Ukraine’s Zaporizhstal plant plans to shift much of its output to lower-value pig iron to keep exporting under the European Union’s new steel quotas. The move would idle up to half the plant’s capacity, its parent company, Metinvest, says.

The EU says the quotas shield its own producers from a global steel surplus. For Ukraine, whose steel entered duty-free after Brussels lifted tariffs after the 2022 invasion, they land on an industry already hit repeatedly by Russian strikes and cut off from the sea. The tariff-free quota fell by half on 1 July, with a 50% duty on anything above it.

Ukraine’s new allowance runs to roughly 1 million metric tons, about 60% below its 2025 shipments to the bloc, the Kyiv consultancy GMK Center calculates.

Steel makes up about 15% of Ukraine’s exports, and the EU buys close to four-fifths of it. The country’s Federation of Employers estimates the curbs could cost $1.2 billion in foreign earnings and cut GDP by 0.6%.

Falling back on pig iron

Pig iron, a semi-finished product, falls outside the quota, so lifting its share keeps the furnaces earning. But the switch would force the plant to reassign the workers behind those idled lines, Oleksandr Myronenko told Reuters. “Instead of support from the European Union, we face restrictions,” said the Metinvest chief operating officer.

Ukrainian mills cannot easily sell elsewhere: they are less efficient than cheaper Turkish and Chinese suppliers and are undercut in Europe’s own market, Myronenko said.

With the Black Sea route closed, importing coking coal through other European ports now runs $30 to $40 more a metric ton. Rail freight rose 30% this month, and an EU carbon charge has been applied to steel imports since 1 January.

A strike, and a plan in doubt

A Russian ballistic missile killed seven Zaporizhstal workers and shut the plant on 11 August.

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The fate of Metinvest’s $8 billion, 15-year plan to convert to cleaner “green steel” is unclear; Myronenko called the modernization unrealistic in wartime. Zaporizhstal is the largest employer in the Zaporizhzhia region and, with the rest of Metinvest, is majority-owned by Rinat Akhmetov, Ukraine’s richest man.

On the plant floor, senior foreman Artem Kalinevych said: “As of today it’s not clear what comes next.”

During President Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s recent visit to Serbia, he was asked whether Belgrade could continue to count on Ukraine’s position on Kosova. Zelenskyy reaffirmed that position, saying that Ukraine respects Serbia’s territorial integrity and international law and that its stance on Kosova’s “unilateral declaration of independence” remains unchanged.

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For many Kosovars, who have stood firmly with Ukraine since Russia’s full-scale invasion, this is difficult to understand. There is particular pain in hearing President Zelenskyy appear to dismiss what Kosovars endured—when it is precisely that memory of war, displacement, and atrocities that made Kosova one of Ukraine’s most instinctive supporters.

The danger of “unilateral”

There is a big problem with the way Kosova is being discussed by President Zelenskyy. Describing its independence simply as a “unilateral declaration” removes everything that matters about how Kosova actually became independent.

It also plays directly into an argument Vladimir Putin has been making for years: if the West accepted Kosova, why should it reject what Russia has done in Crimea, Donetsk, or Luhansk?

Ukraine should be dismantling that argument, not inadvertently reinforcing it. Kosova’s declaration was unilateral in one narrow sense: Serbia did not consent. But Ukrainians should understand the problem with treating the aggressor’s consent as the decisive test.

Imagine telling a community in Ukraine devastated by Russian forces that Moscow must retain a permanent veto over the political settlement that determines its future.

Kosova’s path to independence

Kosova did not simply decide one day in 2008 to break away from Serbia. The declaration came at the end of a process that had lasted years. Kosova’s path to statehood came through the violent dissolution of Yugoslavia, a federation that ultimately fragmented into seven independent states, and after years of systematic repression of Kosova’s overwhelmingly Albanian population. The culmination was the 1998–99 Kosova war.

Serbian and Yugoslav forces conducted a campaign of violence and forced displacement against Kosovar Albanians. Nearly 800,000 people were expelled from Kosova in a matter of months because of a violent ethnic cleansing campaign of the Serbian army against Kosovars.

Hundreds of thousands more were internally displaced. Thousands of civilians were killed, cities and villages burned, homes destroyed, and women subjected to sexual violence.

When the war ended in 1999, Kosova did not declare independence. Nor did Albania invade Kosova and annex it. Instead, Kosova was placed under UN Security Council Resolution 1244. For almost nine years, its institutions developed under international administration while its final status remained unresolved.

And then there were negotiations. UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan appointed former Finnish President Martti Ahtisaari to lead talks between Belgrade and Pristina over Kosova’s final status. After those negotiations failed to produce an agreement, Ahtisaari concluded that returning Kosova to Serbian rule was no longer a viable option and recommended internationally supervised independence.

This matters because Kosova’s declaration in February 2008 did not reject that international process. It embraced it. The declaration committed Kosova to implementing the Ahtisaari settlement and invited continued international involvement, including an EU rule-of-law mission and NATO’s security presence.

Call the final declaration unilateral if you wish. The process that produced it was anything but.

What the ICJ found

Even after independence, the issue was subjected to further international scrutiny. At Serbia’s initiative, the UN General Assembly asked the International Court of Justice to examine the declaration. In 2010, the court concluded that Kosova’s declaration “did not violate international law.” It also found that it did not violate UN Security Council Resolution 1244.

None of this means Kosova’s path to independence was simple or uncontested. Clearly, it was not. But reducing this history to the word “unilateral” creates precisely the opening Russia needs to manufacture a parallel with Ukraine.

Crimea breaks the comparison

Putin has used Kosova for years to claim that the West created a precedent Russia merely followed: Kosova separated from Serbia without Belgrade’s consent, so why should Crimea be different? Because that is clearly where the similarity ends.

Crimea, Donetsk, and Luhansk were annexed following a Russian invasion. Moscow occupied Ukrainian territory, installed or backed proxy authorities, staged referendums under military occupation, and ultimately claimed Ukrainian land as its own.

Kosova emerged from an international process designed to resolve a conflict; Russia manufactured “independence” as an instrument of conquest. Ukraine should insist on that distinction every time Moscow invokes Kosova.

Ukraine understandably approaches Kosova cautiously. A country fighting for its territorial integrity is wary of anything that might appear to weaken that principle. But acknowledging the exceptional circumstances of Kosova does not weaken Ukraine’s argument. Treating Kosova and Crimea as comparable cases does.

Russia wants Kosova to be its precedent. Ukraine does not have to accept the premise. Ukraine, in fact, has a particular interest in explaining the difference, because Ukrainians know better than almost anyone what Russian-manufactured "self-determination” actually looks like. That is not Kosova’s story.

Kosova chose Ukraine first

There is also an irony here that is difficult for Kosovars to ignore. Kosova has stood with Ukraine since the beginning of Russia’s full-scale invasion. It imposed sanctions against Russia and Belarus, provided assistance to Ukraine, and offered refuge to Ukrainian journalists.

It did all of this without being recognized by Kyiv—Kosovars did not need recognition to know which side they were on.

Ukraine’s experience resonates deeply in Kosova. We know what it means to live through war and displacement. We also know what it means when a larger neighbor invokes history to argue that it has the right to determine your future.

That does not make the two cases identical—but it should make Ukrainians skeptical when Russia tries to turn Kosova into a justification for its own imperial project.

Kosovars did not expect President Zelenskyy to arrive in Belgrade and announce that Ukraine had suddenly changed its position on Kosova. But it is reasonable to expect Kyiv to revisit its approach to Kosova and to recognize the process by which Kosova came to be, a process that Ukraine’s closest allies today understood, supported, and ultimately recognized.

That requires abandoning a framing that reduces Kosova’s history to a “unilateral declaration” and inadvertently gives credibility to the parallel Russia has spent years trying to construct. For Kosovars, the hope is that a more honest understanding of that history will eventually lead Ukraine to reconsider recognition, too.

Not as a reward for Kosova’s support for Ukraine, but as the natural outcome of seeing Kosova on its own terms rather than through the precedent Moscow wants it to be.

Putin has spent years trying to make Kosova his precedent. Ukraine should take that argument away from him. Doing so would bring Kyiv closer to the position of the allies standing beside it today—and perhaps, in time, recognition would follow.

Nezir Sinani

Nezir Sinani is executive director of the B4Ukraine Coalition, an alliance of more than 100 civil society organizations pressing companies and financial institutions to stop enabling Russia’s war against Ukraine. A longtime Kosovar activist, his work is rooted in Kosova’s own experience of war and displacement.

Editor's note. The opinions expressed in our Opinion section belong to their authors. Euromaidan Press' editorial team may or may not share them.

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Since mid-July, Ukrainian drones have burned their way through the warehouses of Wildberries, Russia’s answer to Amazon, and how much of it is gone has become a question with too many answers.

Estimates in circulation range from a fifth of the company’s network to well over half, and they clash because each counts something different.

Only by sorting out what each figure measures can you see what the campaign has actually done—and what it has done is heavier, where it counts, than the modest numbers suggest.

Ukraine has concentrated its drones on a couple of dozen hubs that move most of the goods, while the hundreds of small depots that pad the total remain mostly untouched.

Wildberries is no marginal target. Nearly half of everything Russians buy online runs through it, a marketplace as woven into daily life there as Amazon is in the West. And Kyiv is not burning it for the sneakers.

Estonian military intelligence reports that Wildberries, though not a military firm, supplies the Russian armed forces with kit bought straight off the platform—body armor and drone parts—a case Ukraine makes too. Wildberries denies it.

Yet once the strikes began, the company pulled its “SVO” tag, the label that had gathered those goods in one place, while the goods stayed on sale under other categories; it also barred warehouse workers from carrying camera phones.

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Count the hubs, and the damage jumps

The clash comes down to the word “network.” Most of Wildberries’ floor space is scattered across small sorting points that would hardly be missed if one burned. Set the damage against all of it, and the loss—about a fifth—looks minor.

But the parcels move through these two dozen hubs that hold more than half the company’s space, and those are the ones Ukraine has hit: more than a third are damaged, and by another count, well over half are out of action. It is the same campaign counted in two ways, and only the second shows its aim.

The gap between a building’s size and its damage is easy to miss, and the biggest hub shows how. Koledino, outside Moscow, covers more than 200,000 square meters, and that number keeps getting logged as a loss.

It shouldn’t be. When a drone came down there on 28 July, the fire took a neighboring warehouse—a separate operator that stocks shelves for chains like Lenta and Auchan—while the Wildberries hub kept working.

Damage reaches beyond the warehouses

The Wildberries strikes are one arm of a declared campaign. On 25 June, Zelenskyy announced a 40-day operation to pressure Russia to end the war.

The warehouse strikes began on 18 July near Moscow and have since spread across a dozen regions, reaching as far as Yekaterinburg in the Urals.

The cost runs beyond floor space. At least eight people have been killed in the strikes so far—warehouse staff and residents caught near the hubs when the drones came down. And the pressure is pushing the company outward: Wildberries is scouting for storage in Kazakhstan, hunting warehouse space beyond the reach of Ukrainian drones.

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The fires have become a line in Russia’s budget. The Kremlin is weighing state loans to keep Wildberries upright—at a point when the federal deficit had, halfway through 2026, already outrun the shortfall the Treasury set aside for the entire year.

Oil and gas revenue, the Kremlin’s main source of war funding, keeps falling short. Russia appears unwilling to let a company this central fail. Paying to save it, hub by burned hub, is the bill Ukraine is now handing Moscow.

Moldova has overtaken Poland and Germany to become the largest foreign buyer of Ukrainian dairy products in the first seven months of 2026. It is not the win it sounds like.

A country of some 2.5 million people now buys more Ukrainian dairy than any EU member, as falling European prices make EU sales less attractive and cheap imports capture a growing share of Ukraine’s home market.

Why the EU sales stopped paying

Over that period, the Association of Milk Producers reports, dairy exports shrank by almost a fifth in value against last year, while imports rose by more than a third. Ukraine now buys about as much dairy from abroad as it sells—unusual for a country used to exporting it.

What pushed producers toward a small neighbor rather than the EU was price: European wholesale prices for butter and milk powder fell throughout the summer, until selling into the EU stopped paying. The association expects that to reverse only if prices climb again in the autumn.

The pull shows up most in butter, where Moldova is now the largest butter buyer, taking more than four of every ten kilograms Ukraine exports, even as the total shrinks.

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Cheaper cheese from Poland and other EU states now feeds more than half of Ukraine’s cheese market, up from under 40 percent at the start of 2025, and Ukrainian cheesemakers have cut production rather than compete.

According to the association, a large share is declared as humanitarian aid, allowing it to enter without being tested, without Ukrainian labels, and free of duties and VAT. The association estimates that this costs the budget at least 730 million hryvnias ($16 million) a year.

Moldova subsidizes its own dairy farmers for every liter of milk they sell, yet it now buys more Ukrainian dairy products than any other country.

Russia’s war budget got a brief respite this spring, when the Iran war pushed oil prices up. By July, it was gone. A single month swung from a rare surplus to an $8.8 billion deficit, leaving the seven-month shortfall already bigger than the entire deficit Russia ran last year, with five months still to run.

As oil money drains away, the Kremlin is covering the gap by taxing ordinary Russians harder and eyeing their savings.

Oil-and-gas income, long the war’s financial engine, fell by about a sixth from a year earlier to 4.6 trillion rubles ($56 billion), Finance Ministry figures show. Spending outpaced revenue, with state procurement up by nearly two-fifths.

The hole was plugged by value-added tax, whose receipts jumped by a quarter after Moscow raised the rate to 22% at the start of the year—a tax levied on ordinary Russians’ spending, not on oil prices or economic growth.

One month of relief, then the gap reopened

The reprieve proved brief. July’s deficit followed June’s surplus even though spring’s higher oil prices should have cushioned the books, Bloomberg calculations showed.

Much of the windfall never reached the budget: it went to subsidizing oil firms whose refineries Ukrainian drones keep hitting, Gaidar Institute economist Ilya Sokolov wrote in a July monitoring paper.

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With the economy barely growing in the first half, a second-half recession could knock out another chunk of tax revenue just as the shortfall widens. Yaroslav Kabakov of the Finam brokerage expects the full-year deficit to approach double last year’s by year-end. Even as revenue shrinks, the military reportedly wants roughly 40% more than planned.

Borrowing, the other fallback, is jamming too. Russia suspended government bond auctions in July after investors balked and it could no longer raise money cheaply at home, even as Finance Minister Anton Siluanov vowed to shield defense and social spending.

Moscow shifts the burden to households

The burden is shifting onto households. The VAT rise alone will raise about $13 billion a year—barely a month of military spending—yet, unlike seizures aimed at billionaires, it reaches nearly every Russian, columnist Agathe Demarais wrote in Foreign Policy.

A draft law would allow the state to move around $40 billion from private pension accounts, and Communist leader Gennady Zyuganov has urged Vladimir Putin to tap the savings Russians hold in banks. Moscow will not run out of cash soon, Demarais argued, but it is “running out of politically affordable ways to raise it.”

Ordinary Russians are already moving their money. Through the first half of 2026, they withdrew cash from the banking system at the fastest pace since the pandemic, and the Central Bank has begun allowing banks to flag and freeze “suspicious” withdrawals, Euromaidan Press reported.

Ukraine’s sustained drone strikes on Russian refineries have reversed the country’s position as a net fuel exporter. Moscow now imports gasoline from as far as India and Morocco while rushing crude oil through the Arctic to reach Asian buyers it can no longer supply with finished fuel. The flows are scaling up—and running on the same sanctioned, EU-listed tankers.

The reversal is tightening global fuel markets. Russia runs the world’s third-largest refining industry, and the combined disruptions have acted to squeeze supply worldwide, with Moscow banning exports of both gasoline and diesel to keep its own pumps supplied.

Russian refining falls to its lowest since 2002

Ukrainian drone strikes have driven Russian crude processing to 3.6 million barrels a day in July—its lowest level since 2002 and roughly a third below the seasonal norm, according to EA Analytics data cited by Bloomberg.

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Ukraine hit at least 24 of Russia’s 34 largest refineries in some 50 strikes, with five more struck last week and at least two this week. With refining at a 24-year low, Russia is exporting crude through the Arctic while importing refined fuel from India.

Fuel shortages and rationing now affect about 50 million people—a third of Russia’s population. Moscow is subsidizing both the damaged refineries and the imported fuel replacing their output.

Sanctioned tankers take crude toward the North Pole

Seven tankers carrying about six million barrels of crude were heading to Asia through the Northern Sea Route as of 11 August. That volume already amounts to nearly half the approximately 13 million barrels the route carried during the entire 2025 season.

The route cuts two weeks off the voyage to China compared with the Suez Canal, and ice conditions are relatively mild this year, one trader told Reuters.

But speed is only part of the surge. Tankers on the Arctic route bypass European waters, where enforcement has led to inspections and detentions of sanctioned vessels, and Ukraine’s strikes on Black Sea shipping and the Iran–US standoff at Hormuz have narrowed the alternatives.

Vessel-tracking data show the convoy following a route north of the Severnaya Zemlya archipelago rather than through the traditional and more southern Vilkitsky Strait—putting sanctioned oil tankers within 500 nautical miles of the North Pole. Maritime experts said commercial traffic at this scale has never operated that far north.

Russian crude returns home as Indian gasoline

In the opposite direction, gasoline refined from Russian crude at Nayara Energy’s Vadinar refinery in western India is flowing back to Russia through a chain of ship-to-ship handoffs at Egypt’s Damietta Port. At least three cargoes have cycled through the hub since June. The first reached Russia on 5 August.

Bloomberg’s tracking data show the tanker Cyclone loaded 42,000 tons of gasoline at Vadinar on 18 June, transferred the cargo to the Oman-flagged Garnet off Damietta on 6 July, and the Garnet reached Russia in early August. Two more tankers, Varg and Photon, followed the same route in July, with Photon’s cargo handed to the Russian-flagged Talisman on 28–29 July.

All these vessels are under EU sanctions. Garnet and Talisman are also under US sanctions.

Nayara’s refinery, which processes 400,000 barrels a day, is 49% owned by Rosneft. EU sanctions in July 2025 drove away its non-Russian crude suppliers, so the plant switched to processing only Russian oil and now buys and sells through traders—which is how its gasoline reaches Russia without a direct India-to-Russia sale, as Euromaidan Press reported.

The expected September launch of Rosneft’s Vostok Oil project could push more crude through the Northern Sea Route, traders told Reuters. NSR crude shipments fell 4% in 2025. This year’s opening weeks have already matched half the full-season total.

A Ukrainian drone strike shut the plant that produces 40% of Russia’s liquefied petroleum gas on 10 August, and the country’s fuel crisis snapped back across at least 16 regions within days.

The shutdown of the Sibur ZapSibNefteKhim complex in Tobolsk, western Siberia, removes about six million metric tons of annual LPG capacity from a fuel system that was already under strain.

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Gasoline restrictions had begun easing across Russia at the end of July, when Ukrainian drones temporarily shifted to other targets. When the strikes resumed in early August, fuel rationing returned immediately, the independent Russian outlet 7×7 reported.

Three industry sources told Reuters on Tuesday that the complex stopped operations indefinitely “while the extent of the damage and its consequences are being assessed.”

No LPG volumes were offered from the Tobolsk delivery point on Russia’s commodity exchange—a point that earlier this year handled about 4,000 metric tons of propane-butane mix per day. Sibur declined to comment.

A strike on one unit stopped the entire plant

Tyumen Oblast Governor Aleksandr Moor confirmed a fire at an industrial site following a drone attack but did not identify the facility.

Ukraine’s Special Operations Forces Deep Strike units, working with the Russian insurgent movement Chornaya Iskra (Black Spark), claimed the strike. The plant sits more than 2,200 kilometers from the front line.

Militarnyi’s OSINT analysis identified the specific target as the complex’s central gas fractionation unit—the plant’s entry point, where raw hydrocarbons are separated into usable products before anything else in the production chain can run. About half of ZapSibNefteKhim’s output feeds Sibur’s own petrochemical complex in Tobolsk; the rest goes to market.

Sibur held contracts to supply feedstock to defense-industry enterprises, including the Kamenskiy Kombinat, which produces solid rocket fuel and motors for the Grad, Smerch, and Uragan rocket systems.

Sibur also supplied the Perm Gunpowder Plant, which makes charges for multiple-launch rocket systems, air-defense complexes, and cruise missile boosters, Militarnyi also reported. The Sverdlov Plant and Biysk Oleum Plant, both explosives manufacturers, were also Sibur clients.

Fuel rationing returned within days

Across at least 16 regions, the fuel restrictions that had briefly eased in July are back, 7×7 reported.

In Sochi—Russia’s most famous beach resort—Mayor Andrei Proshunin said on Telegram that fuel was available at only 38 of the city’s 58 gas stations. Deputy Mayor Vyacheslav Bauer told residents and tourists to use public transport or stop driving, the Moscow Times reported.

In Bashkortostan, authorities banned gasoline sales in canisters, leaving at least one resident unable to fuel his lawnmower—as he complained to regional head Radiy Khabirov during a televised address, a Bashkortostan outlet reported. Production at the Ufa petrochemical complex is unaffected by the drone strikes, Khabirov said.

Still, the shortage persists for a different reason: every time a drone-alert protocol is activated, fuel tankers halt en route to gas stations, regional official Elena Prochakovsky explained at a briefing reported by Prufy. Three districts remain in a fuel “red zone,” and 19 of 26 gas stations in Sterlitamak are operating.

Lipetsk Oblast Governor Igor Artamonov told residents not to expect improvement for one to two weeks, Lipetsk outlet Ploshchad reported. “If you can leave 10 liters unfilled, the person arriving on empty will thank you,” he said.

Russia’s fuel system was already breaking

The Tobolsk shutdown lands on an already fractured system. By mid-July, fuel rationing had spread to more than half of Russia’s regions. Ukraine’s drone campaign had struck Russian refineries 194 times in the first half of 2026 alone—eleven times the previous year’s pace—knocking nearly half the country’s refining capacity offline, Ukraine’s General Staff reported on 4 July.

Repair timelines keep slipping because sanctions block the spare parts Russian plants need. To plug the gap, Russia has banned gasoline exports, permitted lower-grade fuel, and begun importing gasoline from India and Morocco, refined from its own crude—shipping it 14,000 kilometers home because its refineries cannot meet domestic demand.

The Tobolsk shutdown removes more LPG output than any single strike of the war. Russia was already rationing fuel in more than half its regions before this strike.