Sometimes, the soul of a protest is hidden in its smallest details. In July 2025, a protest erupted in Kyiv and other cities that would soon become known not only for its message — but for its material: corrugated board.
It all began when a group of young activists commissioned a print shop to produce protest posters. They paid in advance. The posters were meant to criticize a controversial law (№12414) that aimed to weaken Ukraine’s anti-corruption institutions — NABU and SAP. But when the activists came to pick them up, the print shop refused to release the order. The official reason? “We do not print provocative materials.” Some suspected political pressure; others cited the use of the Russian language in one of the slogans as a pretext. Either way, the message was silenced — or so it seemed.
Instead of backing down, the protesters picked up what was lying around — pizza boxes, moving cartons, packaging waste, delivery scraps. Whatever had a blank side became a canvas. And that’s how corrugated board became the symbol of this movement. It wasn’t planned, branded, or centrally organized. It was born out of necessity, and that gave it raw power.
People started writing their own slogans by hand — using permanent markers, paint, or anything else they could find. They came to the square with folded boxes in their backpacks. They sat on curbs and sidewalks, writing out their thoughts like street poets. In just a few days, the movement gained a new name: The Corrugated Revolution.
We at Corruga LLC could not ignore this moment. Though we are now an American company, our roots are in Kyiv. Part of our editorial team still works there. We are a Ukrainian-American team, and this protest speaks directly to our hearts.
What was the protest about? At its core, it was a stand against President Zelensky’s attempt to bring independent anti-corruption agencies under political control. Personally, I’m not even a great fan of how those agencies work. But here’s the bigger picture: in Ukraine, the core of corruption is not just stealing money — it’s the sale of public offices.
There are hundreds of thousands of public servants in Ukraine, and government positions — from judges to ministers, from prosecutors to school principals — are sold for cash. There is a going rate for everything. Court seats, police ranks, university chairs, even hospital jobs. And everyone knows it.
One of the latest scandals revealed that 46 prosecutors in a single region were officially listed as disabled Chernobyl liquidators, receiving $500/month disability pensions. For comparison: most Ukrainian retirees survive on $100–200 a month. My own mother, a real disabled person, gets just $10.
These prosecutors had purchased fraudulent certificates to boost their income — and when caught, they explained they “had to protect the law somehow” on their low wages. No one was punished. They still work. And the president — the constitutional guarantor — remained silent.
This is why Ukrainians despise prosecutors, despise the government, despise the courts and law enforcement. And on top of all that, they have to face down Russia on the frontlines.
We had no artillery. No tanks. So we learned to fight with laughter and drones. Our FPV drones, loaded with homemade charges, have now become one of the main forces on the battlefield. As of mid-2025, one-third of all destroyed enemy equipment and personnel comes from these DIY aerial attacks.
That’s the short version. If you ever wondered why people would protest with corrugated board signs in the streets — now you know. It’s not just a protest. It’s survival with style.
One sign I’ll never forget read:
“There was no such bullshit under Ozzy.”
Yes, they meant Ozzy Osbourne (the law was signed on the day of his death).
Rock on, corrugated warriors!
corruga.expert
