
Trump and Putin fundamentally misunderstand each other
Petty mutual insults aside, Putin has in many ways already got what he wanted even before he sits down with Trump. The pomp and security theatre of a great international summit underscores Putin's senior place in the pantheon of world leaders. Europe's heads of government have to crowd on an hour-long conference call to get Trump's ear. Putin, by contrast, is important enough for the president of the world's most powerful country to fly high hours from Washington to meet him.
Respect and face time are what Putin has always craved most, and in speeches and historical essays he has often complained that the West has consistently snubbed and disregarded Russia. With the Anchorage summit, Putin at last has secured Trump's undivided attention – for a few hours at least.
When it comes to the actual talks, however, there's ample scope for a derailment. Both sides fundamentally misunderstand the other's position. Trump, perhaps naturally for a former real estate mogul, seems to believe that Putin's primary interest is taking Ukrainian territory. That's not the case.
What Putin truly cares about – and has repeatedly demanded – is the removal of Ukraine as a strategic threat to Russia. That, in practice, means not only keeping Ukraine out of Nato but also restricting the size of its military and restoring the rights of Russian speakers, Russian-language broadcasters and the Russia-oriented wing of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church. Putin, in short, is fighting to make Ukraine a docile ally and part of Moscow's political and economic sphere of interest.
Putin, for his part, believes that Trump is mostly interested in money, deals and enriching his friends. To that end, Putin has brought along not only his top diplomats but also his finance minister Anton Siluanov, who has played a key role in Russia's largely successful effort to sidestep western sanctions. By dangling the prospect of joint ventures with US companies to open up Arctic gas fields and other multi-billion dollar baubles, Putin believes that he can bamboozle Trump.
But Trump is not entirely the useful idiot that the Kremlin seems to take him for. In recent weeks Trump has accused Moscow of feeding Washington 'a lot of bullshit' and threatened 'serious consequences' if Putin does not agree to a ceasefire.
It is easy to forget that the principal reason the two leaders are meeting today in Anchorage is because of Trump's as-yet unfulfilled threat to impose devastating secondary sanctions on countries that import Russian oil and gas. But rather than actually follow through on that ultimatum – which would involve the US effectively launching a trade war on Russia's main customers India, China and the EU – Trump chose to call a summit rather than be seen to be chickening out.
By Trump's account, the Anchorage talks are a 'feel-out' to determine whether a peace deal is possible. Putin, for his part, has welcomed Trump's 'positive engagement in the peace process' – without apparently shifting an inch on his basic demands for Ukraine's surrender. The key question will be whether Putin has got the message that Trump's famously prickly ego demands concrete results, not more 'bullshit'.
Putin's own ego, no less prickly and enormous than Trump's, demands that any concessions be framed as a deal and not as something dictated by the Americans. Hence the raft of economic proposals that Siluanov will be bringing to the side talks with the White House team. Then there is a raft of unfinished business between Washington and Moscow concerning strategic nuclear weapons, most urgently the New START treaty that both sides have abandoned and which formally elapses in 2026. Space cooperation is another area where Putin can happily sign on the dotted line.
The one deal that the two men will not be doing today in Anchorage – at least according to Putin's spokesman Dmitry Peskov – is a grand deal ending the war in Ukraine. But there is hope that the Alaska summit could at least be the beginning of the end.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


Spectator
an hour ago
- Spectator
Mounting Russian deaths will not deter Putin
In June, a grim milestone passed. The Ministry of Defence said that one million Russians had been killed or wounded in Ukraine. The Guardian reported that fatalities alone are 'five times higher than the combined death toll from all Soviet and Russian wars' after 1945. Marco Rubio, the US Secretary of State, stated that Russia had already lost '100,000 soldiers – dead – not injured' this year. Yet the unmentionable odour of death offends the Russian night. In Moscow, the milestone passed without official remark. The soaring butcher's bill has not, as some naively still hope, been matched by large-scale public unrest. Although, like the Soviet war in Afghanistan, Putin's war in Ukraine is an open wound slowly bleeding the country white, there is no comparable anti-war movement, mass protests, or anguished appeals from the mothers of soldiers. The wars in Ukraine and Afghanistan differ in their nature. Russia's modern digital dictatorship is not the Soviet Union of the 1980s 'collapsing under the weight of its own internal contradictions'. The Kremlin has effectively managed the impact of unprecedented losses by carrots and sticks or, as Russians put it, by gingerbread and whips. A fundamental difference with previous conflicts in Afghanistan and Chechnya is that Russia's war in Ukraine is being fought by volunteers, largely motivated by the prospect of life-changing amounts of money, and not by conscripts sent to fight against their will. In some regions, the gingerbread of signing on bonuses for new recruits now exceeds a year's salary. Generational wealth is promised for the families of the dead in return for their silence. This 'torrent of money' has transformed poorer regions, even if growing economic difficulties have seen bonuses being trimmed. The sugar rush of wartime spending on defence equipment has also increased real wages for many Russians, increasing living standards sharply. The Kremlin learned that its partial mobilisation of 300,000 mainly poor men in 2022 was a shocking and deeply unpopular experiment not to be repeated. With these troops now mostly dead, and the war presented as 'special' and faraway, Russians are much less interested in the fate of those who went to fight for the money. Conscripts are not sent to the front. Recruitment is spread across Russia's regions to prevent potent pockets of protest. To sweeten support for the conflict, the Kremlin relentlessly hammers a jingoistic narrative that Russia had no alternative to war, that it is fighting the collective West, and that Putin's 'special military operation' continues the Soviet struggle against Nazism. For example, volunteer recruitment went up after Ukraine's incursion into Russia's Kursk region prompted a patriotic response. Relatives are encouraged to view the death of their relatives as a noble blood sacrifice for this national cause, and not – as they really are – casualties of Putin's elderly rubbish. To further the ideological struggle and develop the next generation of recruits, the state seeks to recapture Russia's young by deepening 'patriotic' education programmes, re-writing history, re-using military symbols from the past, and re-forming Soviet-style youth movements. As one Russian expert told me, from the start the Kremlin has been acutely aware of Bonapartism: a charismatic general converting military success into political power. Officers at the front have been sacked for questioning the wisdom of launching costly assaults in order to move Putin's drinks cabinet ten centimetres closer to Kyiv. As noted by one Russian sociologist, no senior military officer has been used as a propaganda figure nor attained any kind of personal popularity in society; 'state propaganda praises only private soldiers who have taken part in the war, preferably those who have died in the process'. This being Russia, the whip has been wielded enthusiastically. Early anti-war protests were quickly squished and opponents to the war driven into exile, imprisoned, or pressed into military service. The climate of fear is fuelled by public prosecutions severe sentences. For example, Olga Komleva, a journalist and associate of the late Alexey Navalny, himself killed by the state in prison, was recently sentenced to 12 years for her anti-war activities. Civil society, already a weakened force in Russia, has been further cowed by being declared as agents of foreign powers. The Committees of Soldiers' Mothers were beaten into submission many years ago and are not the force they were in the 1980s. In their place, the Kremlin has created loyal simulacra that slavishly support the government line. Veterans' organisations, including those originally formed to support those who fought in Afghanistan, have been co-opted for the cause. As a result of these carrots and sticks, Russians remain generally indifferent to the war but with – from the Kremlin's perspective – a sufficient minority of genuine supporters. The public are more concerned about their own financial situation, criminalisation of society, and the potential impact of returning veterans than about the number of dead. Self-interest and fear have nixed the anti-war movement. The number of new recruits being sent to Ukraine still exceed battlefield losses. Three years into the war, it is unwise to hope for a deus ex machina of large-scale public unrest, or strain to discern ironic points of light of potential anti-war opposition inside Russia. As Oleg Orlov, a veteran campaigner for civil liberties put it: 'The opposition is completely crushed, the remnants of any freedoms are liquidated, [and] the words 'liberalism' and 'democracy' are dangerous to pronounce publicly without adding a curse word'. Instead, the war should be brought home to Russians by cranking up economic pressure on the country, its foreign enablers and collaborators while assisting Ukraine to strike military targets within its borders.

The National
2 hours ago
- The National
Independence won't come to a nation feart of itself
Thing is, water doesn't really do borders. Seemingly, this (and much else) seems to have escaped the US president, who thought he could make the Gulf of Mexico, the Gulf of America with a swift stroke of a handy Sharpie. (Such is his legendary vindictiveness; he subsequently banned a news agency from White House press conferences following their refusal to sign up to this geographical lunacy!) In truth, land borders are always more problematic. Just ask Ukraine. Or Canada, for that matter, given Donald Trump's sudden enthusiasm for turning an entire country into nothing more than a US state. READ MORE: Tree-planting is not climate change fix, report urges And land borders became rather more difficult for Scotland when, despite voting Remain – as did Northern Ireland – we found ourselves adjoining a non-EU country in the shape of England. The difference with NI obviously is that they are now adjoining an EU country in the south unlike our being yoked to EU refuseniks; what Rishi Sunak rather infelicitously labelled 'the best of both worlds'. Indeed, Rishi. Meanwhile, the three Baltic states nervously eye their combined 543-mile-long border with Russia, protected, sort of, by their membership of Nato. Protected too by their somewhat belated withdrawal from an agreement which meant they accessed electricity from Russia rather than the EU. And also meant Moscow called the electric shots. However, they have had to contend with a whole spate of sabotage incidents damaging pipelines and cables under the Baltic Sea. Not a peep from the Kremlin, of course, but Vlad the bad would seem to have his fingerprints all over these incidents which, oddly, only occurred after the Baltic states did a new deal with the EU. When they indicated they were leaving the Russia/Belarus one, there was also a sudden spate of social media posts alleging huge price rises and supply shortages. Neither of which came to pass. What differentiates ourselves from Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia is the widespread enthusiasm for independence they enjoyed at the time of severance. Mind you they already thought themselves independent at the end of the First World War until the then Soviet Union contrived to annex them. But they managed to maintain their culture and their ambitions and so Lithuania declared full independence in March 1990, while Estonia and Latvia followed in August 1991. One of the highlights of their independence movements was a giant linkage of hands across all three countries and one of the most moving, the sight of Lithuanian weans singing their anthem word perfectly despite decades of suppression. Some of these activities were labelled 'The Singing Revolution'. Would that we could orchestrate something similar. According to the current First Minister, his plan is the only one which would confer international legitimacy on declaring ourselves a separate state. Some 43 SNP branches choose to differ. It will be, to quote his party, a huge 'democratic deficit' if the annual conference body swerves a proper debate on ALL the options. The longer the wait goes on, the more impatient I become for a Scottish government to stop being super cautious and risk-averse. READ MORE: Kate Forbes: Scotland's stories are being lost as tourists focus on aesthetic posts Meanwhile, amid the publishing furore accompanying Nicola Sturgeon's memoir, not many people have cottoned on to the reasons she gives for our not having Baltic-style smeddum. She traces it back to the referendum of March 1979, when a London-based Scottish MP came up with the notorious 40% rule which said that only if 40% of the entire electorate voted Yes, could it succeed. Not only would a simple majority not suffice (although, at 51.6%, one was obtained) but effectively everyone who couldn't be bothered to vote was assumed to be a No. Sturgeon wasn't old enough to have a vote herself at that juncture but she declares in Frankly: 'The effect of this on the Scottish psyche is hard to overstate. It's always been part of the Scottish character – or at least the caricature of it – that we talk the talk much better than we walk the walk. We are full of bravado but, when push comes to shove, lack the gumption to follow through.' There will be those who would turn the same judgement on her, given the various trigger points ignored during her term of office. But the point is well made. In various tests of resolve Scotland has proved too feart to take the ultimate plunge. Maybe we won't until, Baltic-style, we construct a huge and enthusiastic majority. If we needed further proof that Scotland is indeed a goldfish bowl for frontline politicians, we need look no further than the media furore surrounding the publication of the Sturgeon memoir. How much of this is down to the publishers extracting maximum coverage for their much-anticipated book launch, and how much is self-inflicted we might never know. What is undeniable is that every jot and tittle of the former First Minister's thoughts have been minutely scrutinised and analysed. Every time she opens her mouth these days, it seems to prompt another media feeding frenzy. It was the late Margo MacDonald who declared that if every indy-minded person convinced just one other voter, the 2014 poll would have spelled victory for the Yes camp. She wasn't wrong then; she still isn't. It won't be an easy ask. There are those who are implacably opposed to breaking the Union, and nothing and nobody will dissuade them. Their views can and must be respected but, to quote a certain PM, they are not for turning. Not ever. However, there is a soggy centre who can be won over with an honest appraisal of the benefits independence might bring. Not to mention an honest look at how the statistics are continually pochled and never in our favour. There must be a similarly frank flagging up of the downsides; few countries have made an entirely seamless transition to determining their own destinies. The bumps in the road will soon enough appear. Then again, no country has ever concluded that reverting to servile status is an option. I've just been reading a book about Scottish timelines which puts all of our significant milestones into both a UK and a global context. Among much else, it reminded me what an ancient and proud nation we have been, one which long preceded the Unions of the Crowns and Parliaments. Obviously, one of our milestones was the 1707 Act of Union, which rarely, these days, feels much of a union and certainly not a partnership. In those days, the electorate consisted of feudal nobles, lesser nobles with feudal rights, and representatives from royal burghs (with varying electorates). Even so, with Jock Tamson's bairns only able to look on impotently, the majority was a mere 43. That all led to a British parliament in which 150 Scottish peers were graciously permitted to anoint 16 of their own to the Upper House, 30 MPs were to represent the counties, and a whole 15 covering all the burgh districts. As ever, the establishment looked after its own. Thus were the most powerful recipients of feudal favours able, rather modestly, to shape the new parliament. Of course, we still await the answer to the question often posed but never answered; if this is an alleged partnership of equals, how can this alleged partner extricate themselves? Not that the breath is being held.


Sky News
2 hours ago
- Sky News
Zelenskyy knows he risks another Oval Office ambush - but has to be a willing participant in peace talks
There will be no red carpet or fly past, no round of applause when Volodymyr Zelenskyy arrives in Washington DC on Monday. But the bitter memory of his last visit to the White House will feature prominently in the Ukrainian president's thoughts. In February, he was mocked for not wearing a suit and told he didn't "have the cards" by US President Donald Trump, before being walked off the premises early, like an unruly patron being thrown out of the bar. 3:10 Zelenskyy knows he is risking another ambush in the Oval Office but has to present himself as a willing participant in peace talks, out of fear of being painted as the obstacle to a resolution. There was initially measured optimism in Kyiv after Trump's summit with Russian President Vladimir Putin, because it appeared that no deal had been cut between Washington and the Kremlin without Ukraine in the room, as had been feared. But that restrained positivity quickly evaporated with the release of a statement by Trump the morning after the night before. In the heady heights of a meeting with strongman Putin, he seemed to have abandoned the one key thing that European leaders had impressed upon him - that there had to be an unconditional ceasefire in Ukraine as an absolute starting point to a permanent resolution. Trump had apparently reached the conclusion that no ceasefire was required. "The best way to end the horrific war between Russia and Ukraine... is to go directly to a peace agreement," is how he put it on his Truth Social media account. 23:24 That sent shockwaves through Kyiv. Many there and elsewhere believe Russia has no intention of stopping the war yet, and will use its military advantage on the battlefield to pressure Ukraine in drawn-out negotiations to give up more territory. In the meantime, the slaughter of Ukrainians will continue. It is the most dramatic of 180s from Trump, who before the meeting and after lobbying from European leaders had said he would not be happy if Putin failed to agree to a ceasefire, and even promised "severe consequences". Yet now reports suggest Trump is giving credence to the Russian position - in a phone call to Zelenskyy he laid out Putin's proposal that Ukraine relinquishes even more territory, in return for an end to the war. The Ukrainian president will have, no doubt, been distressed to see the pictures of Putin being greeted like a king on an American military base in Alaska. It is in direct contrast to how he was hosted on US soil. In Trump's orbit everything is a personality contest, and where he has very obvious deference to Putin, he has disdain for Zelenskyy. That makes the Ukrainian's position very difficult.