Trump’s plan, Russia’s advantage, and Europe’s powerlessness are turning the Ukrainian talks into an uncertain experiment
After several frenetic days of diplomacy, it seems that everyone is trying to create the impression that peace in Ukraine is “within reach.” Donald Trump says we are “very close to a deal,” and Volodymyr Zelensky—who just a week ago seemed almost crushed—now speaks of “numerous prospects” for a real path to peace. The joint U.S.–Ukrainian statement repeats the words “sustainable and just peace.” But much colder messages are coming from Moscow: the Kremlin notes that it is “too early” to speak of an agreement, that some elements of the proposal are “positive,” but many require “special expert discussions.” This difference in tone already reveals how fragile the whole process is.
Everything began with the leak of the draft U.S. peace plan with its 28 points. In Kyiv and parts of Europe, the document was received as a “Russian wish list”: territorial concessions, limiting the Ukrainian army, neutral status for the country, and various formulations that looked as if they were written in Moscow, not Washington. European diplomats rushed to “put out the fire,” aware that the Trump administration was once again pushing them into the role of spectators—just as happened after the talks in Riyadh, then the summit in Alaska, or the attempted summit in Budapest, when Brussels literally closed its airspace to the Russian plane. In just a few days, a European counter-document was produced—also with 28 points—which removed from the American draft the explicit recognition of Russian sovereignty over Crimea, Luhansk, and Donetsk, and replaced the idea of “giving up territory” with a formula of “negotiations on territorial exchanges” along with stronger security guarantees for Kyiv.
The result of this back-and-forth was a shortened version of the plan—reduced from 28 to 19 points—discussed in Geneva. The most contentious issues—territory and Ukraine’s future relationship with NATO—were simply “pushed up the chain,” left for direct talks between Trump and Zelensky. After the initial shock in Kyiv came a kind of survival reflex: the Ukrainian delegation, as even officials in Kyiv admit, used the Geneva format mainly to “throw out the worst” from the original U.S. proposal and show that it was ready to negotiate, but not to capitulate. Even so, what is actually on the table today is known only in fragments—an opaque veil of secrecy has been drawn over the latest version of the plan.
The positions of the key actors do not easily fit the optimistic slogans. For the Trump administration, this is an opportunity to reinforce the narrative of a president who “stops wars,” now openly claiming he has “stopped eight wars.” The Ukraine plan has a major domestic political dimension: it needs to show voters that Washington no longer fights “forever wars” and that the cost of Ukraine will not be endless. That is why messages from the U.S. are mixed—on the one hand, strong pressure on Kyiv, including threats of cutting off aid; on the other, creating the impression of a major, almost historic peace initiative. New players have entered the game—from Secretary of State Marco Rubio, to special envoy Steve Witkoff, to Army Secretary Daniel Driscoll—further reinforcing the sense of improvisation and internal rivalries within the American team itself.
Ukraine enters the whole story from a significantly weaker position. On the battlefield it is losing territory, its resources are exhausted, and morale has been undermined by corruption scandals within the top levels of government. Zelensky recently said that Ukraine is facing one of “the worst moments in its history,” and now he must simultaneously prove that he is not an obstacle to peace while also not betraying Ukrainian statehood. For Kyiv, the key questions are: who provides security guarantees, who is responsible if the borders are violated again, and will any agreement truly prevent another attack in five or ten years? That is why Ukraine insists that the principle of “full sovereignty” must be taken seriously—perhaps for the last time—no matter how elastic the word “full” sounds today.
Moscow is, paradoxically, both the most satisfied and the most skeptical actor. On the one hand, for the first time since the start of the war, the U.S. is formally acknowledging many Russian demands: Ukraine’s neutrality, a ban on its NATO membership, absence of foreign bases, limits on its armed forces, non-nuclear status, protection of the Russian language and church, a discussion on lifting sanctions, and even Russia’s return to the West’s elite forums. On the other hand, Moscow hints that it would not accept the plan in its current form—partly because it finds some elements unacceptable (such as using frozen Russian assets for Ukraine’s reconstruction), and partly because the Kremlin believes time is on Russia’s side. As the Russian army advances slowly and the Ukrainian state sinks deeper into crisis, Moscow is guided by the logic: “If not now, then in six months; if not in six months, then in a year.”
Two blocks of problems stand out in this whole structure. The first is security guarantees. The American document mentions “reliable guarantees,” European leaders speak of a model that would “mirror Article 5” of NATO, and in the background circulates the idea of multinational “stabilization forces” stationed in Ukraine. But all of this sounds much more impressive on paper than in reality. Who, in a moment of crisis, would truly risk war with Russia? How much is Washington’s signature worth after the experiences of the Budapest Memorandum and the collapse of arms-control agreements? Even if a formal coalition of the willing is created, it would still politically and militarily depend on the U.S.—and American policy has shown just how easily it can shift course.
The second block is the issue of territory. The initial U.S. version went very far in recognizing Russia’s de facto sovereignty over Crimea, Luhansk, and Donetsk, along with Ukraine withdrawing from the part of Donbas it still holds. Europeans tried to soften this with a formula under which Ukraine agrees not to liberate occupied territory by force, and border negotiations start from the current line of contact—the present frontline. For Kyiv, this is already a painful compromise, effectively freezing a loss that is not recognized de jure. For Moscow, which openly aims for full control of Donetsk and Luhansk, and for Kherson and Zaporizhzhia to gain a status similar to today’s Crimea, this is merely a starting point, not the end. That is why even in the joint U.S.–Ukrainian statement the word “full” in “full respect for Ukrainian sovereignty” carries a weight that rhetoric can barely conceal.
One must also take into account the scenarios openly discussed in Russian analyses. In the first, the bluntest scenario, Trump could blackmail Kyiv by cutting off aid and force it to sign almost everything drafted in Washington. Moscow might accept this as a framework, but just a few crises over language, the church, or control of certain regions would be enough to reignite the war in an even worse form. The second scenario assumes that Kyiv, with support from part of Europe, simply refuses concessions on neutrality and territory; then Washington again demands “flexibility” from Moscow, talks collapse, and the U.S. returns to threats of new sanctions and long-range missiles. The third—which many see as the most realistic—is a slide into a long, exhausting phase of talks where negotiations and fighting continue simultaneously: Kyiv buys time, Moscow uses it for further gains, and Washington and Europe, under pressure from their own publics, try to craft a paper everyone can sign.
There is also a fourth, darker scenario: political collapse in Kyiv, the disintegration of the front, and the West’s quiet acceptance of the “collapse of the Ukrainian project.” Even Russian analysts admit this once seemed like fantasy but now appears possible—though neither the U.S. nor Europe is ready to admit defeat after such heavy investment. Ukraine is “too big to fail,” not only financially but in terms of propaganda: how would Western societies be told that after years of sanctions, arms deliveries, and moralizing about the “fight for democracy,” the outcome is a Russian victory? That is why the West still chooses negotiations—but negotiations conducted from a position of weakness, with the constant fear that each new version of the plan will look even “more pro-Russian” than the last.
Europe, meanwhile, finds itself in an uncomfortable, almost humiliating position. On one hand, European governments have been the loudest in rhetoric about defeating Russia and defending the “rules-based order.” On the other hand, the real decisions are made by Washington and Moscow, while Brussels, Berlin, and Paris chase after U.S. documents trying to insert at least minimal European interests into them. Plans for a “coalition of the willing,” European deterrence forces, and a “brighter-faced” Article 5 cannot hide the fact that European security remains hostage to U.S.–Russian relations. Today’s diplomatic fever over Ukraine is really a symptom of a deeper illness: a Europe that dismantled its own strategic autonomy for years and now does not know how to exit someone else’s war being waged on its own continent.
All this explains why comparisons to Minsk-2 are so frequent. As then, the agreement will likely be a combination of paper guarantees, vague formulations, and open issues pushed into the future. But the balance of power is different: unlike 2015, Russia today clearly has the initiative on the battlefield, while the West is tired, divided, and facing internal crises—from recession to political radicalization. In such circumstances, “sustainable and just peace” can easily become a phrase masking what will in fact be a reality imposed by force of arms.
That is why, despite grand words and dramatic headlines, today, November 26, 2025, we still do not know whether peace is truly closer, or whether this is merely the entrance into a new phase of the same war. Diplomacy has become more intense, but this very speed increases the risk of “slippage”—poorly worded agreements, miscalculations, and pressures that will be hard to justify to domestic audiences tomorrow. The peace talks in Ukraine remain like walking on ice: the surface seems relatively firm, but cracks are visible everywhere.
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