By Ekaterina Janashia | 2026-02-17

A Russian soldier opens a standard-issue ration pack and recoils. The buckwheat and meat inside have spoiled, "stenching up the whole room." Ammunition arrives from the state, he said. Almost everything else -- food, drones, vehicles, even body bags -- must be bought with personal cash or scraped together through online donations.

It's a pattern repeating across the front lines. Nearly four years into the war, Russia's troops are effectively financing their own fight, dependent on a volunteer donation network that's collapsing.

An investigation last June by the independent outlet Verstka found that public contributions plummeted 70% in 2024. Fundraising appeals that once closed in hours now take weeks, volunteers say, and the situation has only deteriorated since.

According to active-duty soldiers interviewed by Verstka, the state reliably provides ammunition. Beyond that, support is inconsistent or absent.

"The military is essentially on full self-provision," one soldier stationed in the Luhansk region told Verstka. "The army supplies ammo. But ordinary cars, drones, armor, and even food -- we buy it all ourselves."

Units routinely purchase vehicles, unmanned aerial vehicles and protective gear through personal funds or grassroots campaigns. Soldiers described a system sustained less by centralized logistics than by relatives, activists and pro-war Telegram channels.

Even troops stationed in rear areas, theoretically better supplied, said they would struggle to eat without privately purchased provisions.

Donations dry up

At the outset of the war, nationalist fervor fueled an outpouring of support. Telegram channels such as Russkaya Vesna Z and individual volunteers posted handwritten lists from soldiers requesting thermal underwear, socks and portable stoves.

Verstka analyzed tens of thousands of messages across 75 major pro-war Telegram channels and found that while fundraising appeals continue, public generosity has sharply declined.

In 2023, those channels raised about 39.1 billion RUB ($420 million). In 2024, that total fell to 11.8 billion RUB ($127 million), a drop of nearly 70%.

The volume of appeals has remained steady, but volunteers said the "speed of closure" -- how quickly campaigns meet their targets -- has slowed dramatically. Early in the war, a thermal imager might be funded in hours. Now, activists spend weeks pleading for contributions.

"We are struggling to find words to persuade even one more person to help," a group of volunteers wrote in June 2025.

They said many Russians have grown "tired" of the war, assuming either that a ceasefire is imminent or that the state has taken over supply duties.

The tone of requests has also darkened. Early appeals focused on comfort -- "warm winter socks" and similar items. Today, soldiers seek electronic warfare systems to jam drones, high-speed boats for the Dnipro River (about 1,368 miles long), and medical supplies such as Rehydron to counter dehydration linked to poor sanitation.

Volunteers are also increasingly asked to procure body bags, a grim acknowledgment of losses that official figures obscure.

To offset dwindling funds, activists now promote daily campaigns such as the "Day of the Hundred," urging supporters to donate 100 RUB (about $1). Some have resorted to shaming followers, arguing that "if you have enough for a bus ride in Moscow, you have enough for the army."

Gray market, repression

As official supply chains falter, a loosely regulated volunteer economy has flourished. Most donations flow to personal bank cards, with little public accounting for how billions of rubles are spent.

Some organizations appear to blur the line between activism and business. The NGO Veche, which collects donations for the front, is headed by Vladimir Orlov, who also owns a company that manufactures equipment the group purchases.

Soldiers told Verstka that some "humanitarians" behave like entrepreneurs, demanding "thank you" videos for marketing and, in some cases, smuggling drugs alongside legitimate aid.

The relationship between volunteers and military commanders has also deteriorated. Military bloggers report that officers are "repressing" soldiers who seek outside help, as such appeals expose the failures of official logistics.

To shield troops from retaliation, volunteers now conceal the identities of the units they assist.

"The command doesn't care about supply," said one soldier who fought on the Kherson front. "We have to chip in for everything ourselves or resort to looting just to find decent food."

Telegram restrictions

Now, the volunteer fundraising network faces a new obstacle. On February 10, Russian authorities began restricting access to Telegram, the primary platform where pro-war activists organized donations and coordinated supplies for troops.

Russia's communications regulator said it was restricting the app for the "protection of Russian citizens," accusing Telegram of failing to block criminal content. The move pushes users toward Max, a state-controlled messaging app now required on all new smartphones sold in Russia.

According to Meduza, many Russian military divisions have relied on Telegram chats to organize logistics and fundraising, download maps and communicate with the outside world. The app enabled what the outlet described as a "sprawling network of interaction between frontline troops and pro-Kremlin 'war correspondents,'" who converted their popularity into fundraising campaigns for military equipment.

"Within a day after Telegram's slowdown, I received about five videos from anonymous military personnel complaining that they're completely screwed without Telegram," popular pro-war blogger Fighterbomber wrote in response to the restrictions.