Nearly four years after Russia launched what was supposed to be a lightning operation to decapitate Ukraine in days, Vladimir Putin is still explaining—patiently, sternly, and with imperial nostalgia—that peace is very much on the table, provided Ukraine first agrees to stop being Ukraine.

On Wednesday, addressing Russia’s Defense Ministry, Putin once again extended Moscow’s familiar olive branch, sharpened at both ends. Russia, he said, would prefer diplomacy. Failing that, it would simply take what it wants by force—namely, Ukraine’s “historical lands,” a phrase that in Kremlin usage has the reassuring elasticity of a 19th-century map and the menace of a loaded artillery tube.

“We would prefer to eliminate the root causes of the conflict through diplomacy,” Putin declared, before clarifying that if Ukraine and its Western “patrons” refused to cooperate, Russia would achieve liberation the old-fashioned way—through more graves, more rubble, and more borders redrawn at gunpoint.

It was a fitting summary of the war’s fourth year: diplomacy endlessly invoked, endlessly sabotaged, and meticulously weaponized as performance art.

Truce Theater, Act Alaska

The failure of peace efforts has been so thorough it now qualifies as a genre. The high point—or low—came in August with President Donald Trump’s much-hyped Alaska summit, staged at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson and sold as the moment that would end Europe’s bloodiest conflict since World War II.

After nearly three hours of talks, Trump and Putin emerged with no ceasefire, no framework, no timeline—and no Ukrainian president. Volodymyr Zelenskyy, pointedly excluded, warned beforehand that decisions made without Ukraine would be meaningless. He was correct, though this did little to dampen Trump’s enthusiasm for declaring the day “very successful.”

In Moscow, the summit has since been treated as a diplomatic victory—proof that Russia can sit as an equal with Washington while Ukraine waits outside like a child in the rain. Putin’s aides have repeatedly cited the “spirit and letter” of Alaska, a document that exists mainly in the imagination.

Yuri Ushakov, Putin’s long term foreign policy aide, later summarized follow-up talks with U.S. envoy Steve Witkoff in the understatement of the year: no compromise has been found. Translation: Russia wants Ukraine’s land; Ukraine would like to remain a country.

Attrition as Strategy

On the battlefield, Russia continues to advance with the patience of a glacier and the efficiency of a meat grinder. Over the past month alone, Russian forces have captured roughly 215 square miles of Ukrainian territory. At this pace, analysts estimate it would take until August 2027 for Moscow to seize the entirety of Donbas—assuming Ukraine obligingly continues to bleed.

Human costs are treated as a rounding error. Russia has suffered an estimated 790,000 killed or wounded; Ukraine, about 400,000. Civilian casualties exceed 53,000. Nearly 11 million Ukrainians have been displaced internally or forced abroad. These numbers would stagger any government that regarded citizens as more than expendable inputs. The Kremlin, however, appears content to exchange lives for meters.

Ukraine’s energy grid has become a favored target. Since October, Russian strikes have pushed cities like Kyiv into rolling blackouts lasting up to 16 hours a day. The logic is blunt: if you cannot break the army, break the civilians. Winter, as ever, is conscripted as an ally.

Europe Discovers Responsibility

In Brussels this week, European leaders are debating how to pay for a war they insist must not be lost—but would prefer not to finance. The centerpiece is a plan to use roughly €210 billion in frozen Russian assets to support Ukraine’s defense, an idea that is morally intuitive, legally complex, and politically explosive.

The European Union has already moved to indefinitely freeze the assets, partly to ensure that Moscow-friendly governments in Hungary and Slovakia cannot quietly sabotage the effort. The European Commission has proposed a “reparations loan,” repayable only if Russia someday compensates Ukraine for the damage it has inflicted.

Belgium, which hosts most of the funds through Euroclear, worries about lawsuits. Italy, Bulgaria, Malta, and the Czech Republic worry about precedents. Russia, meanwhile, has already sued Euroclear in a Moscow court and hinted—via Dmitry Medvedev—that asset seizures could constitute an act of war, which is rich coming from a country currently occupying 20 percent of its neighbor.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen tried urgency. Supporting Ukraine, she said, is Europe’s most important act of self-defense. The subtext was unmistakable: the United States, under Trump, is no longer a reliable guarantor.

The Global Bill Comes Due

The war’s economic shockwaves have radiated far beyond the front lines. Ukraine, once Europe’s breadbasket, has seen nearly $859 million wiped off its economy due to disrupted grain exports. Farmers who once earned $270 per ton now scrape by on $100—below production costs—while U.S. and EU farmers enjoy record profits.

Energy markets convulsed early in the war, with natural gas prices surging over 120 percent and coal nearly doubling. Supply chain disruptions have rippled through food, transport, and finance. Sri Lanka lost billions in tourism revenue and tea exports. African nations dependent on Russian and Ukrainian grain face acute shortages with few alternatives.

Russia, too, has paid a price—though not enough to alter course. GDP shrank in 2022 and 2023. Oil and gas revenues fell 17 percent. More than 200,000 skilled workers fled, hollowing out tech and knowledge sectors. None of this has shaken Putin’s conviction that time, bodies, and Western fatigue are on his side.

Peace, Defined Downward

Polls show 74 percent of Ukrainians would accept a negotiated peace along current front lines, provided it comes with credible Western security guarantees. War fatigue is real. So is realism. What Ukrainians overwhelmingly reject is a settlement that rewards aggression and invites the sequel.

Zelenskyy warned this week that Putin’s fixation on “historical lands” should alarm all of Europe. History, after all, is endlessly reusable when tanks are involved.

Putin, for his part, says Russia remains open to dialogue with Washington, though Europe’s current leaders are apparently not worth the trouble. Political change, he hinted, would improve matters—a reminder that the Kremlin still views democracy as a temporary inconvenience.

The Fourth Year

As winter tightens its grip and the war drags into a fourth year, the truce remains exactly where it has always been: promised, postponed, and performed for cameras. What began as a blitzkrieg has become a slog. What was billed as diplomacy has devolved into ritualized failure.

The question is no longer whether peace talks will succeed, but whether the world will continue mistaking their collapse for progress. Putin is not rejecting peace so much as redefining it—as silence after surrender.

For now, the war grinds on. So does the theater. And somewhere between the summits, the speeches, and the frozen assets, Ukraine keeps fighting—because it has learned what diplomacy means when the other side brings maps from the past and artillery for the future.

Disclaimer: The opinions and views expressed in this article/column are those of the author(s) and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of South Asian Herald.

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