Trump’s Foggy Guarantees for Ukraine: Just Umbrellas in a Hurricane

 

The only real peace plan is Ukraine’s own army. Trump’s so-called guarantees are a sham, a con job that reeks of bias—he’s clearly cozying up to Putin while betraying Ukraine.

When Donald Trump hosted European leaders in Washington on August 18th, his words carried the usual mix of grandeur and vagueness. He declared that peace in Ukraine was “at hand,” but quickly confessed it was trickier than he expected. What was supposed to be “one of the easier ones” has turned into a puzzle where every piece seems designed to cut the hand that tries to arrange it. I see a leader claiming to carry the blueprint of peace while holding nothing more than a sketch scribbled in pencil, easily erased and redrawn to suit the moment.

The list of obstacles begins with Vladimir Putin’s unshakable demand that Ukraine surrender unoccupied land in the Donbas region. Trump appears sympathetic to this idea, favoring Moscow’s appetite while leaving Kyiv to swallow bitter crumbs. Instead of an initial ceasefire that Europe hoped for, Trump now embraces the Russian preference for a final settlement upfront, effectively telling the Ukrainians to sign away the locks on their doors before the burglar has even left the driveway. Meanwhile, Putin has dismissed Trump’s suggestion of a trilateral summit with himself, Trump, and Zelensky. The Kremlin’s alternative—Zelensky visiting Moscow alone—looks less like diplomacy and more like a stage-managed humiliation.

The thorniest issue is security guarantees. Here, Trump is the salesman pitching a protection plan that doesn’t actually specify what happens when the roof caves in. He insists Russia has agreed to “security guarantees,” echoing earlier claims of “Article 5-like protection.” Yet Article 5, the sacred clause of NATO, demands that an attack on one ally be treated as an attack on all. Trump has already slammed the door shut on NATO membership for Ukraine, calling it “very insulting” to Russia. What, then, is left? A phantom clause, a hollow promise, a promise of help that floats in the air without anchoring itself in real defense commitments.

This ambiguity carries lethal risk. Ukraine fears the nightmare scenario where sanctions are lifted, Russia rebuilds its forces, and the next invasion comes stronger than the first. Trump’s words offer little comfort. He repeats vague notions of guarantees without spelling out how they would work in practice. I cannot help but see this as a peace plan written in invisible ink—disappearing the moment the ink touches Russian hands.

History itself mocks these so-called guarantees. In 1994, the Budapest Memorandum assured Ukraine that its sovereignty would be respected after it gave up nuclear weapons. The United States, Britain, and Russia promised to “consult” if Ukraine’s borders were violated. The Kremlin then tore that piece of paper to shreds, marching into Crimea in 2014 as the guarantors mumbled polite protests. The word “assurance” became synonymous with “betrayal.” To recycle such failed models today is like patching a sinking boat with tissue paper and declaring it seaworthy.

There are halfway models, of course. Some recall America’s 1975 pact with Israel: a promise of remedial action if Egypt broke a ceasefire. That agreement did not guarantee American boots on the ground; it offered sanctions or military aid instead. Yet applying such a model to Ukraine is riddled with contradictions. For one, Russia insists it must have veto power over any future guarantees, a poison pill clause that makes a mockery of the very concept. It is as though a burglar were invited to hold the keys to the security system.

Then comes the so-called “coalition of the willing,” spearheaded by Britain and France, with whispers of troop placements and air patrols. For months, military planners have debated which cities might host foreign forces and what their mandate would be. But here again, the fog thickens. Trump has said Europeans would be the “first line of defense” while America would “help them out with it.” What does that mean? Perhaps logistics, perhaps air support, perhaps a pat on the back. His follow-up—boasting that America’s “stuff” is unmatched—sounds more like a late-night infomercial for jet fighters than a binding commitment.

The contradictions at the heart of this deal are glaring. The aggressor, Russia, would have to agree to any security guarantees provided to its victim, Ukraine. This is the equivalent of asking the fox to sign off on the henhouse’s new alarm system. If Putin decides it is in his interest to bend, then perhaps something emerges. If not, Trump’s plan collapses under the weight of its own absurdity. It is not a peace plan but a diplomatic mirage shimmering in the desert of Moscow’s demands.

Even the coalition force, should it materialize, faces impossible questions. What happens if Russia bombs them from across its own border? Would European troops fight back, or would they shuffle their feet and look to Washington for answers? A vague mandate invites Moscow to test the limits. Every unanswered question is an open invitation for escalation. And if these forces are attacked inside Ukraine, NATO’s credibility on its own soil would be undercut. The sword meant to protect Europe could end up dulling itself in Kyiv’s fields.

At the end of the day, Macron was blunt: the only true guarantee is Ukraine’s own armed forces. No paper guarantee, no foreign presence, no hollow “help them out with it” phrase can replace the resilience of Ukraine’s soldiers. Zelensky knows this, which is why he cannot sign any deal that shackles his country’s ability to defend itself. Yet Russia’s goal remains unchanged: to reduce Ukraine to a vassal state, cut off from allies, disarmed, and dangling helplessly before the Kremlin’s gaze.

Trump seems to imagine himself collecting a Nobel prize as the man who ended Europe’s bloodiest war since 1945. But the reality is that his “security guarantees” are written in smoke, vanishing the moment you try to touch them. Peace is not at hand; it is still locked away in a vault guarded by contradictions, illusions, and half-promises. To trade Ukrainian sovereignty for Trump’s headlines is not statesmanship; it is theater. And in this theater, the curtain falls not on peace, but on another act of uncertainty. The man who claims to offer a shield is handing out umbrellas in a hurricane.