election reaction here. As the news filtered out, the overwhelming feeling on Kiev's streets wasn't joy or excitement -- it was, at best, relief. Here, the elections were at least held successfully. Many Ukrainians feared that despite Russian President Vladimir Putin's recent May 23 promise at the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum to respect the elections and to work with whomever was elected, Moscow would attempt to sabotage the process. More than 75,000 police personnel and volunteers were mobilized to ensure security during the vote (less so in many parts of the East), which was not without its scares. Election day began with rumors flooding Twitter that pro-Russian separatists had breached the national voting system, a claim the government quickly labeled a hoax.

"I'm glad it's finished quickly," said Roman, the manager of a pizza restaurant near Maidan, who has seen his earnings fall by around 30 percent over the previous six months and is eager to see the country get back on solid economic footing. "Poroshenko is a businessman; he understands what needs to be done. We hope for at least a small improvement in things."

But Poroshenko will have to deliver more than just a small improvement in things; and he will have to do it quickly. Just as his victory was announced on the night of May 25, in what was almost certainly a deliberate attempt to disrupt the elections' show of national unity, armed separatists seized Donetsk's Sergey Prokofiev International Airport. The president-elect had little time to bask in any post-election glow before being asked for comment on the separatists. "Somali pirates," he replied.

Call it what you will, but the East is clearly Poroshenko's most immediate and most serious problem.

At a news conference held on the morning of May 26, Poroshenko directly tackled the issue of Ukraine's military failings and vowed to make the anti-terrorist operation in eastern Ukraine more effective. "From now on, our soldiers will be much better equipped and much better supplied. All of them will have life insurance and high salaries," he said. Several hours later, two fighter jets reportedly launched airstrikes against the separatists holding the airport.

This unusually rapid response against the separatists over recent months (compared with Ukraine's generally lackadaisical military efforts) is as much a show of political muscle as military muscle.

The truth is, Poroshenko takes office facing both military and political problems. He may have won by a comfortable margin, but the electorate also made its dissatisfaction with the main candidates clear. In an election characterized by predictability, the one surprise was the strength of support for Oleh Lyashko, a former journalist and leader of Ukraine's Radical Party, who received almost 8 percent of the vote.

Lyashko prides himself on not being a traditional politician. He made his name railing against the government's inability to bring the East under control and even formed his own "Lyashko Battalion," which carried out attacks against separatists. He has claimed responsibility for the storming of a local government building in Torez in eastern Ukraine that killed a separatist and critically wounded another. It is an extreme form of activism that has gone down well among a population sick of what it perceives to be the government's sustained military incompetence.

And as expected, voting in the East was widely disrupted. Only 20 percent of polling stations opened across the Donetsk region, with none open in the provincial capital, Donetsk city. Across the region as a whole, only seven out of 12 district electoral commissions were operating. Poll workers were subject to repeated harassment and intimidation as separatists stole ballot boxes and made a point of using them as trash cans. Voter turnout was reportedly only between 10 and 20 percent. Poroshenko may have a clear mandate from the people, but that doesn't extend across all parts of the country.

And though the elections overall will have undoubtedly restored a measure of legitimacy to Ukrainian political life, the fact remains that all mainstream politicians in Ukraine remain on probation. In Maidan, Kiev's central square, the uniformed militia that remains camped out in tents combine deep suspicion of Ukrainian politics with anger about the situation in the East. "These bastards just don't stop," said Olexsandyr, a self-defense member who claims to have fought during Euromaidan, when asked about the airport siege. "Poroshenko needs to deal with them quickly -- and with the same brutality they have been using against us."

But the revolutionaries' support won't be easily earned. Earlier in May, the so-called Maidan Council, the unofficial "governing body" of the people living on the square, decided that the activists would remain there until the parliamentary elections in September, to ensure the completion of Euromaidan at the ballot box. "We will see what Poroshenko does," said Olexsandyr, spitting onto the sidewalk. "If he's no good, he'll go the way of Yanukovych. We'll make sure of that."

Photo by SERGEI SUPINSKY/AFP/Getty Images

Dispatch

Sisi's Big Day Is a Bust

The Egyptian election was supposed to bring the former Army chief to office on a massive wave of popular support. So why did so many voters stay home?

CAIRO — Former Egyptian Defense Minister Abdel Fattah al-Sisi faced the first setback of his effort to consolidate power in Cairo, as voter turnout in the election that was widely expected to bring him to the presidency was reportedly anemic. Despite widespread reports of empty polling stations throughout the country, the Egyptian government took the unusual step of extending the ballot into a third day in an attempt to drum up more voters.

Sisi has touted the importance of overwhelming public participation as vital to confirming the Egyptian people's endorsement of the new political order that followed President Mohamed Morsi's ouster last summer and to giving the incoming president a mandate to rule. The former Army chief said in an interview aired on Egyptian television that he hoped 40 million people, or roughly 75 percent of registered voters, would go to the polls. Both the Sisi campaign and that of his sole challenger, leftist politician Hamdeen Sabahi, objected to the extension of the vote.

In an email to reporters on the afternoon of Tuesday, May 27, the second day of voting, the Sabahi campaign estimated that turnout stood at between 10 and 15 percent. The Egyptian Organization for Human Rights, an independent NGO in Cairo, also estimated turnout at 15 percent after the first day of voting. If the turnout is anywhere close to those numbers, it will be far below what Sisi's supporters were hoping for.

"I hope that there will be a majority of voters that will have gone to participate," Amr Moussa, the former Egyptian foreign minister who serves as an advisor to Sisi, told Foreign Policy on Monday. "It's not a usual period; it's an exceptional one. We have a major, major crisis.… So all citizens should join and participate and contribute."

Over the past two days, the Egyptian government has pulled out all the tricks at its disposal to boost turnout. After the first day of voting, it declared Tuesday to be a national holiday, freeing state employees to head to the ballot box. Egypt's Transport Ministry made the trains free to make it easy for voters to travel to polling stations, and some of Cairo's largest malls shut down early so patrons and employees could go vote. Prime Minister Ibrahim Mahlab, meanwhile, threatened to fine registered voters who abstained from casting a vote.

The reason for voter apathy, however, may be inherent in the campaign itself. Sisi's victory has appeared inevitable for months -- he had already been meeting with foreign delegations even before the formality of the election. Moreover, the career military man ran a campaign that was almost completely absent of policy details, giving even voters inclined to support him little idea of how he would govern the country.

"A new Egypt. Back to discipline. Back to production. Back to moving ahead. And an end to chaos," explained Moussa, when asked to describe Sisi's message to voters. "The implementation of the Constitution. Democracy. There are so many messages -- development, social justice."

There are precious few specifics, however, on how to attain those goals. For example, Sisi's 16-point presidential platform, which is drawn from the candidate's promises during his recent TV interviews, fluctuates between exceedingly specific and totally abstract. One point, for example, calls for the construction of 22 new industrial cities and 25 other cities and resorts, without offering any information on how the construction will be funded or where the cities will be built. Another point advocates "offer[ing] material and moral support to the teachers for resolving their problems," without describing what that may mean in practice.

Sisi hinted at this low-profile strategy when he announced his candidacy in March, saying that he would not run a "traditional" campaign. He has more than lived up to that promise. He has not made any public appearances, due to what military officials and his supporters describe as serious security threats presented by the Muslim Brotherhood. He also declined to debate Sabahi, and he oversaw a campaign team that rarely engaged with the public or the media. The campaign is headed by Mahmoud Karem, a former Egyptian ambassador, and has received counsel from Moussa and other political figures -- but it is unclear whether these are the figures whom Sisi will rely on as advisors once, inevitably, in office.

In the absence of a clear ideology, the focus of the Sisi campaign has turned to his personal virtues. His face dots posters across Cairo, sometimes with a lion or the pyramids as a backdrop. "Men who made history," blares a red headline of one banner near downtown Cairo, below a trinity of Egyptian military leaders -- former President Gamal Abdel Nasser, former President Anwar Sadat, and Sisi.

"There is this popular hypnosis about Sisi -- that he's a savior, that he can repair the country, that he's a legendary figure," says Ashraf El-Sherif, a professor of comparative politics at the American University in Cairo. "This idea will be tested very soon, when he comes to power."

Although Sisi is still guaranteed to ascend to the presidency, those personality-centered appeals now appear unsuccessful at generating the overwhelming public mandate that he hoped for. What's more, his persistent vagueness about his plans in office means that it still remains a mystery how exactly he will combat the country's daunting economic and social challenges.

The rhetoric coming from his camp, if not yet his policies, suggests grand changes are afoot. Moussa described Egypt as entering a "Third Republic," distinct both from the reigns of Nasser, Sadat, and Mubarak, as well as from the one-year experiment in Muslim Brotherhood rule.

"In 2011, the goal was to bring the regime down. Now, our task is to establish a new regime," Moussa said. "This time is the time of construction."

* * *

The less-than-overwhelming enthusiasm for the election -- as well as alleged electoral violations committed over the past two days -- could also catalyze opposition from groups that had previously seem prepared to work within the rules of the political game. The Sabahi campaign in particular has increased its criticism of the process, alleging that the state was throwing its weight behind Sisi.

On Monday, the campaign said that it had "monitored systematic violations" by police and Army officers. It cited locations where its delegates were denied access to polling stations or were prevented from filing complaints, and instances where its delegates had witnessed military vehicles being used to campaign for Sisi, or where voters had been directed to cast their ballot for a particular candidate. On Tuesday, the campaign objected to the extension of the vote, which it said "raises logical doubts among the voters regarding the integrity of the whole process."

In contrast to Sisi, Sabahi ran an energetic campaign that crisscrossed the country in an attempt to drum up enthusiasm for his dark-horse candidacy. While many considered his effort a lost cause, he consistently rebutted claims that the state would not let him win.

"We have these three myths that are being propagated by the same people who would benefit from them," he told Foreign Policy last week, while flying on a commercial jet to campaign in the Upper Egypt city of Sohag. "The first one is that the election is predetermined. The second one is that even if Hamdeen has popularity," he said, referring to himself in the third person, "the election will be forged. And the last one is that even if Hamdeen wins, the state institutions won't work with him and he will be a failure."

The candidate cheerily took pictures and chatted with supporters who approached his seat. He gave no indication that he knew he was fighting a losing battle. When complimented on his number of supporters on the plane, he shrugged and smiled: "I am the next president."

While Sabahi admitted that state institutions would be biased in favor of Sisi, he demanded that the election not be tainted by outright forgery. How far he will push his criticisms of the electoral process in light of the past two days will be an important barometer of the government's stability.

For now, Sisi must find a way to energize voters more concerned with their day-to-day struggles than the presidential election. His old Islamist enemies, after all, are down but not out. In Sohag, the capital of a governorate that gave 58 percent of its votes to Morsi in the second round of the last presidential election, the Muslim Brotherhood appeared far from defeated: Faded Morsi posters still line the streets, while hastily scrawled graffiti reads: "Sisi is a killer" and "Egypt is Islamic."

Whether Sisi can heal the divisions implicit in those words and rebuild the country's tattered economy will determine whether he will become the heroic figure his supporters claim him to be or whether he will succumb to the political turmoil that has swept out two presidents in three years. If he fails to inspire Egyptians that he can bring a better future, another leader may well try to step in and fill that role.

"When Morsi was ousted, OK, at least we knew we had the military to replace him," American University in Cairo's Sherif said, miming the action of slapping down a card on the table. "But if the Muslim Brotherhood fails, and then the military fails, who could come next?"

Photo: Jonathan Rashad/Getty Images