US President Donald Trump's land-for-peace formula feeds into Russian President Vladimir Putin's revanchism. Photo: Dominick Reuter/Reuters
The White House meeting of August 18 looked like unity on display — but it masked a deeper fracture. US President Donald Trump hosted Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy alongside a phalanx of European leaders.
They were French President Emmanuel Macron, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz, British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, Finnish President Alexander Stubb, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and Nato secretary general Mark Rutte.
The gathering, billed as a united front for Ukraine’s future, came just days after Trump’s controversial summit with Russian President Vladimir Putin in Alaska on 15 August. What emerged was not a breakthrough but a stark illustration of Trump’s mercurial foreign policy: a pivot toward Russian demands that leaves Ukraine vulnerable and Europe scrambling to salvage its influence.
Trump’s position, crystallised in the wake of the Alaska talks, represents a dangerous concession to Putin’s revanchism. Entering the Anchorage summit with promises of a swift ceasefire — once a cornerstone of his “peace through strength” rhetoric — Trump emerged empty-handed, abandoning that demand entirely. Instead, he echoed Putin’s insistence on a “permanent peace deal” that would require Ukraine to cede territory, including Crimea and parts of the Donbas, while forsaking any Nato aspirations.
“President Zelenskyy of Ukraine can end the war with Russia almost immediately, if he wants to,” Trump posted on Truth Social hours before the White House meeting, adding bluntly, “there will be no going into Nato by Ukraine” and “no getting back” Crimea.
This land-for-peace formula, floated as a pragmatic swop, smacks of historical echoes — from Munich in 1938 to the post-Cold War betrayals that left smaller nations at the mercy of larger aggressors.
Critics rightly decry this as appeasement. The Alaska summit saw Putin receive a red-carpet welcome that legitimised his aggression without extracting meaningful concessions. No ceasefire was agreed upon, despite Ukrainian pleas, and Russian forces continued their grinding advances, now controlling nearly a fifth of Ukraine’s territory.
Indeed, Putin’s post-summit warnings against “provocations” from Ukraine and its allies underscore his strengthened hand: battlefield momentum, energy revenues buoying his war machine and a US president seemingly eager to declare victory in negotiations that favour the invader.
Trump’s optimism — claiming “real progress” on security guarantees and floating a potential Zelenskyy-Putin meeting followed by a trilateral with himself — rings hollow amid the details. US envoy Steve Witkoff suggested Putin might accept “Nato-like” protections for Ukraine, but without actual alliance membership or ironclad US commitments.
This vague assurance, potentially financed by European arms purchases from American stockpiles, shifts the burden across the Atlantic while allowing Trump to extricate the US from the conflict. As one analysis from the Atlantic Council noted, the White House summit was less a turning point than a desperate bid to prevent a one-sided deal. By 19 August, reports indicated no concrete timeline for talks, with Kremlin aide Yuri Ushakov dismissing direct meetings as mere “ideas”.
For European leaders, the challenges are multifaceted and acute. Their rushed attendance at the White House signalled a collective anxiety over being sidelined. As Merz put it starkly, Russia’s demand for Ukraine to surrender the free parts of Donbas is “equivalent to the US having to give up Florida”.
Macron, advocating for a ceasefire as a “necessity”, warned that weakness now invites future aggression, urging escalated sanctions if Putin stalls. Starmer emphasised unity, insisting “no decision should be made about Ukraine, without Ukraine”, while Von der Leyen highlighted the war’s human toll, demanding the return of abducted Ukrainian children. Rutte, too, stressed that Ukraine must decide its “geopolitical future”.
Yet Europe’s leverage is limited. Dependent on US military might and Nato’s umbrella, leaders face a Trump administration that views alliances as transactional. Internal fissures compound the issue: while Germany and France push for robust guarantees, including potential peacekeeping forces rejected by Moscow, others such as Italy and the United Kingdom grapple with domestic fatigue over aid.
The European Union’s 19th sanctions package looms, but as battlefield realities harden — Russian advances in Donetsk forcing evacuations — Europe risks being painted as obstructionist if it resists Trump’s deal-making. Zelenskyy, rejecting territorial concessions as unconstitutional, reiterated that “Russia must end this war, which it itself started”, but his position weakens without unified Western backing.
Putin, meanwhile, emerges fortified. The Alaska summit, per Russian analyst Andrei Kolesnikov, symbolised a “reconciliation” between Moscow and Washington, granting Putin diplomatic parity without battlefield retreats. His demands unchanged — no Nato for Ukraine, territorial gains formalised — exploit Trump’s impatience for a legacy win, potentially fracturing transatlantic solidarity. As op-eds warn, security guarantees without enforcement are “a dangerous fantasy”, risking escalation rather than deterrence.
This moment recalls the perils of great-power bargaining over smaller states’ fates, from Yalta to the present. Trump’s approach, prioritising quick resolutions over principled stands, not only empowers autocrats like Putin but undermines the post-1945 order Europe has staked its security on.
For EU leaders, the White House meeting was a defensive manoeuvre; for Ukraine, a grim reminder of vulnerability. As developments unfold into 19 August — with no firm commitments and Russian forces pressing on — the path to a just peace demands more than summits: it requires unwavering resolve against aggression. Anything less invites not resolution, but recurrence.
Dr Imran Khalid is a freelance columnist on international affairs based in Karachi, Pakistan.