The Soviet Union Is Dead, But Its University Bureaucracy Lives On
By Matthew Parish
Monday 2 November 2026
There is something magnificently absurd about a university that specialises in aerospace engineering, teaches students how to design machines that can travel at extraordinary speeds through the atmosphere, has survived repeated Russian bombardments and yet apparently cannot manage the relatively straightforward technological operation of sending a journalist some written answers by email. Such are the mysteries of Ukrainian higher education, where the Soviet Union may have collapsed thirty-five years ago but certain of its administrative traditions remain apparently imperishable.
I have recently encountered this peculiar phenomenon at the National Aerospace University, better known as the Kharkiv Aviation Institute or KhAI, one of Ukraine's most distinguished technical universities. Its Rector, Professor Oleksii Lytvynov, had agreed to an interview with me for the Lviv Herald. I submitted my questions in advance, in Ukrainian, and was informed that answers had been prepared. Unfortunately I fell ill and was unable to attend our scheduled meeting. I therefore requested the most obvious alternative: that the prepared answers simply be sent to me in writing.
The Rector refused. Apparently the intellectual contents of his prepared answers could only be transmitted to the world through the physical presence of the journalist who had asked the questions.
This was disappointing, not least because I had taken considerable trouble to prepare questions about the university's history, its educational programmes, the distinctions between training pilots and aerospace engineers, the opportunities available to its graduates and its extraordinary resilience during Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine. These were serious questions, intended to introduce an international readership to the remarkable work being undertaken by a Ukrainian academic institution operating close to the front line. The answers might have made a fascinating article, had the institution been willing to share them.
KhAI deserves admiration for its achievements. Founded in 1930, it has a distinguished history of aviation engineering, scientific research and technological innovation. During the full-scale invasion its campus has endured repeated Russian attacks, its buildings have been damaged and members of its academic community have died defending Ukraine. It would be grotesquely unfair to overlook these sacrifices merely because of an exasperating administrative experience with the Rector.
Nevertheless, the episode illustrates a wider problem in the institutional culture of post-Soviet public universities. The scientists and students may be living in the twenty-first century, while their administrative superiors occasionally appear determined to remain in 1976. There is an enduring affection for official meetings, hierarchical arrangements, procedural formalities and the conviction that information becomes somehow more valuable if it can only be obtained by attending an appointment in person.
The interview that never took place
Since Professor Lytvynov declined to provide the written answers that had reportedly already been prepared, I have decided to conduct an alternative interview. What follows is an entirely imaginary and deliberately sarcastic exchange, inspired by the subjects of my genuine questions and by the administrative experience I have just described.
Every answer below is my own satirical invention. None was given, written, approved or communicated by Professor Lytvynov. None should be represented as his actual words or views. The genuine answers remain unavailable to me, which is precisely the point of the exercise.
Lviv Herald: Professor Lytvynov, could you begin by explaining what the Kharkiv Aviation Institute actually does, and how it differs from an ordinary university?
Imaginary answer: Certainly. We are one of Ukraine's leading institutions for the study of aerospace engineering, specialising in the design of advanced machines capable of overcoming gravity, atmospheric resistance and the limitations of human technology. Unfortunately we have not yet developed a reliable system for overcoming the institutional resistance to sending an email. This remains an exceptionally complex problem, requiring further research and probably the approval of several committees.
Lviv Herald: Does the university train pilots, aircraft designers or both? How does a young Ukrainian who wants to pursue a career in aviation decide which qualifications to obtain?
Imaginary answer: Our educational programmes are extremely sophisticated, and we encourage all our students to develop their abilities in mathematics, physics and engineering. We also offer them valuable practical lessons in patience, because there is nothing quite like navigating a traditional university bureaucracy to prepare someone for the frustrations of adult life. A student may eventually succeed in designing a functioning aircraft, but obtaining permission to discuss its design without a scheduled meeting may prove a considerably greater accomplishment.
Lviv Herald: How long does it take to qualify as an aerospace engineer, and what employment opportunities are available to graduates?
Imaginary answer: The educational process requires several years, depending upon the degree programme. However the acquisition of a qualification is only the first stage in understanding the mysteries of our institutional culture. We believe that no education is complete until a graduate has discovered that a perfectly straightforward task can be transformed into a formidable administrative undertaking by the addition of a sufficiently senior official.
Lviv Herald: Your university has endured some of the worst consequences of Russian aggression. How have you managed to maintain teaching and scientific research when university buildings have been damaged, students displaced and members of your community placed in danger?
Imaginary answer: Our students and academic staff have displayed extraordinary courage, resourcefulness and determination. They have learned to continue their work under conditions that would once have seemed unimaginable, adapting to physical danger, damaged infrastructure and the uncertainties of wartime existence. We are immensely proud of their flexibility, although naturally we do not believe that the same principle should necessarily apply to the Rector's interview schedule. There must, after all, be some limits to institutional modernisation.
Lviv Herald: How has the war changed the practical applications of aerospace engineering, particularly in relation to unmanned aerial vehicles and other emerging technologies?
Imaginary answer: The war has demonstrated the extraordinary importance of rapid innovation, decentralised decision-making and the ability to adapt quickly to circumstances that change without warning. These are essential characteristics of successful military and technological organisations, and our students must understand them thoroughly. Naturally we would not wish to extend such radical principles to university administration itself, where continuity, precedent and the sanctity of previously agreed arrangements remain of paramount importance.
Lviv Herald: What opportunities are available to international students and researchers who would like to cooperate with KhAI, and how can the university build stronger relationships with academic institutions in Western Europe and North America?
Imaginary answer: We welcome international cooperation with the greatest enthusiasm, provided that our international partners fully appreciate the importance of our administrative procedures. An international researcher should ideally arrive in person, at the correct time, with all necessary documents and with the expectation that the information he seeks may not be available through simpler means. Western academics sometimes have the curious idea that modern communications technology should facilitate the exchange of knowledge. We believe it is important to correct such misunderstandings before they become widespread.
Lviv Herald: What role do you see KhAI playing in the reconstruction of Ukraine's aviation industry after the war, and what reforms will be necessary to compete internationally?
Imaginary answer: Ukraine's future depends upon innovation, intellectual freedom, institutional flexibility and the courage to abandon obsolete practices. We must look beyond the limitations of the past and embrace the methods of the modern world. This is especially important for our students, who must never become prisoners of outdated assumptions. As for the university administration, we shall continue to consider whether such principles might eventually be introduced, subject to the preparation of an appropriate memorandum and the establishment of a working group.
Lviv Herald: Finally, what message would you like to send to young Ukrainians who are considering a career in aerospace engineering?
Imaginary answer: I would tell them that the future belongs to those who can solve problems, think independently and refuse to accept unnecessary limitations imposed by others. They must be courageous, inventive and prepared to challenge conventional wisdom. If they can eventually apply these principles to the administration of their own universities, the achievements of Ukrainian science may become greater still. Unfortunately that particular component of the curriculum remains under development.
The administrative ghost of the Soviet Union
The foregoing is satire, of course. Professor Lytvynov may have perfectly sensible explanations for preferring an interview in person, and I do not pretend to know his private reasoning. Nevertheless a journalist who has submitted questions in advance, whose interviewee has reportedly prepared answers and who subsequently falls ill is hardly making an extravagant demand by asking to receive those answers electronically.
The incident is interesting because it calls to mind an administrative culture that permeated much of the Soviet Union and survived its collapse. In that culture, procedure was frequently elevated above purpose, seniority was confused with wisdom and the convenience of the institution was treated as substantially more important than the needs of the people it supposedly existed to serve. The objective was not necessarily to achieve a sensible result by the simplest available means, but to observe the correct arrangements while demonstrating appropriate deference to authority.
Such practices were not confined to universities. They could be found in hospitals, factories, government ministries, municipal administrations and virtually every other organisation in which individual initiative was subordinated to bureaucratic hierarchy. A relatively modest request might require several signatures, the endorsement of a departmental superior or the physical appearance of an applicant at an inconveniently located office during carefully restricted hours. The process acquired its own peculiar dignity precisely because it was so cumbersome.
Ukrainian society has spent the decades since independence struggling to free itself from these inherited habits. The war has accelerated this process in remarkable ways, because people who confront existential threats rarely have much patience for unnecessary formalities. Ukrainian soldiers, volunteers, entrepreneurs and emergency workers have demonstrated a capacity for improvisation that is frequently astonishing to outsiders. They solve problems because problems need solving, not because a particular procedure happens to contemplate their existence.
Yet some public institutions seem less enthusiastic about abandoning the culture of administrative inflexibility. A hierarchy inherited from an earlier political era can remain remarkably durable, even when the society surrounding it has undergone revolutionary change. The institution may acquire a modern website, international partnerships and fashionable statements about innovation while preserving an internal assumption that the convenience of senior officials is not something ordinary mortals should expect to disturb.
None of this means that KhAI as a whole is institutionally backward, still less that its academic staff share whatever administrative preferences may have produced my unsuccessful interview. Indeed its technical achievements and wartime resilience suggest precisely the opposite. The irony lies in the contrast between a scientific institution dedicated to overcoming obstacles and an administrative decision that, from the outside, appears to have created an entirely avoidable one.
The university and its public
There is also a broader question of what public universities owe to the societies that support them. A state university is not the private property of its Rector, nor is its public reputation merely a matter of personal preference for those occupying positions of authority. It is an institution supported by public resources, entrusted with educating young people and expected to contribute to the intellectual and scientific life of the nation.
In wartime Ukraine, these responsibilities acquire particular importance. International understanding of Ukrainian science, education and research is not a trivial luxury, because foreign partnerships, academic exchanges and institutional cooperation will be essential to the country's eventual reconstruction. Every opportunity to explain what Ukrainian universities are accomplishing under extraordinary conditions deserves serious consideration, even when the resulting publicity may not be especially important to the individuals administering those universities.
Nobody is obliged to grant an interview to a journalist, and a Rector is entitled to decide how much time to devote to the press. But having agreed to an interview, accepted questions in advance and reportedly prepared the answers, one might reasonably expect a little flexibility when the journalist is unable to attend because of illness. An email is not an unprecedented technological innovation. It has been available to the academic world for several decades, and the exchange of written questions and answers has become a perfectly ordinary feature of international journalism.
The most dispiriting aspect of this episode is that the proposed interview was intended to celebrate the institution rather than criticise it. I wanted to hear about its achievements, the remarkable resilience of its staff and students, the contribution it is making to Ukraine's wartime technological capabilities and the opportunities it offers young Ukrainians who wish to build a better future for their country. These were subjects deserving of serious attention, and it would have been a pleasure to present the Rector's considered views to an international readership.
Instead we are left with a little comedy about an interview that could not take place and some answers that, although apparently prepared, could not be made available in writing. Perhaps the real explanations are entirely mundane and the imaginary Rector of my satirical interview is being unfairly burdened with the collective absurdities of the Soviet administrative inheritance. Nevertheless those absurdities remain familiar enough for the joke to resonate.
Ukraine cannot afford yesterday's working practices
Ukraine is fighting a war not merely for territorial survival but for the freedom to determine its own institutional future. That future cannot consist simply of preserving every inherited administrative habit under a different national flag, because the authoritarian traditions of the Soviet past are as much a part of the historical burden Ukraine seeks to overcome as the physical remnants of Soviet rule. Genuine independence also means intellectual independence, institutional accountability and a willingness to question why things have always been done in a particular way.
Universities ought to be at the forefront of this transformation. Their purpose is to teach young people to think, to investigate established assumptions and to discover better ways of accomplishing difficult tasks. An institution that teaches its students to challenge the laws of aerodynamics while treating its own working practices as immutable would be committing an unfortunate contradiction. The freedom to innovate ought not to stop at the door of the Rector's office.
The universities of Kharkiv have endured unimaginable sacrifices in the defence of Ukrainian education against Russian aggression. Their students, teachers and researchers deserve admiration, solidarity and international recognition, and nothing in my modest disagreement with a Rector's administrative decision should diminish that respect. It is precisely because their achievements matter so much that their institutions should strive to be as open, responsive and adaptable as the remarkable people working within them.
Professor Lytvynov remains welcome to provide his genuine answers to my original questions, and the Lviv Herald would be pleased to publish them. I would much rather report the considered reflections of a distinguished Ukrainian academic than invent sarcastic responses to questions he has not answered.
Until then, however, the imaginary Rector must have the last word. He is a fictional character, a caricature of bureaucratic inertia rather than a portrait of any individual, but he expresses a sentiment that would have been entirely at home in countless Soviet offices:
“We have successfully conquered the principles of flight. The transmission of an electronic document, however, remains subject to further administrative consideration.”
Somewhere in Kharkiv, one hopes, a promising young aerospace engineer is working on a solution.
