By Tony Bruce & Don Terry | Sunday, August 17, 2025 | 5 min read
Donald Trump arrived in Alaska with promises of quick answers. Even before meeting Vladimir Putin, he assured reporters he would know within minutes whether a deal was possible. It was a classic Trump line—bold, self-assured, and rooted in the belief that his instincts alone could change the course of global events. Yet after five long hours behind closed doors, with not even translators present, the outcome was unmistakable: nothing had shifted for Ukraine. No ceasefire, no agreements, not even a hint of progress toward peace. What emerged instead was political theater—two leaders posing for cameras, smiling as though common ground had been found, while Russian rockets kept striking Ukrainian neighborhoods.
Some observers suggest the real understanding may have been unspoken—that any major move would be delayed closer to the U.S. midterm elections, a calculation that could help Trump’s party politically. If that’s true, it carries the troubling echo of Russian interference entering yet another chapter.
The absence of Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelensky from the meeting underscored just how hollow the entire exercise was. A war that has cost tens of thousands of Ukrainian lives, reduced cities to rubble, and displaced millions was reduced in Alaska to a backdrop for Trump and Putin’s political theater.
The very people fighting for their survival were excluded from the room. Instead, the world was left with chilling optics—Putin riding in Trump’s armored limousine, grinning through the window as though he were the victor of some undisclosed bargain. For Russian state media, it was a propaganda gift: a dictator indicted for war crimes seated in the car that symbolizes American presidential power, a silent image more powerful than any statement either man made at the press conference.
Trump’s remarks after the meeting were striking in their vagueness. He began by suggesting progress had been made, saying, “A lot of points were agreed on.” But almost immediately, he backtracked: “There’s not that much. One or two pretty significant items, but we haven’t quite gotten there.” This muddled messaging was more than just sloppy—it was revealing.
The one thing everyone expected, a ceasefire, had not even been discussed in meaningful terms. Instead, Trump shifted responsibility onto Zelensky, implying it was now Ukraine’s job to end the war. The framing was absurd, a deliberate inversion of reality. Ukraine did not invade Russia. Ukraine did not annex Russian territory. Ukraine did not begin a war of conquest. Yet Trump spoke as though Kyiv, not Moscow, was the obstacle to peace.
Historians and observers were quick to point out the danger in this kind of rhetoric. Yale historian Timothy Snyder was blunt: “If Trump wants Ukraine to end the war, he’d empower them to defend themselves—not ask them to surrender.” Snyder’s comparison of Putin’s justifications to those used by Hitler in the 1930s was not mere hyperbole. When Putin insists that Ukraine’s sovereignty is a threat to Russia, he is invoking the logic of empire: that neighbors have no right to exist independently if their existence conflicts with his vision. By standing silently beside Putin as he repeated these lines, Trump gave tacit legitimacy to that worldview.
The imbalance of the press conference was glaring. Putin dominated the stage, portraying the invasion as a tragic misunderstanding, a conflict of “both sides.” He leaned on the same rhetoric he has used for years, describing Ukraine as not a real nation but a wayward province whose independence is a danger to Russian security. Trump did not challenge him. Not once did he correct the narrative, not once did he assert that Ukraine’s sovereignty is non-negotiable. The silence was deafening.
For Ukrainians, it was more than disappointing—it was terrifying. To see the leader of the United States, a nation long regarded as the cornerstone of Western defense, stand mute while a dictator rewrote the story of aggression was to glimpse a world where Ukraine’s struggle could be quietly bargained away.
Meanwhile, as the two men met in Alaska, the war ground on with ruthless indifference. That same day, Russian missiles struck Kharkiv, killing civilians and damaging residential neighborhoods. The timing was almost symbolic. While Trump and Putin smiled and shook hands, Ukrainians once again buried their dead. Zelensky, excluded from the summit, posted on social media: “On the day of negotiations, the Russians are killing as well. That speaks volumes.” His words captured the essence of the summit’s failure. Peace is not achieved by photo opportunities or vague promises; it is achieved by halting the bombs and stopping the aggression.
For Putin, the Alaska meeting was a clear win. He secured the optics he wanted, the image of being treated not as an isolated pariah but as an equal partner of the U.S. president. He left without making a single concession, without committing to even symbolic steps toward de-escalation, and without acknowledging the brutality of the war his military continues to wage. Instead, he walked away with a platform
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