The debate over Ukraine’s proposed new Civil Code

By Matthew Parish, Associate Editor

Tuesday 5 May 2026

The codification of private law is one of the most profound acts a state may undertake. It is not merely a legislative exercise, but a declaration of how a society understands property, family, obligation and the boundaries of personal autonomy. In Ukraine, where war has accelerated institutional change and intensified the pressures of European integration, the proposal for a new Civil Code has therefore provoked not only technical debate but something closer to a constitutional argument about the nature of the state itself.

The draft Civil Code now under consideration in the Verkhovna Rada is ambitious in scope. It seeks to replace or absorb existing frameworks, including elements of family law, and to modernise private law in line with perceived European standards. Its authors, led by parliamentary speaker Ruslan Stefanchuk, emphasise that the project has been under preparation for years, involving hundreds of legal specialists and aiming to harmonise Ukrainian law with contemporary challenges and European legal traditions.

At first glance the case for reform appears compelling. Ukraine’s current Civil Code, adopted in 2003, bears the imprint of post-Soviet legal culture, itself layered upon Soviet jurisprudence. The fragmentation between the Civil Code and the Family Code creates doctrinal inconsistencies, while the emergence of digital assets, wartime property destruction and cross-border commercial relations has outpaced existing legal provisions. Indeed the new draft contains provisions that would allow for the inheritance of digital assets such as cryptocurrency and establish clearer mechanisms for compensation for war-related losses. These are not trivial matters. In a country where millions have been displaced and vast quantities of property destroyed, the law of obligations and restitution is not an abstraction but a daily necessity.

Yet the very breadth of the reform is also the source of its controversy. A Civil Code is not simply a tool for efficiency; it is a repository of values. Critics argue that the draft, far from modernising Ukrainian law, risks reintroducing normative assumptions that sit uneasily with both contemporary Ukrainian society and the requirements of European integration.

One of the most persistent criticisms concerns the treatment of family and personal relations. The draft has been accused of embedding a traditionalist conception of the family, defining it explicitly as a union between a man and a woman and excluding recognition of same-sex partnerships. This approach has drawn sharp criticism from civil society groups and international observers, who note that it conflicts with evolving jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights and with the expectations placed upon candidate states for European Union membership. In this respect the Civil Code risks becoming not a vehicle of Europeanisation, but a stumbling block to it.

More broadly, critics detect within the draft a tendency towards moral paternalism. Provisions reportedly requiring a six-month reconciliation period before divorce, or permitting a spouse to compel the other to revert to a maiden name on grounds of “immoral behaviour”, have been cited as examples of an intrusive approach to private life. These are not merely symbolic irritants. They suggest a legal philosophy in which the state assumes a supervisory role over intimate relationships, rather than confining itself to the regulation of rights and obligations.

The introduction of vaguely defined standards such as “good conduct” or “good morals” has also alarmed legal practitioners. Such clauses, while not uncommon in civil law systems, are dangerous when insufficiently constrained. They open the door to judicial discretion of a kind that may undermine legal certainty. Ukrainian legal culture, still consolidating its independence from political influence, is particularly vulnerable to such ambiguities. Experts warn that these provisions could enable arbitrary interpretation and even manipulation in court proceedings.

There is moreover a structural critique. Some argue that the wholesale replacement of the Civil Code is unnecessary. Incremental reform, through targeted amendments, might achieve the same objectives without the risks inherent in a comprehensive overhaul. Codification on this scale inevitably produces unintended consequences. The integration of family law into the Civil Code, for example, may simplify doctrinal architecture; but it also risks collapsing distinctions that serve important social functions.

The timing of the reform is itself contentious. Ukraine is conducting this legislative experiment under the extraordinary conditions of full-scale war. Institutions are under strain; judicial capacity is uneven; and the priorities of governance are necessarily focused on survival. In such a context, the introduction of a radically new legal framework may generate uncertainty precisely when stability is most needed. Commercial actors, both domestic and international, depend upon predictability. A Civil Code that is contested, ambiguous or subject to rapid amendment may deter investment at a moment when economic reconstruction is urgently required.

And yet the argument against reform should not be overstated. The existing Civil Code is not sacrosanct. It contains inconsistencies and lacunae that impede economic development. The challenge is not whether reform should occur, but how it should be conducted. A Civil Code must command broad legitimacy. It must be the product of transparent consultation, rigorous comparative analysis, and a clear alignment with constitutional principles and international obligations.

What emerges from the current debate is a tension between two visions of Ukraine’s future. One sees the Civil Code as an instrument of national identity, reflecting traditional values and social norms. The other views it as a mechanism of integration into a European legal order grounded in individual autonomy and non-discrimination. These visions are not easily reconciled, but the choice between them cannot be avoided.

If enacted in its present form, the new Civil Code would have far-reaching consequences for life and commerce in Ukraine. It would shape family relations, influence judicial practice, and signal to international partners the direction of Ukraine’s legal development. It might modernise certain aspects of private law, particularly in relation to digital assets and wartime restitution. But it might also introduce uncertainty, constrain personal freedoms, and complicate the country’s path towards European Union membership.

The question is not whether Ukraine needs a new Civil Code. It is whether she is prepared to accept the version currently proposed. A code is, by its nature, an enduring instrument. It should not merely respond to the exigencies of the present, but anticipate the demands of the future. In a state fighting for its place in Europe, the stakes of that choice could scarcely be higher.