Ukrainians in America understand perfectly well: today, not all wars are decided only on the battlefield. Information channels, digital platforms, government communication strategies, and the media ecosystem have become a field where the frameworks of reality are set, where permissible emotions and “exit scenarios” are defined. And the way Washington has behaved in recent weeks — and how the streets have responded — has become a test not only of the state of American democracy but also of the quality of allied support for Ukraine. While the Pentagon clamps down on the press with absurd new rules, and the White House responds to the millions-strong No Kings protests with artificially generated videos in monarchical aesthetics, Ukraine continues to live — and to strike deep into Russia’s rear, targeting its gas and oil refining infrastructure — while observing how sanctions and logistical pressure are gradually depleting the aggressor’s resources.
According to organizers, on Saturday, October 18, millions of people in nearly three thousand locations across the United States joined No Kings. Several media outlets estimate about seven million participants — the largest mobilization during Donald Trump’s second term. This is not a media bubble but a mass signal that political communication built on trolling and humiliating opponents has limits.
The administration’s reaction was not to reduce polarization but to amplify it with artificial imagery: official accounts and channels linked to the White House circulated content portraying Trump as a king, along with a video showing him in a fighter jet bombing protesters with brown sludge. This is not a fringe meme but a telling symbol of how state communication turns citizens into objects of ridicule rather than subjects of dialogue. Major outlets as well as tabloids reported on these videos.
It is worth noting: the appeal to monarchical rhetoric is not a one-day accident. Back in February, the White House published an image captioned “Long live the King,” sparking a wave of criticism. Since then, the “crown” has become an obsessive leitmotif of “strength and greatness,” meant to devalue the legitimacy of protest. But when power toys with monarchical aesthetics in a country whose democratic legitimacy is built on respect for diverse voices, it inevitably weakens itself — because it provokes countermobilization.
Another troubling signal is the new set of rules for journalists at the Pentagon. Dozens of reporters — from AP, Reuters, The New York Times, and CBS to other major outlets — returned their badges and vacated their desks, refusing to sign a document allowing the revocation of accreditation for attempts to obtain even “unauthorized” but non-classified information. In effect, this ends the 80-year practice of daily media presence inside the Department of Defense. This new artificial “silence mode” primarily harms society itself, which, without valid reason, loses immediate access to information about the military, procurement, and the real scale of aid to allies.
Former heads of the Pentagon press office openly called this unacceptable. What matters most is not even the wording of the rules but the method: at a time of a major war in Europe, the government signals that it prefers to communicate with citizens through controlled message boxes, reducing the possibility of verifying facts and receiving feedback. For Ukraine, this has direct consequences: the fewer independent eyes in the U.S. Department of Defense, the easier it becomes for “gray zones” to appear regarding the volume and pace of arms deliveries to Kyiv.
The context of these days includes a tense meeting between Zelensky and Trump and signals from the White House about the reluctance to provide Ukraine with Tomahawk cruise missiles. Axios and Newsweek, citing sources, report that the U.S. president, unwilling to get “drawn in” and openly fearing to deplete stockpiles, instead speaks of peace through territorial compromises. To a Ukrainian ear, this sounds like the undermining of international law and a reward for the aggressor. But in communication terms, this message is sold primarily to the American voter as pragmatic reasonableness — while concealing the cost for Europe and the U.S. in the medium term.
That is why tone and form matter no less than content. When, on the same day, we see a playful “royal” video and “measured” words about rejecting Tomahawks, it is the same political technology: maximum emotional polarization at home, minimal strategic realism abroad. For Kyiv, this means it is worth investing in independent channels to explain to American society why long-range weapons are not escalation for escalation’s sake but a deterrence tool that shortens the war and saves lives.
The U.S. government shutdown, now in its third week, is yet another blow to public trust. Estimates of losses vary — from about $7 billion a week according to independent experts to about $15 billion per week by Treasury calculations. Still, the message is the same: the shutdown is costly for business, the state, and households — and this is precisely the backdrop against which decisions about aid to Ukraine are being made. Historical calculations by the Congressional Budget Office after the record 2018–2019 shutdown show multibillion-dollar losses, some of which were never recovered.
For the Ukrainian diaspora, this is not abstract. It means that the effectiveness of advocacy will depend not only on moral truth but also on the ability to show that support for Ukraine is an investment in restoring America’s reputation as a democracy that listens to its citizens and is not afraid of the press — that it is a deterrence tool against future revisionists, cheaper than joining a major war in Europe. Here, media and communications are the key arenas: we must speak the language of local television and newspapers, illustrate with infographics the logic of “longer reach — shorter war,” and debunk the myth of “we’re giving away our last” with facts about package structures, contract localization, and the multiplier effect on American jobs.
While Washington toys with cynicism and denial, Ukrainian drones, on the night of October 19, struck two large Russian energy facilities: Gazprom’s Orenburg Gas Processing Plant and the Novokuybyshevsk Oil Refinery in the Samara region. Reuters and AP confirmed fires and the suspension of Kazakh gas intake at the Orenburg plant. The Russians confidently claimed to have intercepted dozens of Ukrainian drones, but in reality — fires and forced technological stoppages speak louder about the true situation. This is not an isolated action but the materialization of the fact that Russia’s energy rear is now within 1,000–1,500 kilometers of reach. The effect is twofold: a loss of fuel and energy resources (logistics, prices, repair funds) and the forced redeployment of air defenses and resources from the front deep into Russian territory.
Strikes on the Novokuybyshevsk refinery have been repeated — as early as August, it was forced to halt operations due to drone attacks. The systemic nature of strikes on refining and logistics represents the long-awaited cumulative exhaustion of the war budget. Every fire means weeks of underdeliveries, inflated Urals discounts, insurance costs, and gray logistics.
September again showed Russia’s lowest oil and fuel revenues since 2022: according to IEA and Reuters, about $13.35 billion, with petroleum exports dropping to their lowest since 2020. Analysts at CREA recorded a decline in monthly export revenues to €546 million per day — the lowest since the full-scale invasion began; compared to 2022, revenues have halved. Yes, crude oil volumes sometimes rise, but margins are eaten away by discounts and logistics. For a wartime economy, this means a deficit of free cash flow and a constant search for patches.
Even Kremlin-linked analytical centers admit: in 2026, there is a high probability of recession. The Center for Macroeconomic Analysis and Short-Term Forecasting (CMASF) warned in August that key indicators had surpassed critical thresholds; independent publications consistently describe a “survival-mode economy” with artificially stimulated demand ahead of tax changes. It is not yet a collapse, but it is a trend — one desirable for the civilized world — measured in years and extremely unfavorable for Moscow.
Russia is also being forced to make Western-branded imports more expensive: raising tariffs, tightening “parallel import” schemes, and restricting access to goods from “unfriendly” countries. The result is imported inflation and a creeping decline in consumer quality, even as officials boast of effective import substitution. In reality, this is a policy that strikes directly at the urban middle class — the main engine of technological modernization.
Where official channels are closed, Moscow turns to the shadows: for the first time, a ship-to-ship transfer of Russian liquefied natural gas was recorded in open waters near Malaysia — the sanctioned tanker Perle carrying cargo from Portovaya (sanctioned by the U.S. since January), moored parallel to another vessel about 90 km off the coast. Bloomberg and several Asian outlets published satellite images and vessel-tracking data. This is not just about sanctions evasion but also the environmental risks of complex LNG STS operations. This matters for our arguments in the U.S.: without secondary sanctions and aggressive oversight of the shadow fleet, Russia’s energy revenue will continue to flow eastward.
Europe’s response is maturing: Austria has dropped its objections, clearing the way for the 19th EU sanctions package, which, among other things, accelerates the ban on importing Russian LNG starting January 1, 2027 (previously discussed for 2028) and strengthens the crackdown on this shadow fleet. This is both a political and communicative victory — a signal to markets and third countries that cheap Russian gas is becoming ever more toxic.
The true leitmotif of these reflections is shame. Not for Ukraine — exhausted by war yet still holding the line — but for the leaders of the free world who allow a dictator to plan a visit to European Union territory. As a victor. Shame that after Bucha, Mariupol, Izium, and thousands of obliterated towns, the lands of Europe can still receive the foot of the world’s chief war criminal, whose orders have cost millions of lives. Shame that this silence is cloaked in diplomacy rather than principle. It is a civilizational shame, one measured comfortably in “humane” press releases.
It must be remembered: Russia wins when the West grows tired and divided. A fleeting media hype cannot build legitimacy or sustain a coalition. In contrast, Ukraine’s strategy of small but consistent “stings” deep in Russia’s rear, combined with sanctions pressure and logistics control, is slow but stubborn work that changes reality on the ground. The EU is tightening sanctions; the U.S. must now choose — between media cynicism and honesty, between confusion and strategic clarity.
Ukraine today needs few slogans but much infrastructure: air defense for the energy grid, network repairs, long-range capability, ammunition. This is not “greatness” on Telegram but electricity in homes and life during air raids. And — I am glad to say this — time is once again our ally. The task for Ukrainians in America is to help the U.S. remember its strength: not the strength of humiliation but the strength of truth and transparency. Because that America — and only that America — remains our best and most reliable ally.
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