The Alaska Summit: An analysis of realpolitik, symbols, and a crisis of legitimacy

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The bilateral summit between U.S. President Donald Trump and his Russian counterpart Vladimir Putin, held on 15 August, 2025, at the Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska, represents an inflection point in the recent history of U.S.-Russia relations. The summit, however, also serves as a stark reminder of the inherent limitations of bilateral negotiations in a conflict with profound multilateral implications.

Russia's invasion of Ukraine constitutes a flagrant violation of international law—an act of aggression whose brutality undermines regional stability with an impunity that the West has often met with dangerous indulgence. Indeed, the invasions of Georgia in 2008 and Crimea in 2014 were met with only a tepid response.

The Alaska meeting generated an immediate and polarized debate. For many critics, as diagnosed by The Economist in its scathing analysis of 16 August, it was, above all, a "gift" to the Kremlin. The British publication described it bluntly: from the moment Putin descended from his plane, it was a victory. From this perspective, Putin ceased to be an international pariah and was elevated to the status of an "honoured guest" on American soil. Trump hailed the summit as “extremely productive,” while a more cautious Putin spoke of a “preliminary understanding.”

The asymmetry in the immediate outcomes is undeniable: Moscow received a platform of global legitimacy without offering tangible concessions in return. Nevertheless, for the American administration, the objective was different: to initiate a process, however thorny, to halt the bloodshed and reassert U.S. leadership as an actor capable of engaging with direct adversaries.

The Theatre of Power: What Was Discussed and How It Was Staged

The summit's agenda focused almost exclusively on the war in Ukraine. According to reports from the BBC and other international media, the leaders dedicated hours to discussing the “fundamental causes” of the conflict—a term that, from Moscow’s perspective, serves as a euphemism to justify its territorial claims and its vision for Europe’s security architecture. True to his direct and transactional negotiating style, Trump emphasised the need for an immediate ceasefire. In a statement that captured the essence of his approach, he warned that he would gauge Putin’s “seriousness” in “two, three, or five minutes”, as quoted in The Wall Street Journal.

The choreography of the summit was deliberately impressive, a reflection of the "Peace Through Strength" doctrine. A B-2 Spirit strategic bomber flew over the base, escorted by four F-35 stealth fighters. The message was clear: the United States negotiates from a position of unquestionable military might. The spectacle also sought to mask the lack of substantive progress while projecting an image of resolve to the world.

The meeting's format evolved. It began as a tête-à-tête between the two presidents before expanding to include their senior teams. On the American side were Secretary of State Marco Rubio and the President's special envoy for everything, Steve Witkoff, who was seated at Trump's side, ahead of the Secretary of State. The Russian delegation included the veteran Foreign Minister, Sergey Lavrov, and the influential foreign policy advisor, Yuri Ushakov. The presence of these teams was a relief to allies and many in Washington, who feared that an improvised deal might emerge from a one-on-one conversation.

All this unfolded against a grim operational backdrop: Russia maintained control over approximately 19-20% of Ukraine's internationally recognised territory. As the leaders talked in Alaska, artillery and drone strikes continued on the front lines—a cruel reminder that words in diplomatic halls do not always stop missiles on the battlefield.

Rhetorical Accords and a Symbolic Victory for the Kremlin

In concrete terms, the agreements reached were vague and procedural in nature. Both leaders publicly concurred on the need to “continue the dialogue.” Putin extended a formal invitation to Trump for a future summit in Moscow, and Trump, for his part, committed to briefing his NATO allies and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy in detail.

“There were many points on which we agreed,” Trump told the press, seeking to project a positive image of the summit.

Analytically, this lack of concrete results is the core of the dilemma. For critics, it represents Trump’s "gift" to Putin: he offered hospitality, global visibility, and the status of an equal on the world stage. For the Russian leader, the summit was a resounding success, breaking the diplomatic isolation the West had attempted to impose. For Trump, the meeting reinforced his image as a master dealmaker, a leader willing to break with orthodoxy to confront the most complex problems. However, the history of diplomacy is replete with lessons on how gestures of goodwill without verifiable commitments can be interpreted as weakness, thereby legitimising aggression.

The Unyielding Red Lines: Where Diplomacy Met Reality

Herein lies the core of the fundamental deadlock: a ceasefire, the most basic and urgent objective, was not agreed upon. Trump himself admitted it with his characteristic bluntness: “We didn’t get it… There’s no deal until there’s a deal.” The divergences between the two sides’ positions remain a chasm and are, for now, irreconcilable.

Russia demands a set of conditions tantamount to a Ukrainian capitulation: the consolidation of its territorial control over occupied areas, the constitutional neutrality of Ukraine—imposed by Russia, which would also demand a veto over its entry into NATO—and its demilitarisation. This is a primary obstacle, as the overwhelming majority of Ukraine’s political forces and nearly all of its public would never accept it. Putin conditioned any progress on addressing the “primary causes” of the conflict. In the Kremlin's narrative, these causes include the very sovereignty of Ukraine and its right to exist as an independent, European-oriented nation. This may well be a rhetorical-strategic trap designed to make peace impossible on terms acceptable to Ukrainians.

For its part, the Trump administration, while willing to explore unconventional avenues, demanded gestures of “good faith” and maintained the threat of additional economic sanctions. But the reality is that Ukraine, logically, categorically refuses to cede sovereignty or territory. Europe, in turn, shares this view. Any concession on fundamental principles would only serve to embolden aggressors worldwide.

The Paradoxical Relief of European Allies

Paradoxically, the absence of a bad deal was met with a sigh of relief in many European capitals. The fear had been that Trump, in his zeal to secure a personalised deal and an undeniable global media success, would make unilateral concessions on Ukraine’s future. The fact that the summit ended without a concrete pact was, for many in Brussels and Kyiv, the lesser of two evils. The principle of "nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine" was forcefully reiterated by European diplomats, who watched the cordial reception of a leader under an arrest warrant from the International Criminal Court (ICC) with deep suspicion.

This dynamic, however, is not without consequences. The perception that Washington might act unilaterally erodes transatlantic unity and accelerates Europe's quest for "strategic autonomy." The stark contrast between the honours bestowed upon Putin in Anchorage and the public humiliation President Zelenskyy suffered at the White House months earlier did not go unnoticed.

The Nuclear Dossier: The Elephant in the Room

On the eve of the summit, Putin had hinted that nuclear arms control could be a topic of discussion—an issue of vital importance given the expiration of the New START treaty in February 2026. This treaty is the last remaining pillar limiting the strategic nuclear arsenals of both powers. However, there was no indication that serious discussions on the matter took place in Anchorage. This represents a classic Moscow tactic: using the lure of nuclear stability to sweeten the diplomatic atmosphere and obtain concessions on other fronts, such as Ukraine. On this occasion, the absolute focus on the war eclipsed this issue, which is vital for global security, leaving it for future negotiations that may not come in time to prevent a new and dangerous arms race.

Conclusion: Next Stop, Moscow

The Alaska summit did not alter the military dynamics of the conflict in Ukraine, but it did reshuffle the diplomatic chessboard. Putin departed with a direct invitation: “Next time, in Moscow.” This was not a mere diplomatic courtesy on Putin's part; it is a strategy to define the agenda. A second summit, with the photo of both leaders in the Kremlin, would cement the narrative of parity that Moscow desperately seeks to reclaim its superpower status, which has been eroded by the war in Ukraine and the size of its economy (a GDP somewhere between Spain's and Italy's).

Ultimately, the Anchorage meeting underscores the clash between two diplomatic philosophies: traditional negotiation, grounded in alliances and principles, and a transactional, personality-driven approach that emphasises direct dialogue, even with the most recalcitrant adversaries. The fundamental lesson is applicable to all global threats. Actors who scorn international law must be confronted with a coherent strategy that combines firmness with measured and prudent deterrence. Anchorage was a reminder that, in high-stakes diplomacy, symbolic gestures are powerful. For some, they grant unearned legitimacy; for others, they are the first necessary, albeit risky, step on the long road to resolving a terrible and bloody conflict. Anchorage was not a conclusion, but the prologue to a new and tense chapter in international relations.

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