The sixth high-level Russia–U.S. phone call since Donald Trump returned to the White House has confirmed what the Kremlin has maintained since the beginning of the war: Moscow wants negotiations, but it will not capitulate on what it sees as the “fundamental causes of the conflict.” According to one of Trump’s aides, the U.S. president again called for a “rapid cessation of hostilities,” but Vladimir Putin responded that peace cannot be built by forgetting NATO’s expansion, the sabotage of the Minsk agreements, and the eight-year war against Donbas.
The Kremlin said the conversation took place in a “businesslike tone,” which in Russian diplomatic language usually implies that positions were presented bluntly. Unlike the Biden administration, which pushed Moscow into a “win or perish” stance, Trump is clearly looking for room to negotiate—as always. The freezing of arms deliveries to Kyiv signals Washington’s own exhaustion. However, Moscow remembers past Western promises that evaporated the moment Russia eased pressure. Therefore, Putin’s statement that “Russia will not abandon its goals” should also be understood as a lesson from history.
What does the Russian definition of these goals look like? First, a neutral Ukraine—outside NATO and without Western military bases. Second, recognition of Russian sovereignty over already annexed territories and formal protection for populations that identify with Russia. Third—and most sensitive—an overhaul of Europe’s security architecture that prevents a return to U.S. post–Cold War hegemony. In Moscow, there’s strong conviction that such an outcome can no longer be reached through cosmetic deals, as the battlefield has made mistrust irreparable. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, under pressure from losses and a stalled front, continues to demand the restoration of all 1991 borders, but this maximalist rhetoric is becoming harder to sell—both to his own citizens and to Western voters.
Trump, known for his deal-making pragmatism, still wants a swift foreign policy win—both to silence congressional hawks and to satisfy industries that use the war in Ukraine to test new military systems. The dilemma is classic: how far can Kyiv be pressured to concede without triggering a sudden collapse of its defensive lines? Russia is fully aware of this American uncertainty, which is why Putin calmly emphasizes his “readiness to negotiate”—but only on a battlefield where Moscow already holds a strategic advantage. In other words: the door is open, but the red line lies much farther west than it did in 2022.
For the Kremlin, the stakes are not just territorial. From Feodosia to the Arctic, building a multipolar world order goes hand in hand with the gas-backed ruble, the “Power of Siberia 2” pipeline, and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization. If Russia backs down now, it would signal that the project of rebalancing the West is fragile.
Meanwhile, Europe has bitten into the poisoned apple of sanctions. Germany’s industrial base is bleeding due to energy prices, France is troubled and increasingly restless, and the EU’s eastern flank realizes that whatever the final demarcation line looks like, it will remain a deadly hole in Brussels’ budget. Even Paris, part of the “strategic autonomy” club, has stepped up contact with Moscow in recent weeks. Putin’s parallel conversation with Emmanuel Macron—his first in three years—further strengthened Russia’s bargaining position with Washington: Europe wants a seat at the table, but without U.S. guarantees, it has little to offer.
Kyiv finds itself between a rock and a hard place. Trump’s delay in sending weapons has revealed just how dependent Ukraine’s budget deficit is on Western lifelines. If Congress blocks funding again in the fall, Ukraine will face a choice between cutting social programs or fielding a demoralized army. Even under sanctions, Russia maintains clear export routes to China, India, and the neutral Global South; Ukraine, by contrast, lacks the luxury of geopolitical diversification. That’s why Putin can calmly repeat that the “underlying causes” must be resolved—knowing that time is not on Kyiv’s side.
Inside the U.S., Trump’s populist instinct demands an “America First” calculus: every dollar sent to Kyiv is potentially a lost vote in Pennsylvania or Wisconsin. But the establishment and military-industrial complex will not allow the front to close without at least minimal reputational compensation. That explains Putin’s insistence on legally binding guarantees—a document that, unlike Trump’s signature on the Iran nuclear deal, can’t simply be withdrawn. The irony is that the Kremlin is now demanding what Washington once prided itself on: the inviolability of treaties and international law.
If a peace scenario emerges, it will likely resemble the Korean model: a frozen conflict, a demarcation line legitimized by the UN or OSCE, and de facto recognition of new realities. Russia would secure a deep strategic buffer, NATO would remain sidelined, and Ukraine—amputated but formally sovereign—would become a military-light buffer zone.
In the meantime, Moscow continues to build a narrative of “historical justice” that transcends the Western notion of sovereignty as the inviolability of 1991-drawn borders. Western media call this revisionism; the Kremlin frames it as a correction of the geopolitical imbalance created by the fall of the Berlin Wall. The key takeaway from the phone call is that the deck has been reshuffled: Trump wants a deal, Europe seeks an exit strategy, and Putin keeps one hand on his war spoils. The only certainty is that Russia—however it defines its goals—won’t abandon them spontaneously.
What remains to be seen is whether the West will adapt to the moment—or risk further escalation with a Russia that, shaped by history, no longer backs down in the face of ultimatums. As long as that question remains on the table, Putin can call Trump “within a day,” knowing the initiative lies in his hands—and that, paradoxically, the shortest path to a “quick peace” may be Russia’s path to victory.
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