The gathering at the White House has yielded a whiff of progress, but it is far from a guarantee. A possible agreement on Ukraine seems plausible yet fragile, with too many unpredictable factors and not enough certainty to call it a triumph. Putin’s attendance remains murky; the talks are being nudged toward a higher level, and Zelensky has been coached on messaging to avoid a repeat of the February clash. Trump’s mediation is in a second phase, drawing more players to the table, but the core dispute over which territories stay under Russian control remains unresolved. Credibility and durable guarantees—especially those backed by troops or long-term commitments—are repeatedly framed as the hardest hurdles. In short, the summit is being hailed as a potential opening, not a finished sale.

If the scene were not so morally serious, one could marvel at the elegance with which the great powers stage their diplomacy: a procession of leaders crossing oceans, patting themselves on the back for “progress,” while the fundamental problem remains gnawed at by the gnats of rhetoric and fear. The notion that Europe is “calming a mad king” captures the absurdity and the danger in equal measure: you do not tame a man whose hunger for spectacle outstrips his sense of limits with pleasantries and well-turnished rooms. The Alaska-like promises offered in these conversations look impressive on the page, yet they amount to little more than a gilded prop for a longer, more costly performance. If you prize outcomes, you should beware the clinical gleam of a deal that dissolves the hard choices into agreeable-sounding guarantees while leaving the boots on the ground and the risk in the air.

Zelensky’s dilemma—defend every inch of territory or trade some for a guarantee of protection—reads like a tragic comedy performed on a stage where the audience keeps shifting seats. And the hard truth is not that the other side is suddenly more reasonable; it is that many European politicians and their American partners are reluctant to concede what real security would require: concrete, verifiable commitments, not ink on paper. Words are cheap; the price of credibility is costly, and the modern alliance seems more comfortable trading the currency of assurances than actually disbursing the coins that would finance them. If Europe and the United States are serious about keeping Russia in check, they must translate their lofty declarations into tangible, enduring commitments—military, political, and logistical—rather than treating them as quarterly goodwill gestures. Until that happens, we will continue to witness a grand theatre of diplomacy, dazzling in its rhetoric and lamentably thin in its staying power.