As it happened, of course, it was Yanukovych's decision to accept a bribe from Russia's Vladimir Putin and break off negotiations on Ukraine's EU accession that led to the beginning of the Maidan movement in November 2013.

From the outset, Maidan was a complex phenomenon. But if there was a common theme that united men and women of a variety of political persuasions in their months-long occupation of Independence Square, it was the determination to be rid of the petty indignities and corruptions that were a chronic irritant and embarrassment, and to restore a minimum of decency to Ukraine's public life. In that respect, the Maidan movement was the heir to the revolutions of 1989 in Eastern Europe. As the people of Solidarity and Charter 77 and other resistance movements had decided that "living in the truth" was both an obligation of conscience and an effective weapon against totalitarianism, so the people of the Maidan determined that they would live as they wished to be governed: with respect for others, reclaiming such basic civic virtues and habits as truth-telling, honest dealing, and open argument.

Conscience and a sense of solidarity and mutual responsibility across traditionally divisive ethnic, religious and linguistic lines, became a powerful elixir in building resistance to the culture of lies and intimidation that sustained the Yanukovych regime. Thus from the beginning, when Maidan activists said that they wanted to be "part of Europe", they meant by Europe the rule of law in a society characterised by civility, tolerance and pluralism. The riches the peoples of the EU take for granted were, undoubtedly, attractive. But when the people of Ukraine rose up against Yanukovych's turn from Europe and towards Russia, their first concern was for a revival of civic culture and a restoration of fairness in government.

One might even say that their primary demand was a restoration of civic pietas: a respect for the elementary decencies that make a common life among diverse peoples not only possible, but exhilarating. And that concern for civic pietas was embodied in a striking dimension of the Maidan movement that got virtually no attention in the Western media: its religious piety. A tent-chapel was built on Independence Square at the beginning of the movement, and as November and December stretched into the new year, the chapel's decoration bespoke the remarkable diversity of the Maidan demonstrators: an image of Our Lady of Fatima was displayed amid Byzantine icons. Clergy of various denominations — including the three Ukrainian Orthodox jurisdictions, the Greek Catholic (also known as Uniate) Church (Byzantine in liturgy and church polity but in full communion with Rome), and Protestant groups — shared the stage to offer prayers at the beginning and end of each day's Maidan activities, and religious services were celebrated in the tent-chapel during the day. In a country not previously noted for its ecumenical spirit, it was an impressive display of Christian solidarity; and the commitment of the various religious groups to maintain nonviolence amid Yanukovych's provocations played no small role in denying the regime the excuse it long sought to start playing rough.

The determination to live a form of civic pietas as a counter to the pervasive cynicism of the Yanukovych regime was also evident in the self-governing character of the Maidan in Kiev and elsewhere. That the Ukrainian reform movement lacked the kind of single leader who could, like Lech Wałęsa in Poland or Václav Havel in what was then Czechoslovakia, rally diversity into political unity, was frequently commented on in the West. What was less noted was that, without such a single focal point, the people of Maidan did a very impressive job of organising themselves. By the time Yanukovych attacked Maidan in mid-February, self-defence forces had been organised by veterans of the Ukrainian military, the old Red Army, and at least one counterterrorism veteran of the Israel Defence Forces; meals were being provided for tens of thousands of demonstrators; infirmaries were set up and staffed to handle casualties, after some of the wounded had been kidnapped by regime thugs when they went to local hospitals (having previously been shot or beaten by regime thugs); churches near the Maidan became hostels and dormitories, offering food, medical care and a place to sleep.