Note:
This is a transcript and English translation of Diana Panchenko’s Russian-language video “УКРАИНА: РЕАЛЬНОСТЬ ПРОТИВ ПРОПАГАНДЫ” (“Ukraine: Reality Versus Propaganda”), published on the Панченко LIVE YouTube channel on 13 August 2026.
The intention has been to preserve Panchenko’s words and argument, not to rewrite or improve them. The English version is a faithful translation of the edited Russian transcript. It aims to make the original accessible to English-speaking readers while preserving the speaker’s meaning, tone and argument as closely as practicable.
Original video: УКРАИНА: РЕАЛЬНОСТЬ ПРОТИВ ПРОПАГАНДЫ | #Панченко Channel: Панченко LIVE YouTube video ID: fS-x9f8nbQ0 Original duration: 22 minutes 17 seconds
Diana Panchenko — English translation
You ask me to talk about Ukraine more often. The problem is that, in reality, there are two parallel Ukraines — the real Ukraine and the fairy-tale Ukraine — and they do not intersect.
Occasionally there are glitches in the Matrix and the two Ukraines do collide. That happens when someone from the fairy-tale Ukraine suddenly pretends to understand the real Ukraine.
But does this mean that a revolution in the Matrix is possible? That the people can actually do something?
This week singer Olya Polyakova performed a somersault — the same woman with the kokoshnik and high heels. Is she simply stirring things up again, or is she beginning to see the light? Are changes ripening in society? Will people unite against Zelensky and the TCC? I’ll talk about that in this video.
And also, friends, about why Polyakova is Arestovych’s sister from the world of show business.
But first, subscribe to the channel, and when they try to demoralise us here, let’s strike back together against censorship.
First I want to address Polyakova, Ukrainian politicians, and everyone who spent so long inflaming this war.
Have you noticed how the atmosphere in high offices has suddenly changed? The people who only yesterday were talking about victory and refusing negotiations have today remembered peace, corruption, and the lawlessness of the TCC.
This isn’t simply a change of opinion. It is an evacuation from the sinking ship of an old ideology.
But, my dears, I’ll tell you something more: nobody is going to let you jump ship.
Did you think you could ignite a war and the West would make all of you famous millionaires in return? You destroyed the country.
Mobilisation will not end — it will become harsher. The TCCs will not disappear — there will be more of them. You can no longer stop what you set in motion through your short-sightedness and stupidity.
You are nobodies now. You don’t belong to yourselves. Everything has already been decided for you.
Two Ukraines
So, singer Polyakova has discovered that Ukraine is a concentration camp and that people are turning into frightened mice, indifferent creatures:
“Soon we’ll all be frightened and intimidated, like mice sitting in their holes, afraid to stick out their tongues or even their noses. People are kicked, shoved into vehicles. Human beings are being turned into indifferent creatures.”
First, let’s look at how Polyakova talks about this. It makes your ears bleed — every word [unclear].
As one acquaintance of mine who knows Polyakova put it, her native language is Russian obscenity — apart from a few sentences somebody wrote for her and she painstakingly memorised.
Then all hell broke loose. Zelensky’s lackeys descended on her, calling her a woman of reduced social responsibility — only in considerably stronger language. Some Ukrainians in exile supported her: Polyakova is one of those who will form a peace party, they said, and in general she said the right things.
So what was this?
Let me return to the important point, friends: the two Ukraines.
There is a real Ukraine and a fairy-tale Ukraine. These two Ukraines rarely intersect. Each lives on its own.
The real Ukraine consists of frightened people who are grabbed off the streets like animals. It is men who don’t leave their homes, sitting in their apartments dependent on their mothers and wives. It is pensioners who can barely afford food. It is an economy that no longer exists. It is nights spent in metro stations sheltering from bombardment.
It is poverty multiplied by fear, together producing absolute hopelessness.
There is no future, no light at the end of the tunnel, and nobody knows when the war will end. What model of state is the government offering society? Nobody knows. What will happen tomorrow? Nobody knows.
No future. No prospects.
And then there is fairy-tale Ukraine.
That’s the Ukraine we see on social media and in the media. There, people want to fight to the bitter end. The clubs are packed, people dance in restaurants, and there are expensive cars. People supposedly don’t care about their own futures, but they do care about [names/words uncertain in the transcript].
Everyone there is united in the desire to fight. Everyone supports Zelensky.
That’s the Ukraine you see in the profiles of propagandists and media paid by Bankova. Domestic ones such as Sternenko have ceased to be convincing, while also becoming fantastically wealthy.
So they have to bring in people from abroad, such as Laura Loomer, who yesterday was calling Zelensky a drug addict and today praises him. And what guarantee is there that tomorrow she won’t call him a drug addict again?
Once again: fairy-tale Ukraine and real Ukraine do not intersect. They are two parallel worlds whose inhabitants never visit each other.
The inhabitants of fairy-tale Ukraine are having a wonderful time — like Sternenko, who became a multimillionaire during the war. Look at his pre-war declaration: he earned almost nothing. Now he drives an armoured Range Rover worth several hundred thousand euros and goes around with several bodyguards.
Life for an inhabitant of real Ukraine is far removed from a fairy tale. It is more like a thriller.
They envy those living in the fairy tale. They hate them, but quietly, through clenched teeth. They don’t protest against the very system of this showcase, fairy-tale Ukraine.
For two reasons.
The main one, of course, is fear.
In this sense, the brutal mobilisation we see every day isn’t merely a way of replenishing the Armed Forces of Ukraine. It is a mechanism of intimidation.
Previously, those considered undesirable had only prison to fear. Now they also have the TCC. Unwanted journalists, businessmen who don’t want to share — at the first opportunity, send them all to the front.
But there is another reason.
Showcase Ukraine helps fairy-tale Ukraine endure. The storytellers keep feeding people nonsense, and somehow dying and suffering while being fed nonsense is more cheerful than doing so without it.
It also gives ordinary people some sort of hope. For example, perhaps a son will join the TCC and support the entire family.
And now Polyakova, a defender of Zelensky, one of the show-business people close to Bankova, has suddenly started talking about ordinary people who are forced to live in a concentration camp:
“It’s horrific, like a concentration camp. Ukraine is no longer a free country.”
Public figures who are there don’t call things by their proper names. It’s as though an informal agreement exists: if you’ve managed to retain a little fat in the form of money and fame, you don’t pay attention to real Ukraine — to all those unfortunate people who were less lucky than you.
The agreement is that only people with money and protection have any rights. But you have that money and protection only for as long as you remain silent about the government’s crimes, about corruption and terror in the streets.
And nobody cares about those unfortunate Ukrainians living in the real Ukraine. You’re allowed to sympathise with them on social media after Russian attacks, but not after attacks by their own TCC and authorities.
Polyakova appears to have broken this agreement. She isn’t the first. Before her there was the cardboard Maidan over corruption in the army. Increasingly, soldiers themselves are shouting about lawlessness. There was the scandal involving torture and killings [unclear].
The unpleasant truth from real Ukraine — the truth that those living in fairy-tale Ukraine don’t want to notice — is seeping into their fairy-tale little world, their world of social media and the press.
The effect is like seeing a homeless person outside an elite mansion, or seeing a rubbish dump. It smells unpleasant and you want to hurry past.
Does this mean, then, that a shift might be occurring? That these unhappy people will awaken and break their chains?
Yes and no.
Let me explain with an example.
Olya Polyakova
So who exactly is Olya Polyakova?
Her stage persona was built around the kokoshnik and the blonde in high heels. She deliberately created an image for the Russian market: Russian style, Russian-language hits, because the image worked equally well in Ukraine and Russia.
She herself acknowledged that before 2014 Ukrainian show business operated with Moscow as its focus. Her kokoshniks and high heels were designed specifically for Russia.
She was successful there, including appearing with Baskov at the RU.TV awards in 2015. Her mother lived in Moscow throughout this period, married to a Russian diplomat. Polyakova made no secret of the fact that her mother had a luxurious mansion outside Moscow, and she frequently visited her there.
But, as happened with Zelensky, there was a ceiling beyond which she couldn’t rise. Polyakova wanted to be number one rather than occupy the niche of the [unclear] blonde.
Number one was Loboda — who, incidentally, is also from Ukraine.
You might think there was room in the sun for everyone. Fees in Russia couldn’t be compared with Ukrainian ones. Money, television, fame, prospects.
But, as with Zelensky, at some point Polyakova became consumed by resentment because she believed she deserved more. And that resentment turned into resentment against Russia, which Polyakova hoped to monetise after the war began.
Like many others, she apparently thought all she needed to do was shout about hating Russians and success would be guaranteed.
And for a while it was.
But not for long.
In August 2022, on the programme [unclear], Polyakova burned a kokoshnik, explaining that yesterday these things had merely been stage props, whereas today they were symbols of a culture that had come with war.
[The following brief Polyakova quotation is too badly recognised in the transcript to reconstruct reliably.]
Notice, friends, that Polyakova doesn’t say: “I was mistaken. I was wrong. I’ve changed.”
She makes excuses.
In other words: wearing a kokoshnik was acceptable before, but today it isn’t.
We’ll come back to that.
But endlessly burning kokoshniks isn’t interesting, and hatred won’t take you very far.
For many years Ukraine supplied creative talent to Russia. Many of the most successful performers came from Ukraine. Music videos were filmed in Ukraine; ideas were born there. [Brief phrase unclear.]
This can be explained quite simply: disorder and the absence of a system provide ideal soil for creativity. And that describes Ukraine perfectly. Which, of course, doesn’t detract from the talent and colour of Ukrainian performers.
But after 2022 everything changed.
[One sentence unclear.]
In a society ruled by fear, in a society ruled by dictatorship, all creativity suffocates.
Ukrainian culture, which was largely built around a cult of freedom and opposition to the Soviet system, has turned into that very same hated Soviet system — only worse.
Because the Soviet Union had an idea and it had creativity.
Hating Russians isn’t an idea.
In general, hard times arrived for performers — both morally and financially.
Why pay enormous sums for corporate appearances when the market has collapsed and you can pay very little? Previously, someone like Polyakova or Brezhneva could choose and demand insane fees. Once the Russian market was closed, there was nothing to choose from.
In 2022, performers queued up to see Zelensky, competing to see who could bow lowest.
Now everything has changed.
They understand: Zelensky means the TCC. It means terror.
And increasing numbers of people have suddenly woken up and remembered ordinary people — both politicians and people in show business.
Like Polyakova.
Both the burning of the kokoshnik in August 2022 and today’s criticism of the TCC occurred precisely when those respective attitudes had already become widespread among the audience.
She didn’t lead.
She followed.
When loving Zelensky was fashionable, we loved Zelensky. When criticising the TCC became fashionable, we criticised the TCC.
This story, friends, isn’t really about Polyakova.
It’s about responsibility.
And specifically about a particular variety of responsibility: responsibility Ukrainian-style.
Responsibility
I don’t condemn people who change their position. Quite the opposite. I believe that when someone has the courage to admit they were wrong, that is an act worthy of respect.
But I do condemn those cunning people who simply exploit human suffering for publicity, who keep their noses to the wind and monetise other people’s tears.
And I condemn it twice as strongly when those tears are caused by war.
An artist has a right to be free. But the moment an artist enters the political arena, that artist bears responsibility.
An artist reaches an audience through an irrational channel: through trust, sympathy and emotion. When an artist uses that channel to make a political statement, they are monetising trust that wasn’t earned through politics.
The viewer loved her for her songs, but then receives a political position from her and accepts it on trust because they love her.
That asymmetry creates an obligation.
How many Ukrainian performers do you know who called for peace in 2022?
Everyone was merely inflaming hatred.
[Several short excerpts from earlier public statements follow; Whisper did not recognise them reliably enough to reconstruct.]
People, of course, feel all this and understand it. They recognise the falseness and insincerity.
So Polyakova’s words about the Ukrainian concentration camp perhaps deserve respect for their courage.
But they carry no weight.
Because people already know that they’re living in a camp.
So is a popular uprising possible?
I often hear people say: what would it take for Ukrainians to get together and go after the TCC with pitchforks?
First, in the information age everything becomes known immediately. Before three people can even assemble, the SBU will already know about it.
But there is another, no less important aspect.
I want to explain it through the example of another rather well-known character.
Why Alexei Arestovych is not very different from Polyakova
Everyone knows that Arestovych is a master of changing his shoes — changing his position to suit circumstances.
[A short excerpt from an earlier Arestovych appearance follows; the automatic transcription is badly damaged.]
But I want to examine how he does it.
Arestovych is undoubtedly a talented speaker with a keen sense of trends. And he is certainly one of the very few Ukrainian politicians who talks about ideas and meanings at all.
Almost nobody else does.
Arestovych has changed his position several times and even manages to joke about it:
— Do you change your shoes often?
— Well, a little here and there. I’m not really a fan.
— But how many pairs?
— Oh, about twelve to fifteen, obviously.
“I’ve gone through all my changes of shoes over the years and I’ve also arrived at a certain position. Perhaps that will change. I changed my shoes throughout all these turbulent times.”
But he lacks the courage to say: “I changed my mind.”
He still tries to wriggle out of it as though it wasn’t he who changed his position — everything around him changed instead.
I’ll examine just one example.
The famous “two or three weeks.”
[An archival Arestovych quotation about “two or three weeks” follows; the beginning is unclear.]
Version 1, August 2022.
He says that he only said it once, in mid-March, and was referring solely to the end of the active phase of the operation around Kyiv. And that phase really did end within two or three weeks.
[The following quotation is partly unclear.]
In other words: I wasn’t wrong; you misunderstood me.
Version 2, August 2022.
He admits that he deliberately misled everyone in order to prevent panic at the beginning of the war.
“The famous two or three weeks had another reason…”
In other words: I deliberately got it wrong, and doing so was the right thing.
Version 3: It had already been decided; a timetable existed.
“The famous two or three weeks came from the fact that I was a member of the Istanbul negotiating group. I knew that within two or three weeks there would be [unclear] in Istanbul…”
[The remainder of the quotation is badly damaged in the automatic transcript.]
So either he was telling the truth and people misunderstood him; or he lied for the greater good; or he knew the confidential timetable for the negotiations.
Every new version cancels the previous one.
It simply displaces it.
And that is a failure.
Significantly, when the war ends, the time will come when the smartest people will finally appreciate those “two or three weeks.”
That isn’t an admission of error.
It is a claim to future vindication.
The mistake is repackaged as an achievement for which he expects gratitude.
And the mechanism repeats itself.
In April 2026, he again started talking about the war ending soon, and users reminded him of those very same “two or three weeks.”
The pattern literally repeated itself.
By comparison, Polyakova at least said, in effect: “Yesterday it was merely a stage prop; today it’s a symbol.”
In other words, she acknowledges that she wore the kokoshnik and that the context changed.
Arestovych has no equivalent.
He paid nothing for his incorrect predictions except in reputation.
Arestovych’s transformation
But there is a nuance few people know about: what, apart from opportunism, caused Arestovych’s transformation.
According to my information, for a considerable period Arestovych had a certain degree of support in certain circles.
But at some point, the person with whom he was communicating was no longer in his position.
The support disappeared.
And Arestovych went from being an ardent Russian:
“I am Russian. I voluntarily chose to belong to this civilisation.”
—to becoming an ardent Russophobe:
“They aren’t Russians. If they were Russians, I wouldn’t have had to apologise to them for so long.”
At one point Arestovych was practically dreaming of himself as ruler of Malorossiya.
Imagine it: the doors of the Column Hall slowly swing open. The marble gleams coldly. Chandeliers shimmer with thousands of lights.
Arestovych enters alone.
He walks towards his destiny — his coronation.
Every step echoes solemnly through the hall.
Here it is: the moment for which thousands of words were spoken, dozens of convictions changed, yesterday’s allies betrayed.
At the far end of the hall Putin himself is waiting.
He rises, pauses theatrically, and pronounces:
“Now you, Alexei, are the Viceroy of Kyiv.”
Thunder rolls.
Destiny!
Arestovych bows his head, already imagining himself master of the Ukrainian capital.
And although Arestovych himself denies it…
[A fragment of his comments about polling and presidential elections follows; some words are uncertain.]
Like many others, he was already at the starting line, preparing for elections.
When his patron could no longer help him, [unclear] turned 180 degrees.
At any specific point, did he answer to the people for the things he had said?
Ask Arestovych.
Politics without responsibility
In Ukraine, politicians have always arrived smiling and speaking gentle words: peace, friendship, brothers.
Every president came to power under slogans of friendship with Russia. And every one of them — from Kravchuk to Zelensky — did exactly the opposite.
I wrote a book about it.
They all talked about warm homes and trains crossing borders without restriction. The people are tired, they said; the people want peace.
And then the slogans were quietly rolled up like old posters.
Instead of friendship came walls, prohibitions, outsiders.
Instead of peace, new lines on maps and new lists of enemies.
Did even one of them bear responsibility?
Not one.
Did a single member of parliament bear responsibility? Even someone like Vakarchuk, who went into politics and then left again, without giving a damn about the people?
Difficult times lie ahead. The hardest thing for Ukraine will be the winter.
And once again there will be people who speculate on human suffering, like Polyakova, like Arestovych — people who became what they became through the image of being “good Russians.”
One in a kokoshnik; the other telling Ukrainians about mighty Rus’.
In reality, both Polyakova and Arestovych are Russian children.
What distinguishes children from adults?
Children don’t bear responsibility.
Children live according to the principle: “I want.”
All these Arestovyches, all these Zelenskys wanted fame, money and power.
They had enough talent and cunning to reach a certain height.
They didn’t have enough responsibility.
That’s why Ukraine is where it is.
“We are all responsible for everything”
Now let’s look more broadly.
Most of us wanted peace.
Peace and tranquillity.
We understood that we had a neighbour right beside us and that quarrelling with that neighbour promised nothing good.
And we elected as president an actor with no experience in diplomacy or politics.
And we gave him absolute power in the form of a single-party majority in parliament.
When the war began, we believed Zelensky and Arestovych when they told us we could defeat Russia.
We became embroiled in a grinding fight that Russia is capable of ending in ten minutes by destroying us.
But we continue fighting.
Destroying ourselves.
Perhaps all of us need to understand that we’re behaving like children?
And from this comes the answer to the question of whether another Maidan is possible in Ukraine.
Why do impoverished people put up with it?
As long as people like Polyakova and Arestovych can juggle with our opinions, nothing will change.
It will only get worse.
As long as our moral authorities are hypocrites and traitors, there will be no freedom.
As long as we go out to protest for money but don’t go out to defend the church that is being crucified, there will be no peace.
And that is painful to hear.
It is harsh.
But forgive me, friends: I am accustomed to beginning with myself.
For ten years before the war, I said the same thing over and over: if hatred continued to be inflamed, there would be war.
The war began.
My like-minded colleagues and I were called Kremlin agents.
And despite that, I do not absolve myself of responsibility.
Every human being bears responsibility before all people, for all people and for everything.
We are all responsible for everything.
For everything that has happened to us.
And until every one of us — at the front, in the rear, abroad — understands this, we will continue living in two different Ukraines: the real one and the fairy-tale one.
And things will become worse and worse in both.
Friends, be sure to subscribe to the channel, and tell me in the comments what you think, dear Ukrainians: what helps you endure, and do you believe people such as Arestovych and Polyakova?
Patience to us all.
Goodbye.