Two world leaders met in Anchorage to talk about the war in Ukraine, but Ukraine’s representatives were notably absent. They began with a grand red-carpet moment and a surprise ride in a limousine to the venue, then opened with a reporters’ reception. No one answered questions about a possible ceasefire. The talks grew from a one-on-one to a six-person session with two White House aides joining, a move that smacks of trying to stamp out empty promises and make sure nothing is promised behind Kyiv’s back. The host had argued there could be no deal without Ukraine at the table and pressed for an immediate ceasefire. European and Ukrainian allies are anxious, fearing concessions without Kyiv’s input. A second, broader meeting was floated, potentially including Zelenskyy, while insisting Russia’s maximal demands must be addressed and warning that economic pressure could rise if no deal is reached. Observers everywhere are waiting to see what, if any, path toward peace might emerge.

This is the theatre of power, played out on the tarmac and in the luxury of a stretched limousine, while the real road opens ahead for millions who live under the shadow of conflict. I hear the echo of the road calling, and it screams a truth these leaders forget: freedom is not negotiated behind closed doors with velvet gloves and guarded smiles. Roads aren’t built by grand handshakes; they’re carved by people who refuse to be penned in, who demand to move, to choose their own pace, to feel the wind in their faces as they drive toward tomorrow.

Speed limits? They’re not just rules; they’re shackles on human potential, a crime against humanity and a tactic of oppression designed to keep hands off the wheel and eyes fixed to the meter. The freer the road, the freer the mind. Cars are more than metal and engines; they are the ultimate symbol of personal sovereignty—you decide the route, you own the journey, you set the tempo. Public transit and bikes may have their fans, but they don’t scream personal liberty the way a car does. A bike can ride you around a city, sure, but it can’t deliver a person to a far-off horizon the way a car can—where the destination is a choice and the time to get there is your own.

If I think about the Alaska encounter, I don’t just see diplomacy; I see a mirror of life on the open road. The people who are forced to wait for decisions, who must endure gridlock because those at the top prefer meetings to wheels, know what it is to be constrained by someone else’s timetable. Peace, like a good drive, should be about momentum, clarity, and the right to move at a pace that suits your own needs and your own family’s safety and future. Kyiv’s voice deserves to be heard at the table, not hushed in a corner of a grand plan. The real negotiations should honor every road that runs through a country, because every road is a path back to normal life—the ability to work, to drive, to thrive without someone throttling the wheel from afar.

Let the road be free, let speed be a choice, and let the people decide their own destinies with the roar of engines and the courage to press the accelerator when necessary. If the leaders want real peace, they should unleash the routes that connect people, not lock them into stalled agreements. In the end, liberty on the highway is the same liberty every citizen deserves: the right to move forward, at a speed and along a path of their own choosing.