U.S. Aid Cuts Leave Ukraine's Media Defenseless Against Kremlin Lies | Opinion

In late 2022, I stood outside a bombed-out TV station in Kyiv. Windows shattered. Walls cratered by Russian shells. Inside, a handful of journalists huddled in the dark—no heat, no power—still reporting, still telling the truth.

That newsroom survived not on ads or subscriptions, but on foreign aid—largely from the United States. Today, that lifeline is vanishing. Quietly. Systematically. And with it, Ukraine's independent media is being pushed to the edge of extinction.

In January, the U.S. abruptly halted 90 percent of its humanitarian and development assistance to Ukraine. No press release. No justification. Just a freeze—including funding for local media—channeled through USAID and its implementing partners. That silence is costing lives. And it's collapsing Ukraine's information front.

A Press on the Brink

Frontline outlets—Ukraine's last defense against Kremlin disinformation—have been hit the hardest. Three months into the freeze, they're not just struggling—they're sinking.

Take Vgoru in Kherson and NikVesti in Mykolaiv, a city in southern Ukraine. Both are days away from going dark. And when they do, silence won't follow. Russia's voice will.

Because the Kremlin is already filling the void.

On April 4, the Russian Ministry of Defense published a Telegram post claiming a "high-precision strike" in Kryviy Rih had killed 85 Ukrainian servicemen and Western instructors. It went out to 630,000 followers and was instantly echoed by Russian state outlets and pro-Kremlin Telegram channels—often the only "news" available in occupied Ukrainian territories.

But the truth was very different.

The missile actually struck a children's playground and family restaurant in President Volodymyr Zelensky's hometown. Twenty civilians died—nine of them children. Local journalists were on the scene within minutes, documenting the chaos. Their videos, like this one, told the real story—a war crime, not a military strike.

"Imagine if there were no local media," said Oleh Dereniuha, co-founder of NikVesti. "This was a normal neighborhood. No soldiers. No targets. Without local coverage, people in the U.S. and beyond would be left asking—do we believe Kyiv or Moscow?"

Russia's Digital Propaganda Machine

That strike is just one example of Russia's growing disinformation war. With deep pockets, Moscow is building fake Ukrainian media channels across social platforms.

One such channel, Truthful Mykolaiv, pretends to be local but pushes Kremlin narratives. "The tone is measured, the language familiar," said Dereniuha. "But the message is always the same: trust Moscow, doubt Kyiv."

That's why NikVesti—founded in 2009 and with 4.5 million visits in 2024, mostly from Odesa, Kherson, and Mykolaiv—is vital. But it's on life support. "We're burning through our final reserves," Dereniuha said. "If funding doesn't return, we won't make it past April."

Another local publication in Kherson, Vgoru, faces the same fate. It's one of just three independent outlets still standing in a region largely under Russian occupation.

"We've stopped freelance work, slashed salaries, and suspended major projects," said editor Ilona Korotitsyna. "No more documentaries. No more investigations. Just survival."

Journalism Is Dying in Ukraine

Since Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, Ukraine has lost 329 media outlets—destroyed by bombs or starved by economics. Fifty-seven journalists have been killed. Ad revenue is gone. Newsrooms are rubble. And grant funding is their only hope.

"In Ukraine, nine out of 10 media outlets rely on grants—primarily from USAID," said Jeanne Cavelier, head of the Eastern Europe and Central Asia desk at Reporters Without Borders. "Thirty-five percent receive more than three-quarters of their funding from American sources. Half depend on U.S. support for at least half their budget. Without renewed aid in the next six months, most will be forced to shut down."

The West Is Ceding the Narrative

As Ukrainian newsrooms fade, Moscow steps in. The Kremlin spends billions on RT, Sputnik, and legions of Telegram influencers to shape public opinion. Every day, they blame Kyiv for the war and cast Western support as futile.

Now, by pulling media funding, the West is helping them.

This isn't just a policy mistake—it's an information surrender. We're handing Russia the narrative while standing on the sidelines.

It's a devastating blow to Western credibility. We're telling Ukrainians risking their lives for democracy that our support can disappear with a budget line. We're also abandoning the core pillars of democratic resilience—truth, accountability, and a free press—and dismantling a media ecosystem we helped build.

And make no mistake—when these outlets vanish, they won't bounce back. Journalists will leave the profession. Local audiences will drift toward Russian-dominated platforms. Disinformation will fill every gap.

The Clock Is Ticking

I spent 18 years with Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, a U.S.-funded outlet with a once-robust Ukrainian service—until it too was gutted by budget cuts under President Donald Trump. I've reported from war zones and autocracies. I've seen truth suppressed in real time. But nothing is more demoralizing than watching your allies walk away from the fight.

It's not too late to act.

The U.S. can restore funding. It can stabilize Ukraine's crumbling media landscape. It can recognize that journalism in wartime isn't optional—it's armor. Truth is a shield. It protects civilians as surely as helmets or flak jackets.

Because when truth falls silent, only lies remain.

We must not abandon Ukraine's media. We must not abandon the truth.

Not now. Not ever.

Muhammad Tahir is a nonresident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council's Eurasia Center and a former executive at Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. He has spent over two decades reporting on democratic movements, information warfare, and authoritarian regimes.

The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.