Ukraine’s secret weapon in its battle against Russia: crowdfunding

On April 27, 2023, Diana Kulyk’s father told her he was leaving the next day to start training to fight Russia. She was filled with dread but knew she needed to act. Her hands shaking, Kulyk, a 24-year-old only child, tried to type the perfect tweet that would convince her roughly 20,000 followers to donate more than $3,000 for equipment that would help keep her father alive.

“Hello, this is the most important tweet I have ever written,” she began. “I’m Diana Kulyk, daughter of Ruslan Kulyk. My father is a simple man, a baker by profession, a human being full of love and care. The person who took care of me since I came into this world. He needs help.” Beneath the text were two images: a selfie of Diana and Ruslan smiling under golden-hour sunlight, and a spreadsheet of equipment she’d determined her father needed for the battlefield, including steel body armor, a tactical headset, a ballistic helmet, and a sleep mat.

Diana had already raised about $30,000 over the previous year to buy protective gear for childhood friends fighting in Ukraine. Within two hours of posting about her father, she had raised enough to buy all 21 items on the spreadsheet. The donors came from all over: Ukraine, the United States, Germany, England.

Watching the donations flood in, Diana was overwhelmed. “It was a really weird moment,” she says. “You are so scared, but also you see everyone coming together to help you. It gives you hope.”

Diana’s efforts are part of an immense crowdfunding movement helping fuel Ukraine’s fight against Russia’s far larger and more advanced military. The Ukrainian government has its own crowdsourcing platforms, like United24, which has raised more than $761 million to pay for things like ambulances and demining equipment and to reconstruct destroyed buildings. Individual military units are using social media to campaign for the specific gear they need on the front lines. The 79th Separate Airborne Assault Brigade, for example, has used Instagram to gather donations for reconnaissance drones, generators, and night-vision goggles. And thousands of volunteers are raising funds to directly supply their loved ones on the battlefield with walkie-talkies, combat boots, Starlink internet satellites, medical supplies, ammunition, tanks, and phone chargers.

People have crowdfunded wars throughout history. In World War II, the Supermarine Spitfire, a British fighter aircraft, was largely financed by bake sales and fundraisers at primary schools. But never have funds been raised so easily, quickly, widely, and strategically by civilians and individual troops, says Keir Giles, a defense expert at the think tank Chatham House. “That’s a big advantage,” he says. With the modern tools of social media, influencer marketing tactics, crowdfunding platforms, and frontline postal services, “units can campaign for precisely the equipment and weapons they need and have them delivered.”

Benjamin Jensen, a war-strategy expert at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, describes this crowdfunding as a “game changer.” People around the world, he says, are directly “buying commercial off-the-shelf capability to enhance combat power on the battlefield,” often acting much more nimbly than the military.

Crowdfunding is also increasingly critical. While Western nations have contributed nearly $300 billion worth of aid, Ukraine’s military has repeatedly suffered from shortages of key weaponry and defense equipment. Three grueling years in, several countries and leaders are weighing whether they’ll continue their support — including the United States and President-elect Donald Trump, a frequent critic of US aid to Ukraine. The Ukrainian government said last year that crowdfunding accounted for 3% of the country’s total military spending. To win the war, that number may need to climb. But fundraisers are struggling with fatigue among citizen donors and are getting creative to keep up funds and morale.

Before the war, Ruslan Kulyk was a pastry chef who made wedding cakes in Spain, where the family immigrated when Diana was young. When the wedding industry slowed in the winter, he visited family in Ukraine’s northeastern Sumy region. On February 24, 2022, he was preparing to return to Spain when Vladimir Putin launched Russia’s full-scale invasion. Landlocked and infuriated, he joined his nephew at the military registration office. Recruiters enlisted his nephew but turned Ruslan away. “I wasn’t prepared and was 50 years old,” he says.

He got a job at a local bakery. He trained hard, dropping more than 50 pounds in 14 months. By the time he went back to enlist, Ukraine was thought to have lost as many as 17,500 soldiers and badly needed more men on the front lines.

After training in Kyiv, Ruslan joined a “storm” brigade, an extremely dangerous type of counteroffensive unit that often operates on the edge of Russian strongholds. Diana and Ruslan talked frequently, but his work often required him to go dark for days on end. For Diana, the wait was terrifying. She scoured the news to see where “the hottest part” of the fighting was, figuring that’s where her father would be. “You wake up every day thinking I’m going to have bad news today,” she says.

Being able to crowdfund equipment for her father and his fellow soldiers has given Diana a semblance of control to counter the nauseating sense of helplessness. It has also helped save lives.

In the summer of 2023, Ruslan texted his daughter, “I’m going on a mission.” Four days later, he called from the hospital. He had been sent to Bakhmut, where a Russian drone had exploded 18 inches from his head, giving him and three of his comrades concussions. One was so severely injured that he had to be wrapped in a tourniquet that Diana had fundraised for. (The soldier’s leg was amputated, and he’s now with his family.) Diana spent a week with her father as he recovered in the hospital.

When he returned to active duty, Ruslan became a drone operator. Though he was farther from the front lines, he was arguably in even more danger. Drone operators have been very effective: Citing Ukrainian military commanders, The New York Times reported last month that Ukraine’s drones accounted for at least 80% of Russian front-line losses. Several Ukrainian drone operators have told Business Insider that because of this, they are disproportionately in the enemy’s crosshairs. Ruslan calls drone operators Russia’s “target No. 1.” This October, while in the Luhansk region, Ruslan used a surveillance drone Diana had raised funds for to spot four Russian soldiers advancing toward his unit, giving Ruslan and his comrades enough time to avert an onslaught.

Diana has raised more than $100,000 for drones, jackets, boots, helmets, medical supplies, trench-digging equipment, and thermal-vision gear. She credits part of her success to “how transparent I am with my situation, with my family.” Much of her support comes from partnering with NAFO, the North Atlantic Fella Organization, an online community playing on the NATO name that challenges Russian disinformation, largely through dog memes.

Some crowdfunders encourage donations by sharing stories about themselves or their friends. Some host livestreams or ask followers to celebrate their birthday by donating to a soldier’s unit. Others offer services and products: You can get a message written on ammunition to be fired at Russian targets or buy artwork made of bullets, shells, and destroyed Russian equipment and uniforms.

Dyzga’s Paw posts a daily log of expenses. In one week in November it bought 15 Starlink satellite receiver kits ($4,884.13), an F13-Retrik uncrewed aerial vehicle ($2,780.36), and paper clips ($0.75).

Dimko Zhluktenko, a 26-year-old former IT manager in Kyiv, didn’t join the military at the start of the war. “I chickened out in the beginning a bit,” he says, and he was taking care of his sick mother. But he knew his tech skills could allow him to help Ukraine in another way. It was obvious to him that the military wasn’t getting the resources needed to win the war, so he started buying protective gear for his friends.

He posted about his efforts on X, sharing stories of his childhood friends on the front lines, like Max, who destroyed a bridge to stop a key Russian advance. His followers responded. “Many people started asking, ‘How can I send you money?'” he says. By April 2022, Zhluktenko had received so many of those requests that he decided to work on fundraising full time, starting a charity organization to provide “high-tech equipment” that would increase “the efficiency of our forces.” He called it Dzyga’s Paw, named after his dog. Donors can get merch — like stickers, tote bags, and patches — based on how much they donate. He’s raised more than $2.9 million from more than 28,000 individual donations.

Giles says that because the crowdfunding effort is so complex and unregulated, there have been “persistent allegations of fraud” against several groups. To counter that, Zhluktenko has made his organization radically transparent. On Dyzga’s Paw’s website, among other details about its budget, the organization keeps a daily log of its expenses. In one week in November, for example, it paid two employee salaries ($1,166.89) and bought 15 Starlink satellite receiver kits ($4,884.13), an F13-Retrik uncrewed aerial vehicle ($2,780.36), and paper clips ($0.75).

Zhluktenko is also transparent about who exactly is receiving which equipment and what they’re using it for. To motivate people to donate, he constantly shares stories on social media about soldiers like Nazar, who coached a youth soccer team before the war. In a post on X in October advertising a fundraiser, Zhluktenko’s organization wrote, “Nazar and his unit need essential equipment—from laptops to portable power stations and signal-boosting antennas for drones to be even more effective.”

Dyzga’s Paw also shares videos of frontline soldiers expressing gratitude, memes of gear en route to soldiers, and, crucially, footage of the gear donors have funded in action, often captured by drones they’ve also donated. Zhluktenko says these videos — often of Russian tanks being blown up or Russian soldiers surrendering — are extremely effective marketing: Donors “actually get to see the impact of the equipment they have sent” and how their donations “challenge the myth of an undefeatable Russian army.”

Mats Kampshoff, a 25-year-old student in Germany, has given about $600 to Dyzga’s Paw and other crowdfunding projects during the war, though he has no personal connection to Ukraine beyond the stories of soldiers he’s been following. “Connecting this war effort with a daily life that I can connect to really brought home the point that I don’t want this war to be around,” he says. Donating feels “more like a logical decision than one based on morals,” he says, adding that “it’s just the small part that I can do to shape the world in the way that I envision.”

In surveys of Ukrainians conducted in 2022 and 2023, almost 80% of respondents said they’d donated to some form of crowdfunding campaign during the war. Most of Zhluktenko’s donors are from Europe, the US, Australia, Japan — “any countries Russia would call the collective West,” he says. “There are people who have donated for 50-something weeks straight.”

Hlib Fishchenko, 25, founded a volunteer organization called Vilni, which he said gets about 80% of its donations from Ukrainians. He raises money for items like excavators that help protect soldiers building trenches; the last one Vilni bought cost about $25,000, which it raised in a month. He said Ukrainian donors understand that they could donate to rebuild a school, or they could donate to help soldiers prevent Russia from destroying schools in the first place. They see their donations as preventive, he said, while some international donors are more willing to fund projects like reconstruction and medical aid.

Receiving donations for equipment is one thing. Getting the equipment to the front lines is another.

Zhluktenko’s team goes on a frontline expedition about once a month. Their motto is “Just don’t be stupid.” In July they were driving toward Kharkiv when they learned of an imminent Russian glide-bomb attack nearby and changed their route.

Organizations and crowdfunders, including Dyzga’s Paw and Diana Kulyk, often work with Nova Post, a major Ukrainian delivery company that delivers close to the front lines. Nova Post told BI that it delivers to residents and the military and that it stops only when the military “says that it is dangerous to work and forbids us to open branches.” The company said that branches have indoor and outdoor shelters designed so that employees and clients can reach them within 30 seconds and that frontline branches have reinforced doors and windows.

The company’s operations have only grown: It told BI it had opened 2,242 branches and two sorting offices and installed 1,853 parcel lockers since February 2022 and that it shipped 30% more parcels in 2023 than it did in 2022.

Experts say the crowdfunding of Ukraine’s fight could offer a glimpse into the future of warfare. Major Western militaries are unlikely to start relying on crowdfunding anytime soon, given their extensive resources and stringent procurement policies. But Jensen, the war-strategy expert, predicts that crowdfunding via social media will be vital in “future insurgencies against authoritarian regimes.” Giles says he’s already seeing “more explicit calls on soldiers to equip themselves,” with soldiers in countries like Latvia and Finland, which he says “may be facing Russian aggression next,” buying more military equipment themselves.

Giles says this war might be unique in that it has dragged on long enough for these campaigns to develop. But it’s also dragged on long enough for some support to wane. Several fundraising groups said they’d seen donations dry up in recent months; fatigue is setting in as the war concludes its third year. In November, an advisor to President Volodymyr Zelenskyy told Bloomberg that the donations he’d received that month through YouTube livestreams had plummeted by two-thirds compared with what he raised in March. The advisor also said he feared that Donald Trump’s return to the presidency would further hinder donations. “Floating talks about Trump’s promise to end the war quickly and possibly bring peace reduce willingness of people to donate,” he said.

One thousand and sixteen days into the war, fighting rages throughout Ukraine’s east. Russia controls nearly 20% of the country. While there are no confirmed death tolls and estimates vary wildly, many tens of thousands of soldiers are believed to have been killed on both sides.

Zhluktenko got married in July and then signed a military contract. “Ukraine needs people fighting,” he says. “It’s impossible to win a war for your freedom without fighting for your freedom.” On October 23, his birthday, he posted on X: “My birthday wish this year is survival. I don’t need any gifts this year except something that will help me be effective in my military role and to survive.” While he’s on duty, his wife has taken over Dyzga’s Paw.

Diana Kulyk completed another campaign several months ago, raising $48,000 to buy her father’s brigade two pickup trucks with night-vision cameras and all-terrain tires. But she says that regardless or whether her dad needs anything, she spends much of her mental energy trying to prepare herself for the possibility of her father’s death. She’s lost friends in the war. She lost her cousin — Ruslan’s nephew, who went to the registration office with him. And she’s watched her father lose comrades.

“There is a high chance of it eventually happening, so I have been working on that,” she says. “I have a phrase I came up with to tell myself: ‘Better to be a man of honor than to live scared.'”

Sinéad Baker is a News Correspondent based in Business Insider’s London bureau, writing about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

Read the original article on Business Insider