Firtash also appears to be the person with whom Giuliani reportedly tried to cut a deal, promising to get the U.S. Department of Justice to drop its attempt to extradite him to the United States on bribery charges.
Whether or not everything Parnas alleges turns out to be true is hardly the point. In the words of one New York Times columnist, “The very fact that a person like Parnas was carrying out high-level international missions for the president shows how mob-like this administration is.”
That’s why Burisma considered my last name gold. As Kwasniewski has since said: “I understand that if someone asks me to be part of some project it’s not only because I’m so good; it’s also because I am Kwasniewski and I am a former president of Poland. And this is all interconnected. No-names are a nobody. Being a Biden is not bad. It’s a good name.”
To put it more bluntly: having a Biden on Burisma’s board was a loud and unmistakable fuck-you to Putin.
I joined the board in April 2014.
Every organization’s board dynamics differ. They can be combative during times of crisis, leadership upheavals, or a looming takeover. Boards can act as referees or change agents. In the case of Burisma, we were largely guardrails, there in case operations veered off track, agendas diverted from the norm—or events blew up again with Russia.
Burisma ran like a machine, with the palpable confidence of a business that had plenty of room to grow. The board gathered twice a year for meetings or energy forums, in various locations around Europe. Concerns or disagreements that might arise about organizational decisions were worked out ahead of time. We received regular communications about hires, ongoing and potential projects, and other company matters, then signed off on them as needed. At meetings, we approved resolutions required by the charter and assisted in initiating ideas for expansion.
The company culture is both accomplished and nerdy. That springs from Zlochevsky. There is no not noticing him: he’s pure mass wrapped in tailored suits and gentlemanly manners. His jowly face holds an almost permanent smirk, which would be disconcerting if it didn’t so often seem directed at himself. He doesn’t suffer fools lightly.
He speaks primarily Russian and Ukrainian, not English. At board meetings, a translator sat behind soundproof glass while members wore headphones like those you see in the General Assembly of the United Nations. Yet during our board dinners, with his translator always seated beside him, Zlochevsky was not a big conversationalist or storyteller. He was a listener. Kwasniewski, who spoke Polish, Russian, Ukrainian, and English (and probably six other languages as well), regaled us with behind-the-scenes insights and colorful political histories from bygone days in Poland. Apter elucidated for us the reality of Brexit and the sustainability of the EU. Zlochevsky, meanwhile, merely leaned forward in rapt attention. He zeroed in on everybody like that—right down to the waiters.
Zlochevsky is an energy wonk. He’s most animated when talking about the geology, engineering, and heavy machinery behind Burisma’s drilling operations. He’s meticulous about details associated with his processing plants: their systems, their cleanliness. He loves to show off videos, filmed with drones, that give a bird’s-eye view of how the vast network of pipes used to extract gas fits together. His closest friends are the company’s young engineers and others at Burisma who do the actual hands-on work.
He isn’t just a cold technocrat, however. When he was ecology minister, Zlochevsky championed the end to the longstanding practice in Ukraine of chaining bears held in captivity in open pits. It was a politically unpopular stance, but he persevered and won reforms.
He was incredibly kind to me when Beau died. Two months after the funeral, Zlochevsky moved Burisma’s board meeting to a fishing lodge at the top of Norway, where the continental shelf breaks. The move was prompted by an offhand comment I’d once made about how Beau’s son loved to fish. Zlochevsky told me to bring little Hunter along, and I did, along with my daughter Maisy, who’s always up for an adventure.
It was during summer and the endless white nights. For three days we’d drop a line thirty meters down with nine hooks at different levels and pull out nine fish. Little Hunter and Maisy jumped off a dock into the ice-cold water, then got out and jumped into hot-spring baths. I mostly kept to myself—more, I think, than Zlochevsky would have liked—but we all had an enormous amount of fun together, up there at the top of the world. I appreciated his thoughtfulness.
My work for Burisma centered on monitoring corporate practices and suggesting improvements whenever they seemed necessary. As an additional responsibility, I took on business development and expanding the company’s operations. I wanted the rest of the world to see that Burisma could operate responsibly outside of Ukraine.
I advocated for a geothermal project in Italy and efforts to be part of the pipeline and drilling operations in Kazakhstan. When Pemex, the state-owned petroleum company in Mexico, opened the door for partners to privatize drilling operations in the Eagle Ford rock formation in the northern part of the country, I supplied connections in Mexico City from my previous business dealings there, then flew down to arrange meetings.
Burisma was good at what it did and getting better at doing more. That’s what I tracked, encouraged, and promoted.
And for that, my name became a Trump campaign rallying cry that brought in millions in T-shirt sales.
Where’s Hunter?! Twenty-five bucks! Sizes small to 3XL!
Did I make a mistake by taking a seat on the board of a Ukrainian gas company?
No.
Did I display a lack of judgment?
No.
Would I do it again?
No.
I did nothing unethical, and have never been charged with wrongdoing. In our current political environment, I don’t believe it would make any difference if I took that seat or not. I’d be attacked anyway. What I do believe, in this current climate, is that it wouldn’t matter what
