Czech President Petr Fiala just issued a vague press release claiming that “organized groups acting against state interests” were targeting his national security advisor. The bizarre release comes just days after his party lost the Czech prime ministerial election to Andrej Babis and his Trump-aligned Czech nationalist coalition. This isn’t a new defense strategy from Fiala. It’s a tried and true one, plagiarized from Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy.
In July 2025, Zelenskyy signed legislation stripping Ukraine’s independent anti-corruption agencies of their autonomy, giving a loyalist prosecutor general power to close investigations, transfer cases, and access all files. His justification? The agencies were infiltrated by “Russian influence.”
The timing was revealing: one month after that law was passed, the anti-corruption agencies charged Zelenskyy’s deputy prime minister and close family friend with corruption. Weeks later, they investigated his deputy chief of staff for $8.7 million in fraudulent payments. And then allegations emerged that his inner circle funneled $50 million per month to oligarch connections.
Zelenskyy’s move sparked Ukraine’s first major protests since Russia’s invasion—forcing him to backtrack within 48 hours. But the message was sent: investigate my circle, and I’ll destroy your agency under the pretext of “Russian threats.”
Sound familiar? Czech President Fiala is running the exact same play.
Both leaders discovered the perfect corruption shield: when you’re fighting Russia (or claim to be), any investigation becomes “foreign interference.” Any accountability becomes “undermining the war effort.” Any whistleblower becomes a “Russian asset.”
The formula is simple: commit corruption involving massive sums, invoke “Russian infiltration” when investigators get close, raid and suppress investigators before evidence becomes public, wrap yourself in the flag of the country you’re stealing from, and let Western allies defend you because questioning you looks pro-Russian.
For Fiala, the pattern is documented. Some examples follow.
The PDZ banking scandal: He held nearly $40,000 in Podnikatelská družstevní záložna (PDZ), an elite “members club” that Czech National Bank shut down in 2025 for money laundering violations. He “forgot” to declare it in mandatory disclosures. Police investigated $3.5 million in Ukraine ammunition funds that disappeared through PDZ, where his advisor held accounts.
The IKEM hospital scandal: His advisor met secretly with the hospital director in a sauna—caught on police wiretap—to discuss extracting “black money” from procurement contracts for party financing.
The ammunition initiative failures: In September 2024, Germany’s leading newspaper, Handelsblatt, reported that defective ammunition delivered through the Czech initiative was exploding prematurely on Ukrainian battlefields—killing the soldiers whom Fiala claims to support. An unacceptable number of shells exploded prematurely, injuring personnel and damaging artillery systems. The Czech Defense Ministry acknowledged “technical problems in a small number of cases.”
Now, facing an investigative story about his National Security Advisor, Tomáš Pojar—who ran the ammunition initiative—Fiala deploys the nuclear option: convening all three intelligence chiefs and invoking “organized groups,” but providing zero specifics.
Here’s where it gets worse: Western leaders enthusiastically enabled this.
Joe Biden praised the Czech ammunition initiative as “creative” and “exactly what NATO needs.” Zelenskyy personally thanked the Czech leadership. When defective ammunition was reported to have killed Ukrainian soldiers, there was no international outcry, no audit. Why? Because questioning Fiala would look like questioning support for Ukraine.
Similarly, when Zelenskyy moved to gut anti-corruption agencies, the Western response was muted. The European Union cut funding, but there was no sustained pressure. Why? Because Ukraine is under invasion.
This is the trap both Zelenskyy and Fiala exploit: Western governments are convinced that accountability equals weakness, that oversight equals disloyalty, and that investigating theft of Ukraine aid equals supporting Russia.
The result? Eighteen countries contributed to the Czech initiative. None demanded independent audits. None required third-party ammunition verification. There were no established mechanisms to track where money went. The system ran on trust—and trust without accountability is just opportunity.
The grotesque irony: Ukrainian soldiers are dying in three ways. Once from Russian artillery, once from Czech ammunition with defective WWII-era detonators, and once from their own government, diverting funds meant for survival.
Meanwhile, both Fiala and Zelenskyy claim moral authority for “supporting Ukraine” while profiting from Ukrainian deaths.
This isn’t about being pro-Russian or anti-Ukraine. It’s recognizing that corruption, even when wrapped in a flag, is still corruption. “Wartime necessity” doesn’t justify theft. Indeed, the worst betrayal of Ukraine isn’t asking questions about aid—it’s sending defective ammunition and stealing money while invoking patriotism.
When Fiala issues a press release about “organized groups,” he’s not doing counterintelligence. He’s using what Zelenskyy taught him: invoke “Russian threats” to preempt accountability.
When Zelenskyy claims anti-corruption agencies are “infiltrated,” he’s not protecting national security. He’s protecting his inner circle from prosecution.
The playbook works because Western governments are terrified of appearing to undermine Ukraine. So they enable corruption, ignore evidence, and attack journalists who investigate—all while Ukrainian soldiers die from equipment failures that “allied support” made possible.
The question isn’t whether Russia runs influence operations. Obviously, it does. The question is whether invoking those operations has become a handy excuse for domestic corruption.
If any leader can destroy accountability by claiming “Russian infiltration,” if any investigation can be shut down by invoking “foreign threats,” then we’ve built a system where wartime allies are as dangerous as wartime enemies—maybe more dangerous, because at least the enemy’s betrayal is expected. When betrayal comes from those wrapped in Ukrainian flags—stealing, killing, and calling it solidarity—it cuts deeper. And the West’s refusal to acknowledge it makes every enabler complicit.
Ukraine doesn’t need allies who refuse to conduct audits. It needs allies who care enough to ensure aid actually works and investigate when it doesn’t. Anything less isn’t solidarity. It’s complicity dressed up as support.