EDITORIAL: Calling Putin over Kyiv's head — the betrayal Trump is about to commit

One call, two narratives, one absent Ukraine

On June 14, 2026, Donald Trump picked up the phone to call Vladimir Putin. Fifty-five minutes of conversation, described as "friendly and frank" by Kremlin adviser Yuri Ushakov, in which Trump repeated that ending the Ukrainian conflict was "vital" and that he was "ready to help." That is the official communiqué from the Russian side. On the American side, very little was heard. On the Ukrainian side, they waited — once again — to learn what had been said about them, without them.

This pattern is not new. Since Trump returned to the White House, direct calls with Putin have multiplied — January, March, April, June 2026 — while Volodymyr Zelensky learned the results through communiqués or social media. The latest call reproduces exactly the same scenario: two great powers discussing the fate of a sovereign country that has been fighting for its survival for more than four years.

Diplomacy in reverse

The G7 at Évian-les-Bains, held June 15–17, 2026, staged a meeting between Trump and Zelensky, which the American president described as "very good." Zelensky, for his part, was tactical: he presented Ukrainian battlefield advances, requested additional Patriot missiles, pleaded for increased sanctions against Russia. He even offered Putin the chance to meet at the G7 — an offer the Kremlin denied ever receiving. This cynical denial says everything about Moscow's good faith.

Meanwhile, Trump advanced a formula that says a great deal about his state of mind: "Russia should make a deal." Generous as a declaration. But behind this innocuous phrase lies a negotiation process in which Ukraine's interests are systematically compressed between the ambitions of two men who do not bear the weight of this war on their shoulders.

I have to be honest: when I hear Trump declare "I'll do everything I can," something contracts inside me. Because I have heard that phrase dozens of times since January 2025. And while Trump was "doing everything he could," the bombs kept falling on Kyiv, Kharkiv, Dnipro. Formulas are hollow. What matters is who is sitting at the negotiating table.

A twenty-eight-point plan cooked up without Ukraine

Let us return to the facts. In November 2025, a peace plan of twenty-eight points circulated — elaborated by Steve Witkoff, Trump's special envoy, and Jared Kushner, the president's son-in-law and adviser, during negotiations in Miami with Kremlin financial adviser Kirill Dmitriev. This document demanded that Ukraine cede the regions of Luhansk and Donetsk, reduce its army to 600,000 men, renounce any NATO membership, and recognize Russian as an official language. In exchange, Russia would be reintegrated into the G8 and sanctions would be lifted.

This plan — which mirrored almost point for point Moscow's maximum demands — was presented to Zelensky as a "working framework." Ukraine refused the most unacceptable elements. A revised version of twenty points subsequently circulated, including security guarantees, a path toward EU membership, and a Ukrainian army of 800,000 men. But even this revised version left the fundamental territorial questions without satisfactory answers — and Putin was still demanding Ukraine's total withdrawal from the Donbas.

The Alaska summit and its ghost "agreements"

On August 15, 2025, Trump and Putin met in Anchorage, Alaska — the first person to lead Russia to set foot on American soil since 2022. The summit ended without formal agreement, without a ceasefire, without Zelensky. The two leaders spoke of "significant progress." Since then, Putin has continuously invoked the "Anchorage agreements" as the basis for any negotiation — agreements whose content nobody precisely knows, but whose fragments reported by Bloomberg suggest Trump may have accepted the principle of Ukraine's withdrawal from all of Donetsk and Luhansk.

Zelensky was not in the room. He learned the results during a phone call the following day. It was Ukrainian sovereignty that was being negotiated in Anchorage, and Ukraine had no seat. Lavrov stated it clearly on June 15, 2026 from Moscow: "Putin has accepted President Trump's proposals, and we expect the agreed position based on the American proposal to be implemented." Translation: what Trump told Putin privately binds Ukraine without Ukraine ever consenting.

There is something obscene about this image: two men, in a military base in Alaska, deciding the fate of millions of Ukrainians. Two men who have not endured a single missile strike, who have not buried a child killed by a Russian bomb, who do not spend their nights in a shelter. I do not claim to know all the subtleties of diplomacy, but I do know how to distinguish legitimacy from its absence.

Diplomacy as a tool of war

Let us understand clearly what Putin is doing every time he picks up the phone with Trump. He is not negotiating. He is consolidating his gains. Each phone exchange allows him to reaffirm his international legitimacy, to present himself as a reasonable interlocutor, and to advance the idea that the war can only end on Moscow's terms. The ceasefires proposed — the Easter 2026 one, the Victory Day one on May 9 — were all Russian communications operations dressed up as peace gestures. Putin would announce a truce for the military parade, then continue his bombardments.

On June 14, while Trump was calling Putin to tell him that peace was "vital," Russian forces were seizing new villages in Donetsk and in the Kharkiv region. That same day, Moscow launched massive airstrikes on Kyiv, Dnipro, and Kharkiv. Putin has never stopped striking. He has simply learned to strike while smiling into the phone.

The exhaustion strategy

Kremlin spokesman Dmitri Peskov had the cynicism to declare on June 16: "There are no official channels of communication between Moscow and Kyiv." This sentence is simultaneously a confession and a weapon. Russia refuses all direct contact with Ukraine while demanding Ukrainian concessions. It refuses to recognize Zelensky as a legitimate interlocutor — Trump himself had called him a "dictator without elections" earlier in the year — while claiming to want peace. It is the exhaustion strategy: prolong the fighting long enough that the West, tired, accepts a settlement on Russian terms.

And the plan is working. Putin rejected every ceasefire proposal that was not his own. He rejected Zelensky's open letter of June 4, 2026. He refused to attend the G7. The Kremlin envoy Ushakov even claimed on June 16 that the Ukrainian meeting proposal at the G7 had never been transmitted to Moscow — when Kyiv had used American and French channels. Every Moscow refusal is subsequently twisted into an accusation against Ukraine for having "blocked peace."

I have been observing Putin for years. What strikes me is his absolute consistency: he has never changed objectives. Neutralization of Ukraine, dismemberment of its territory, erasure of its national identity. This is not a man seeking peace. This is a man seeking Ukraine's capitulation dressed up as a peace treaty. And the difference is crucial.

Dignity as strategy

At Évian, Volodymyr Zelensky showed what he has known how to do for four years: hold on. Hold on facing a Trump who arrives at the G7 glowing from his agreement with Iran. Hold on facing European allies who are trying to accommodate Washington while defending Ukrainian interests. Zelensky presented photos of the damage caused by a Russian strike on Kyiv's Pechersk Lavra — a UNESCO World Heritage site — directly to Trump. He did not cry. He showed evidence.

His approach at the G7 was precise and strategic: request more Patriot missiles, obtain licenses to produce them in Ukraine, strengthen sanctions on Russian oil and banking systems, and — a crucial point — insist that negotiations take place with Ukraine at the table, not behind its back. "I think that President Donald Trump can achieve this, perhaps uniquely him," he said. This is not flattery. It is realism.

The uncrossable red line

On the territorial question, Zelensky has not budged a millimeter. On June 17, the Ukrainian government formally reaffirmed its refusal to recognize Russia's annexation of the regions of Donetsk, Luhansk, Kherson, and Zaporizhzhia. This position is not a political whim — it is a matter of survival. Recognizing these annexations would violate international law, the Budapest Memorandum of 1994, and open the door to future aggressions. If Ukraine concedes the Donbas today for a ceasefire, it gives Moscow a springboard for the next offensive in ten years.

Zelensky has stated it clearly, again and again: "Russia started this war. The plan must be just, above all for Ukraine." It is an obvious truth that is sometimes forgotten in the carpeted corridors of international diplomacy: it is not Ukraine that invaded Russia on February 24, 2022. It is not Ukraine that is claiming Russian cities. It is Ukraine defending its internationally recognized territory against a blatant military aggression.

I am not Ukrainian. I have not lived under bombardments. But I know what legitimacy means. And when I see Zelensky — democratically elected, massively supported by his population despite four years of war — treated as an obstacle to peace by those who provoked this chaos, something in me revolts profoundly.

The precedent of the Budapest memorandum

In 1994, Ukraine renounced its nuclear arsenal — the third largest in the world at the time — in exchange for security guarantees from the United States, the United Kingdom, and Russia. The Budapest Memorandum promised Ukraine's territorial integrity and sovereignty. Thirty years later, Russia annexed Crimea in 2014, then launched a full-scale invasion in 2022. The guarantees were worthless. Or rather, they were not guarantees — they were promises on paper.

Today, Ukraine demands legally binding security guarantees, comparable to NATO's Article 5, before accepting any ceasefire. This is a reasonable, indeed indispensable, demand. The Americans proposed a "robust security package" during the Berlin negotiations in May 2026 — while specifying that these guarantees would "not be on the table forever." This diplomatic blackmail is revealing: protection is offered with one hand while being withdrawn with the other, under time pressure.

Freezing the line of contact: a defeat in disguise

The central proposal in the American peace plans — freezing the line of contact where it stands — amounts to endorsing Russian conquests. At the time of negotiations, Russia controls approximately 70% of the Donetsk region, all of the Luhansk region, and parts of the Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions, as well as Crimea annexed in 2014. Freezing current lines militarily rewards the aggressor and penalizes the victim.

Zelensky himself signaled some flexibility on the notion of partial "demilitarization" of certain zones — which was remarkable given his historical position of "not one centimeter of land." But this flexibility has its limits. It does not extend to formal recognition of Russian sovereignty over occupied territories. And that is precisely what Putin demands. Not a ceasefire. A capitulation dressed as a peace agreement.

Freezing a front line after an invasion means offering the aggressor the trophy of his criminality. One cannot build a just peace on the ruins of international law. This logic — rewarding brute military force — is exactly what led to the catastrophes of the 20th century. I do not understand how intelligent leaders can fail to see this historical parallel.

The race to avoid being excluded

At the Évian G7, European leaders showed remarkable cohesion in defending Ukrainian interests — and in avoiding being sidelined from a peace negotiation. Emmanuel Macron was explicit: "The right negotiation is one where Ukraine and Russia are at the table, with Europeans and Americans alongside them." Friedrich Merz, the German Chancellor, spoke of a "two plus two" format — Ukraine and Russia on one side, the United States and Europe on the other. This is precisely the opposite of what Trump does: calling Putin directly, without the Europeans.

The United Kingdom under Keir Starmer — who had just announced his resignation, leaving Ukraine uncertain about the continuity of British support — nevertheless announced a new package of sanctions against the Russian clandestine oil fleet. The European Union was simultaneously advancing on the formal opening of accession negotiations with Ukraine — a historic decision that durably strengthens Kyiv's anchoring in the West. These signals count. But they are only worth something if Washington plays as a team.

Europe's strategic solitude

The deep problem is that Europe does not have sufficient military levers to impose itself in negotiations. It can provide weapons, funds, sanctions. It cannot replace American deterrent power. And Trump knows this — which is why he can afford to call Putin alone, to hold summits in Alaska without inviting European allies, to declare that the United States has "nothing to do" with this war while claiming to be its principal mediator.

This American strategic schizophrenia leaves Europe in an uncomfortable position: dependent on Washington for ultimate security guarantees, yet unable to weigh on bilateral Trump-Putin negotiations. The Ursula von der Leyen who declares "the tide is turning for Ukraine" and the Trump who tells journalists that the United States has "nothing to do" with the war are two faces of a West that has not yet decided whether Ukraine deserves a victory or merely a crisis exit.

Europe speaks well. Sometimes even with courage. But speaking is not enough when Putin is advancing. What I have observed for two years is a Europe awakening slowly — too slowly — to the reality of an existential threat. Russia will not stop at Ukraine if Ukraine yields. NATO is in its sights. And that truth, European leaders know it, but do not always dare say it aloud.

What this plan demanded from Ukraine

The twenty-eight-point document elaborated in Miami by Witkoff, Kushner, and Russian adviser Dmitriev was described by AFP, which obtained a copy, as a text that "corresponds to Moscow's previous demands and crosses Ukraine's red lines." The most controversial elements: total withdrawal of Ukrainian forces from Donetsk and Luhansk regions, reduction of the army to 600,000 men, permanent prohibition of NATO membership enshrined in the Ukrainian constitution, and de facto recognition by the United States of Russian sovereignty over Crimea, Donetsk, and Luhansk.

Russia, for its part, faced no major military restrictions — only a vague expectation that it "would not invade neighboring countries." No demilitarization. No international tribunals. No reparations. In exchange, Moscow would get back the G8, see its sanctions lifted, and benefit from "reintegration into the world economy." That is: a total reward for having launched the largest military aggression in Europe since 1945. This is not a peace plan. It is a capitulation of the West.

The resistance of Kyiv and European capitals

Facing this document, Zelensky said no. Clearly. "I will not betray my country." He returned a revised version, reducing territorial concessions and demanding binding security guarantees. The European Union and the United Kingdom exerted sufficient pressure on Washington for the initial plan to be amended. The twenty-point version finally included a Ukrainian military force of 800,000 men, a path to the EU, an 800 billion dollar reconstruction fund.

But Putin rejected these amendments. He declared that European and Ukrainian modifications "harmed peace efforts." He repeated to Lavrov the demand for the original version — the one negotiated with Trump in Anchorage. NATO Ambassador Matthew Whitaker even admitted on Fox News Business that "Russia has not made a single concession" during months of negotiations. That says everything about the asymmetry of this process.

I read these documents, these plans, these counter-plans, and I see something deeply disheartening: a Ukraine making painful compromises, reluctantly conceding on certain points, seeking an honorable exit — and on the other side, a Russia that has never budged a single centimeter from its initial maximalist positions. And despite this, it is Ukraine that is presented as the obstacle to peace. This is a total moral inversion.

The psychological profile of a deal

Donald Trump has a unique philosophy in foreign policy: everything is a deal. His obsession is not international justice, not principles of sovereignty, not the fate of Ukrainians. It is to arrive with an agreement — any agreement — that he can present as a personal victory. He said himself at the G7: "I ended eight wars. This was the one I thought would be the easiest to solve." This remark reveals everything: the war in Ukraine is for Trump a public relations problem, not a question of international law.

His relationship with Putin is, at best, a relationship of mutual respect between two strong men who think in terms of spheres of influence. At worst, it is a relationship of tacit complicity in which Trump provides Putin the diplomatic legitimacy he needs to make his conquests palatable to the international community. Every "friendly" phone call, every Alaska summit, every Trump declaration about the "productivity" of his exchanges with Putin reinforces the image of a Russian leader who deserves to be treated as a partner and not as an aggressor.

The temptation of the deal that betrays

Trump has shown frustration toward Putin at certain moments — threatening "enhanced" sanctions if the Russian leader "played games" with him. But these ultimatums have never been followed through. In June 2026, as diplomatic efforts resume after the Iranian parenthesis, the risk is maximal: Trump, pumped up by his deal with Tehran, will want to reproduce that success with Moscow. And to obtain a quick agreement with Putin, he will be tempted to sacrifice Ukraine's minimum requirements on the altar of his own diplomatic glory.

This is not speculation. The White House adviser already warned that security guarantees for Ukraine "would not be on the table forever." This language of manufactured urgency is a pressure tool against Kyiv, not against Moscow. Ukraine is told: sign now or you lose the guarantees. Russia is never told: stop striking or you face new sanctions. This asymmetry of pressure is the hallmark of a fundamentally unbalanced process.

Trump is not an enemy of Ukraine on ideological principle. He is indifferent to its fate — which is almost worse. The indifference of a powerful man can cause as much damage as declared hostility. And this indifference translates into a willingness to sell Ukrainian interests if it allows him to return to Mar-a-Lago with a deal to announce.

What this imposed peace would say to the rest of the world

Let us imagine for a moment that Trump and Putin reach an agreement — without Ukraine's full consent — that endorses Russian conquests. What precedent does this set for China, which has been watching attentively from Taiwan? What does it say to Iran, to North Korea, to all revisionist powers dreaming of reconfiguring borders by force? It says precisely this: military force is sufficient. Invade fast enough, take enough territory, and the great powers will eventually legitimize your conquests to buy a convenient peace.

This is the collapse of the international system founded on the United Nations Charter, on the inviolability of borders, on the prohibition of territorial conquest by force. This system is not perfect. But it has maintained relative stability since 1945. Draining it of substance to allow Putin to keep the Donbas means opening Pandora's box of a world where every regional power can arrogate the right to modify its neighbors' borders by force of arms.

China is watching

Xi Jinping observes every development in the Ukrainian crisis with the attention of a chess player analyzing the moves of his adversaries. If the West accepts that Russia keeps its conquered territories, the message for Taiwan is unambiguous: a rapid invasion can be rewarded if it creates a sufficiently solid fait accompli. China — the primary strategic threat to the West in the long term — draws lessons from every democratic weakness. And a peace imposed on Ukraine by Washington and Moscow would be the greatest demonstration of Western weakness in decades.

This is why Ukraine is not merely a Ukrainian question. It is an existential question for the liberal world order. A sovereign Ukraine, defending its internationally recognized borders, is a pillar of the security architecture that democracies spent decades building. Allowing it to collapse under the combined pressure of Putin and Trumpian impatience would be a geostrategic catastrophe whose consequences will be felt for generations.

I often think of this phrase from an ISW analyst: the peace that favors Moscow in Ukraine is the starting signal for Beijing at Taiwan. This is not a metaphor. It is a concrete strategic projection. The West is playing its fundamental interests on Ukrainian soil, without always seeming to understand it.

The bombs do not stop during phone calls

On June 14, 2026, while Trump was telling Putin about the urgency of peace, Russian forces were continuing to advance in the Donetsk region and capturing the villages of Rozkishne and Okhrimivka in Kharkiv. The next day, June 15, Russia launched one of the largest air offensives of the entire war: 656 drones and 73 missiles fired at Kyiv, Dnipro, Poltava, Kharkiv, and Zaporizhzhia. Toll: at least 18 civilians killed, more than 100 wounded. This is not the behavior of a country seeking peace. It is the behavior of a country seeking victory.

On June 20, Zelensky warned of an imminent "massive attack" from Russia and asked the population to take shelter. While diplomats were exchanging polished formulas in Évian, Ukrainian mothers were carrying their children into basements. This reality must be constantly recalled, because diplomacy has a natural tendency to disconnect from flesh and blood.

Ukraine resists and advances

What the negotiations tend to obscure is that Ukraine is not in a position of military weakness at the moment negotiations resume. Ukrainian drone strikes on Russian targets — including a refinery in the Tyumen region in western Siberia, thousands of kilometers from the border — demonstrated an unprecedented long-range strike capability. The European Commission recognized it: "The tide is turning for Ukraine. The situation in 2026 is very different from 2025. Ukraine is courageously holding the front line."

The G7 itself confirmed that Russia is not winning the war. Zelensky repeated it: "Everyone agrees that Russia is not winning and is losing a great many men; it must therefore make a deal as quickly as possible. It does not have the initiative." It is in this context of relative Ukrainian strength that honest negotiations must take place — not in a context of manufactured urgency that would force Kyiv to sign a bad deal under pressure.

There is something simultaneously ironic and outrageous about this: Ukraine is winning in terms of military position, and it is precisely now that it is being asked to make the largest concessions. This is the perverse logic of a diplomacy that rewards the aggressor and punishes the defender at the moment it shows its strength.

Why Ukraine cannot accept mere promises

What is a security guarantee worth for Ukraine after 1994? The question arises with painful acuity. The Budapest Memorandum was a promise from the United States, the United Kingdom, and Russia to respect Ukraine's territorial integrity. Thirty years later, two of the three signatories had either been powerless or actively complicit in violating those promises. This precedent haunts every Ukrainian negotiator.

For guarantees to mean something, they must be legally binding, automatically triggerable, and backed by real military presence. NATO's Article 5 works because it is clear, because the Alliance's military infrastructure is already deployed, and because violation would trigger a certain collective response. Current proposals — "robust guarantees" without ground troops, without a NATO accession timeline — fall short of that minimum threshold of credibility.

The Patriot stakes and local production

Zelensky's concrete demand — to produce Patriot missiles in Ukraine under American license — perfectly illustrates Ukrainian logic: strategic autonomy is the best security guarantee. If Ukraine can produce its own anti-aircraft defense missiles, it no longer depends on the variable goodwill of its allies. Trump seemed receptive to this idea at the G7 according to Zelensky — but the distance between a Trump "positive reaction" in a meeting and a formal decision is abyssal.

The U.S. Senate Armed Services Committee voted to extend aid to Ukraine and increase authorized funding to 750 million dollars. A bipartisan signal recalling that support for Ukraine in the United States is not merely a White House affair. The House of Representatives even passed legislation imposing new sanctions against Russia, in a bipartisan rebuke to Trump's approach. But these legislative signals can be circumvented by an executive determined to close its personal deal with Putin.

Producing Patriots in Ukraine: here is an idea that seems revolutionary in its simplicity. No longer depending on uncertain deliveries. No longer begging allies for each missile. Equipping oneself with a sovereign defense industry. This is exactly the direction Ukraine must go, and I am glad that Zelensky defends it with such clarity.

Versailles, Munich, and the dangers of appeasement

History is cruel with great powers that believe they can buy peace by making concessions to authoritarian regimes. In 1938, at Munich, Neville Chamberlain returned with an agreement signed by Hitler believing he had saved peace. Less than a year later, Germany invaded Poland. This is not an easy comparison — history never repeats exactly. But the dynamics are similar: an authoritarian leader exploiting the fatigue of democracies, territorial concessions that only encourage the appetite for conquest.

Putin himself admitted that if Ukraine "accepted the compromises discussed in Anchorage, the conflict would naturally and quickly conclude." This sentence reveals everything: for him, the end of the war is not a matter of ceasefire, but of Ukraine's acceptance of his maximum demands. The "quick peace" he proposes is Ukraine's capitulation dressed in treaty clothing. And such a peace will not hold — because it will be perceived by Ukraine and by the West as a humiliation calling for revenge.

Lasting peace can only be a just peace

A lasting peace in Ukraine can only be built on solid foundations: recognition of Ukrainian territorial integrity, withdrawal of Russian forces, credible security guarantees, and accountability for those responsible for war crimes. This program may seem ambitious in light of current balances. But it is the only one capable of achieving genuine stability. Any peace that leaves Russia in a position to resume the offensive in five or ten years will be nothing but a parenthesis of violence.

Ukraine has shown that it can fight. It has shown that it can strike deep into Russian territory. It has shown that Russia is not winning despite four years of massive effort. It is from this position of relative strength that Kyiv must negotiate — not under pressure from a White House rushing to announce a deal before the next elections, and not on the conditions of a Kremlin that refuses any real concession.

"Peace is still the supreme good," some will object. Yes. But not any peace. The peace of graveyards is also a peace. The peace Putin offers resembles that one: a silence obtained through exhaustion, sacrifice, and capitulation. This is not the peace Ukraine deserves. This is not the peace Europe can accept without betraying itself.

Sanctions and economic pressure

The West still has powerful levers it has not fully activated. New sanctions on Russian oil exports, the banking system, and military production — discussed at the G7 and announced by the United Kingdom — are real tools. The Russian ghost fleet of tankers, which allowed Moscow to circumvent embargoes, has begun to be targeted: a tanker was intercepted in the English Channel by British forces. These measures are hurting the Russian economy, which shows growing signs of strain — inflation, fuel shortages, human exhaustion.

The U.S. Senate voted bipartisanly to extend aid to Ukraine. The House of Representatives adopted new sanctions against Russia. If Trump decides to maintain the waivers on Russian oil sanctions — a decision expiring in June 2026 — it will be a direct gift to Putin. If, on the contrary, he lets those sanctions resume, it sends a signal of firmness that could alter Russian calculations. Trump said at the G7 that the United States could "do that at some point." This is vague. And in this context, vague means Putin waits with confidence.

EU accession as a strategic anchor

On June 17, 2026, ambassadors from all twenty-seven European Union member states officially agreed to formally open accession negotiations with Ukraine the following week. This is a historic decision, symbolically enormous, practically crucial. It anchors Ukraine in the Western political, economic, and regulatory space in a durable manner, independent of the White House's moods. EU membership is not a substitute for NATO in terms of military security — but it is an irrevocable recognition of Ukraine's belonging to the West.

It is also a signal to Putin that his fundamental strategic objective — tearing Ukraine away from the Western orbit — has failed. Whatever happens on the military terrain or in peace negotiations: Ukraine is European, wants to be European, and Europe wants it. This reality is now institutionalized. It may be the most enduring victory of these four years of war — one that neither bombs nor Trump's phone calls to Putin can erase.

The opening of Ukraine's EU accession negotiations: here is what gives me hope in all this diplomatic darkness. Because it is an irreversible decision. A collective decision by 27 sovereign countries telling Ukraine: you are one of ours. And to Putin: you lost the war for the soul of Ukraine, even as you continue to kill its inhabitants.

What History will remember

In ten years, twenty years, History will judge this period by a single question: did the West hold firm against the first major attempt at territorial conquest in Europe since 1945? Did it support Ukraine until a just peace was possible? Or did it yield to the temptation of the quick deal, sacrificing Ukrainian territories and the principles of international law for the image of a few powerful men?

Trump's calls to Putin over Kyiv's head are not a solution. They are part of the problem. Any peace that does not respect Ukrainian sovereignty, that does not include credible security guarantees, and that rewards the aggressor for its crimes is not a peace — it is a pause before the next round. And Ukraine — Zelensky has made it clear — prefers to continue fighting rather than accept a disguised capitulation.

The price of lucidity

Supporting Ukraine until a just peace is not idealism. It is long-term realism. It is understanding that European security, NATO's credibility, deterrence against China, the solidity of the international order — all of this is at stake in the steppes of the Donbas. Every Patriot missile delivered to Kyiv is an investment in the collective security of the West. Every dollar of sanctions on Russian oil is real pressure on the financing of Putin's war. Every refusal to endorse Russian conquests is a clear message to the other revisionist powers of the world.

Trump may want his deal. He may even deserve it, in the hypothetical scenario where he managed to achieve a peace that genuinely respects Ukraine's rights. But for now, every phone call with Putin "over Kyiv's head," every implicit concession at secret summits in Alaska, every pressure applied on Ukraine to sign quickly — all of this resembles a betrayal more than a mediation. And this betrayal, if it materializes, will mark an entire generation of Ukrainians — and the future of democracy in Europe.

By Maxime Marquette, columnist

Editorial stance

I am not a journalist but a columnist and analyst. My expertise lies in observing and analysing the geopolitical, economic and strategic dynamics that shape our world. My work is to take political strategies apart, to understand global economic movements, to put the decisions of international actors in context and to offer analytical perspectives on the changes that are redefining our societies.

I do not claim the cold objectivity of traditional journalism, which stops at reporting facts. I claim analytical clarity, rigorous interpretation and a deep understanding of the complex issues that concern us all. My role is to give meaning to the facts, to place them in their historical and strategic context, and to offer a critical reading of events.

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The analyses, interpretations and perspectives in the analytical sections of this article are a critical, contextual synthesis based on the information available, the trends observed and the expert comments cited in the sources consulted.

My role is to interpret these facts, to set them in the context of today's geopolitical and economic dynamics, and to give them a coherent meaning within the larger story of the changes shaping our time. These analyses reflect expertise built through continuous observation of international affairs and an understanding of the strategic mechanisms that drive global actors.

This article describes a documented state of affairs on its publication date, not a prediction: later developments may shift its outlook. No update is promised in advance; when an article is corrected or completed, the change is dated in the text.