There are moments in geopolitics when words weigh more than weapons. when the United States (US) president, Donald Trump, looked straight into a reporter’s camera and declared, “I don’t think Ukraine can win the war”.
It wasn’t merely an opinion; it was a signal, deliberate or otherwise, that America’s posture towards the two-year-old conflict may be shifting. and for Kyiv, that signal lands like a cold wind in midwinter.
Reports of another tense meeting between Trump and the Ukrainian President, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, only fuel the unease.
In those closed doors, according to multiple accounts, Trump pressed his Ukrainian counterpart to consider an end to the war, one that could effectively lock in Russia’s territorial gains.
Zelenskyy, outwardly upbeat, announced that he had secured an air defence deal with Washington.
Yet, the subtext was unmistakable: the leader of the free world appears ready to nudge Ukraine towards a settlement that could leave Vladimir Putin’s flag flying over stolen land.
Blunter intentions
Trump’s assertion that Ukraine “can’t win” is striking not just for its pessimism, but for its political timing. Ukraine, battered but unbroken, continues to defend its territory with Western backing. His words undercut that narrative, sending shockwaves through Kyiv and European capitals alike.
Words matter in diplomacy. when the American President publicly doubts an ally’s ability to win, he weakens that ally’s bargaining position. For Zelenskyy, who depends on US weapons, intelligence and political cover, Trump’s comments are more than rhetorical slights; they are leverage, carefully applied.
Reports suggest that Trump has floated the idea of a territorial compromise, effectively ceding the Donbas region, perhaps even Crimea, to Russia in exchange for peace.
Such a deal, if pursued, would codify the gains of an aggressor and punish the victim for resisting invasion. In other words, Ukraine would be forced to trade justice for survival.
Diplomatic persuasion is one thing; coercive leverage is another. Zelenskyy’s predicament embodies this tension.
Ukraine’s reliance on US aid gives washington enormous influence.
Trump knows this. Every missile, every drone, every patriot battery Ukraine receives carries a political price.
If Trump believes ending the war quickly will burnish his image as a dealmaker, then Kyiv becomes the bargaining chip.
The danger of this approach is that it frames Ukraine’s survival not as a moral cause, but as a transaction. Trump’s strategy seems less about ending a war on just terms and more about crafting a photo-op peace that flatters his image.
That would be a betrayal not just of Ukraine, but of the principle that borders cannot be redrawn by force, a principle that has underpinned global stability since 1945.
By pushing Zelenskyy to “make a deal”, Trump risks forcing Ukraine into a peace that is neither durable nor just.
History offers grim parallels: Munich in 1938, where short-term appeasement only paved the way for wider catastrophe.
Rules-based order
The post-world war II order, however imperfect, rests on a few non-negotiable norms: sovereignty, territorial integrity and the rejection of aggressive conquest.
When one nation invades another, the international community is obliged to resist or risk normalising aggression.
If Trump, the leader of that order’s most powerful architect, now signals that these principles are optional, the consequences could echo far beyond Eastern Europe.
For Russia, it validates its strategy: invade, occupy, hold out until fatigue sets in, then negotiate from a position of theft.
For China, it sends a message about Taiwan that persistence and patience may outlast Western will. For smaller nations, it says: you are only safe as long as your defender’s attention holds.
Trump may frame his stance as “America First,” but in practice, it could become “autocrats first.”
When power politics override principles, it is the rules-based order that collapses, one concession at a time.
Pattern of comfort
Trump’s remarks on Ukraine fit an established pattern. He has often spoken admiringly of leaders who wield unchallenged power: Putin, Kim Jong-un, Xi Jinping, even hungary’s Viktor Orbán.
He praises their “strength” and “toughness”, qualities he appears to equate with effectiveness.
This worldview is not new; it runs through Trump’s political DNA.
To him, governance is about dominance, not consensus; negotiation is about leverage, not legitimacy.
That mindset naturally gravitates towards figures who can impose decisions without debate.
To his supporters, this reflects realism: the willingness to engage with adversaries without moral posturing.
To his critics, it reflects a dangerous romanticism for autocracy, one that confuses control with competence.
When Trump speaks of “ending the war in 24 hours”, he betrays a transactional mindset that ignores why the war began. Peace imposed by force or coercion is not peace; it is surrender.
Conclusion
There is, undeniably, logic in Trump’s desire to end the Ukraine war swiftly.
Endless wars exhaust treasuries and test public patience.
But peace without justice is merely the calm before another storm.
If Trump’s approach indeed pressures Zelenskyy to capitulate on Putin’s terms, it marks a moral and strategic retreat, one that weakens the global rules-based order America once championed.
It tells the world that aggression can be rewarded if it is relentless enough, and that democracies must negotiate with their invaders under duress.
In that light, Trump’s stance is not just about Ukraine; it is about the kind of world order he envisions.
A world where autocrats rule by fear, where deals eclipse principles, and where the language of democracy is drowned out by the roar of tanks and the silence of compromise.
If that is the peace Trump seeks, then it is not peace at all; it is the quiet surrender of everything the free world claims to stand for.
The writer is a journalist, journalism educator and member of Gja, Ire and Ajen.
