I was searching Naftogaz Ukrainy's website in mid-April for the latest data on natural gas consumption in Ukraine when I saw a press release from the state-owned energy company that had been posted just hours before. While it began by updating the status of ongoing talks between Naftogaz and Gazprom representatives in Moscow over a long-term natural gas deal, the press release also attempted to dismiss a rally currently occurring outside the company's Kyiv office as nothing more than a “political show.”

The info on the gas negotiations was certainly relevant to my research on connections between Ukraine's political system and its energy sphere, but the prospect of witnessing a “political show” of a protest was even more intriguing. I grabbed my notebook and hurried out the door.

As I neared Naftogaz's building, I sure enough saw dozens of people milling about in front of the office's main door. Large banners were unfurled, with messages admonishing Naftogaz and Prime Minister Yulia Tymoshenko for limiting the gas supply to a few industrial plants. Employees of these factories were rallying in an attempt to draw attention to the situation, alleging that should gas supplies dip too low, a catastrophic accident could occur.

As is typically the case, a deeper political (and financial) motive was driving this protest. Most of the factories represented by the protesters were owned by Dmitry Firtash, one of Ukraine's richest men and a co-owner of one of the gas-trading middlemen Tymoshenko was actively seeking to remove from the market.

I was discussing this political gamesmanship with a journalist also covering the rally when Naftogaz's press secretary appeared and began fielding questions. TV cameras and voice recorders crushed around the spokesman as I struggled to pick up the back-and-forth in Ukrainian. He laid out Naftogaz's justification for its strict negotiating techniques and claimed that the protesters were only seeking to add more pressure to the negotiations underway in Moscow.

When his interview was over, the press secretary walked down the street for a smoke break while the reporters packed up their things. I chatted with a couple of the journalists and jotted a few notes down. When the spokesman returned, I sensed an opportunity and approached him.

We had met briefly before, and he remembered me after a bit of prodding (and mention of the Fulbright Program). He made a call on his mobile and asked me to wait a bit. A couple minutes later, a woman joined us out on the street and started speaking to me in English. When my Russian was insufficient to convey my questions, she served as an interpreter as I sought clarification on a few issues. After I wrapped up the discussion on the current dispute, I dove right into more specific questions regarding some of Naftogaz's recent activities. Many of these questions I had earlier sent via email to the PR department, but had not received a reply; I was therefore happy for the opportunity for a direct conversation.

I also broached the topic of an upcoming round table I was planning. I had been hoping to get a Naftogaz representative to attend, but my invitation sent out a few days earlier had gone unanswered. Both the translator and the spokesman had not heard anything, but they promised to be on the lookout should I resend it.

After about fifteen minutes of direct questions and answers with the press secretary of one of Ukraine's largest companies (Naftogaz employs 170,000 people while providing about 10% of the country's budget revenues and about 1/8th of Ukraine's GDP), I thanked him for his time and went off to talk to some of the protesters.

During the course of follow-up calls to the press office, it became clear that they simply were not receiving my email. Communication breakdowns can be one of the most frustrating parts of doing any type of research. Yet a good dose of persistence-combined with a bit of serendipity-can go a long ways in turning annoyance into accomplishment.