The Trump administration’s 28-point plan for peace in Ukraine that leaked this week does not create a path out of the war; it merely repackages the Kremlin’s long-standing demands and presents them as diplomatic breakthrough. The Russian proposal speaks for itself: It demands that Ukraine surrender territory, accept limits on its armed forces, and curb Western military assistance. It punishes the victim and shields the aggressor from any cost—a dynamic that leads to more instability, not peace.
European officials understood the danger immediately. Finnish Foreign Minister Elina Valtonen captured the central flaw when she warned that the plan “completely ignores the principles of the UN charter.” Her point reflects an underlying truth: Peace at any cost is no peace at all; it formalizes the outcome that Russian President Vladimir Putin spent years trying to impose on Ukraine by force, signaling that borders can be changed at will and that diplomatic settlements will invariably reward territorial seizure when the victim lacks the capacity to resist.
The proposal also removes Ukraine’s ability to deter a future invasion. A diminished Ukrainian military cannot defend the country, and restrictions on Western weapons give Russia the time and space to rebuild its forces. Former Ukrainian Prime Minister Arseniy Yatsenyuk called the plan a “creeping capitulation” because it locks in Russia’s territorial gains, cedes additional unoccupied territory in the Donbas, prohibits NATO membership by legal statute, and strips Ukraine of the long-range strike capabilities it needs to blunt another offensive. Such a deal guarantees only one outcome: a future attack by Moscow where it can truly finish the job.
Such a deal guarantees only one outcome: a future attack by Moscow where it can truly finish the job.
Kyiv and its European partners can be forgiven for their whiplash. Less than two weeks before the proposal leaked, the White House announced new sanctions targeting Russian oil revenues—an effort to tighten economic pressure and deprive the Kremlin of critical resources for the war. Now, Washington advances a plan written in the Kremlin. When Washington escalates sanctions on a Thursday and offers significant strategic concessions on Monday, it defies logic. The lesson? The Trump administration will buckle in order to declare a quick diplomatic victory, no matter how hollow.
Putin therefore has time on his side. He counts on Washington accepting gestures that cost him nothing. One point in the proposal demands that Russia “enshrine in law its policy of non-aggression” toward Ukraine and Europe. That idea laughably treats Russian legislation as a meaningful constraint on Putin’s ambitions. The Kremlin rewrites Russian law whenever strategy requires it—criminalizing anti-war speech, legitimizing occupation, redrawing borders, and erasing Ukrainian identity. Law in Putin’s Russia functions as an instrument of power, not a barrier to aggression.
Which brings us to NATO.
The plan’s most consequential flaw is how it treats the security question. The plan calls for a U.S.-mediated “dialogue between Russia and NATO” to resolve all outstanding issues, suggesting somehow that the United States is not a member of the alliance. That phrasing carries implications far beyond Ukraine. What does “resolve all security issues” actually mean? Does Russia expect a grand bargain in which the United States withdraws forward-deployed forces from frontline states, scales back exercises, or accepts limits on allied posture in Eastern Europe? Does the plan ask Washington to trade away elements of deterrence to manufacture the appearance of de-escalation? The proposal never says—perhaps because clear answers would reveal the degree to which it weakens American credibility.
These questions expose a larger problem: What does a U.S. security guarantee look like if the plan simultaneously restricts American force posture and Ukrainian military capacity? A guarantee means little if NATO cannot project power into the region or if Ukraine cannot absorb assistance because of treaty-imposed limits. Indeed, any agreement that constrains both the guarantor and the guaranteed party creates a security vacuum.
The diplomatic consequences run just as deep. The proposal excludes Ukraine from decisions about its own sovereignty and blindsides European partners who carry the greatest share of long-term support. European governments believed that paying for Ukraine’s survival—financing its budget, shoring up its energy grid, sustaining its air defense systems, and procuring American weapons—would keep the United States engaged and prevent wholesale desertion. That assumption has now collapsed. Europe has committed financial resources but never truly had a seat at the table. It now finds itself financially committed and strategically sidelined, watching Trump negotiate a settlement that undermines the very security Europe sought to ensure.
Real peace requires conditions Russia refuses to meet; that starts with withdrawal from occupied territory, durable security guarantees for Ukraine, and credible constraints on future aggression.
All of this points to a simple truth: Russia does not seek peace. Russia wants a settlement completely on its own terms. A durable settlement requires accountability, not impunity. It requires credible deterrence, not unilateral limits on Ukraine. It requires Ukrainian agency, not negotiations designed to sideline it. And it requires a settlement that strengthens European security, not one that hollows it out.
Peace remains the desired outcome. But real peace requires conditions Russia refuses to meet; that starts with withdrawal from occupied territory, durable security guarantees for Ukraine, and credible constraints on future aggression. Until Moscow accepts those terms as the cost of ending the war, any plan that extracts concessions from Ukraine––while asking nothing of Russia––will not stabilize Europe. It will simply force the United States to stand by as Putin lays the groundwork for the next war.