With these words, Francis Fukuyama described what the Donald Trump administration is doing to Ukraine at an international conference in Vienna in early December. Not only is it increasingly openly pushing Ukraine into the Kremlin’s arms—it is doing so aggressively, with rhetoric drafted almost at Red Square. When we add to this the open disdain for Ukraine’s European allies, the transatlantic alliance, and the post-war liberal international order, it is not difficult to add another conclusion to Fukuyama’s assessment: if Ukraine is the first to be betrayed, Europe, or rather the EU, will soon follow. Specifically, that part of Europe that does not share the authoritarian, (ultra)nationalist, and far-right views of Trump & Co.
It is no coincidence that the new US National Security Strategy (NSS) specifically highlights the countries of Central and Eastern Europe. That is where the core forces are forming that will stand on the front lines of dismantling European integration—a project that is a thorn in the side of the US administration. We can almost disregard North Korea, Iran, China, and Russia in this context: they are treated superficially or marginally in the document. This is nothing surprising—Trump, J. D. Vance, and other administration representatives have been repeating this for months. The only question is whether anyone in Europe truly heard them. Likely not well enough. Will the written word change anything? Hope is all that remains.
But let us return to Ukraine and the European security architecture, which are inextricably linked. As we approach the fourth anniversary of Russian aggression (atop an eight-year “foundation”), the outlines of what Fukuyama is talking about are becoming increasingly clear. At some point, Ukraine will be forced to agree to a rotten compromise, far from a fair—let alone lasting—peace. The words of European leaders mean little in this regard if they are not backed by hard military and political power and the ability to implement what is spoken.
This is not merely about a series of more or less failed peace initiatives on the Washington–Moscow–Kyiv axis, but about what is revealed through them. Reality is painful; it stings the eyes like an onion. It is becoming increasingly clear that the driving force behind American pressure on Ukraine is not just Trump’s manic desire for a Nobel Peace Prize (perhaps FIFA’s will suffice, [sic]!), but the partial capital interests of people close to the White House. In plain terms: a few dozen, perhaps a few hundred people want to earn massive profits from the rehabilitation of Russia in the global economy—in real estate, stocks, joint ventures. The form does not matter; the billions do.
Therefore, the key actors in negotiations are diplomatic laymen, but experts in getting rich quick: real estate developer Steve Witkoff, Trump’s son-in-law Jared Kushner, and others. The Kremlin recognized this quickly and pushed Kirill Dmitriev to the forefront—also someone far from a diplomat. It is no wonder they get along: drafting alleged peace plans together in Florida, even if they are full of nonsense. That is secondary—as long as Trump likes the draft.
A familiar scenario follows: ultimatums to Kyiv, European-Ukrainian corrections to the text, and then a more or less open rejection by the Kremlin. And a return to square one. The Kremlin is playing a zero-sum game: there will be no concessions, Russia must win—on the battlefield or at the negotiating table, Putin does not care. Compromise is out of the question. What is most tragic, however, is that Trump, in particular, accepts this game as legitimate, as if we are back in the Cold War era of talks between two superpowers.
Ukraine and the EU are generally a step or two behind in this process, reacting defensively. True, there are objective reasons for this—the EU is not a finished project and is not an independent geopolitical actor with its own set of power tools. But at the same time, it chose this role itself. For three years of Biden’s term, it blindly followed the US administration, cautiously escalated sanctions, and excluded itself from direct talks with Moscow.
What remained was the loud rhetoric of “as long as it takes” and the definition of victory as the return to 1991 borders and reparations for Russian atrocities. On the level of justice and morality, this is entirely reasonable—most EU citizens, aside from Russian paid trolls and so-called useful idiots, would agree. But world politics is guided less and less by morality and more by the raw power of states and alliances. Political slogans are therefore easy to say, but significantly harder to realize. Not only because you are part of a family of 27 nations, but also because of the shadow of the Cold War, nuclear saber-rattling, and the inability to mobilize the electorate—even when the most vital interests, questions of war and peace, are at stake.
How else to explain that we have been hearing for years that the EU is Russia’s next target, yet we see no serious, unified mobilization? The national solutions of Poland or the Baltic states strengthen their own security, but not the protection of the common European space. There are two possibilities: either the Russian risk is overblown and politicians do not truly believe in it, or we are in the midst of the greatest crisis in the Union’s history—facing a double spiral of existential risks (Trump–Putin), but without an answer. Instead, we offer platitudes and false hope. But we know: hope is not a strategy.
Therefore, an almost blasphemous thesis: not only is Trump’s US on the verge of a moral betrayal of Ukraine—the EU is in the adjacent boat. If we truly believe that the fate of Ukraine is also the fate of Europe, then we must speak the only language the Kremlin understands: the language of power, primarily military and economic. In this framework, decisions regarding the use of frozen Russian assets should also become significantly less unimaginable and significantly easier.
If, however, we are not serious about this, it is irresponsible—especially to the Ukrainians—to give false hope. Zelensky has been buying time for the last two years in the hope that Ukraine and its allies would outlast Putin’s Russia and that the West would escalate pressure. But this is not happening—the US is withdrawing from the process. While Russia is indeed suffering economically, demographically, and socially (around 100,000 casualties annually), it is not suffering enough for Putin to withdraw. On the contrary: Western weakness will only strengthen Russian expansionism and push it toward the restoration of the Soviet empire and the desire to dictate to Europe how it should live.
Therefore, it is time to redefine what victory means for Ukraine (and Europe). Let it be unequivocally clear—Ukraine has already won this war: it did not capitulate, it defended its independence, its independent political will, and its national identity. Kremlin plans failed in the very first weeks, as Russia intended to wipe all of this out in one fell swoop. We must not forget this and must not accept the discourse that Ukraine must accept Russian ultimatums because it has “already lost” the war anyway.
Meanwhile, for Europe, avoiding sharper economic, political, and military confrontation with Russia today does not necessarily mean better chances for peace, but likely the precise opposite. Only when the costs of war exceed the political gains will the Kremlin be ready to talk about compromises. If the fate of Ukraine is truly the fate of Europe, it is high time for European leaders to start making decisions accordingly. Otherwise, history will remember them similarly to Trump—as those who morally betrayed Ukraine. And Europe itself.