ANCHORAGE, ALASKA – It was just less than 24 hours ago, really, that I found myself amidst the peculiar spectacle of the Trump-Putin summit. And, if I’m being perfectly frank, I walked away feeling a bit like I’d been pilfered, though not of anything tangible. More like a mugging of expectations, a larceny of the sensible.
It began on the tarmac, a tableau curated for the history books. Two hulking planes, nose to nose, a visual metaphor for superpowers ostensibly squaring off. Donald Trump descends, and Vladimir Putin, with that familiar, almost imperceptible smirk, emerges.
These two, ostensible foes, embraced the stage like old chums. Trump, with a flourish, applauded Putin as he approached – a military salute for a war criminal indicted by the ICC, with the indelible stain of war on his hands. And yet, he was greeted not as an aggressor, but as an old friend. The body language, I observed, was less diplomacy, more unadulterated bromance.
Then, the Cadillac. The Beast. A rare, almost sacred privilege. Yet, there was Putin, ensconced in its plush interior, reportedly smiling from ear to ear, soaking in the luxury, yes, but more significantly, feeling the love. It was a picture that spoke volumes, a narrative of unprecedented access and undeniable affection.
My primary takeaway, however, was from the press conference that wasn’t. Putin, the guest, spoke first, and longer. He welcomed Trump “like a neighbor,” a phrase that, in its casual familiarity, cemented the shift in power dynamics. He was, to put it mildly, calling the shots.
This thread of friendship ran through to the very end. “Next time in Moscow,” Putin suggested, in English, a rare linguistic concession that felt less like an invitation and more like a directive. And that’s where the feeling of being “robbed” truly settled in.
There were no questions. Not a single one. This was not a Donald Trump press conference. I wanted to ask, oh, how I wanted to ask. To Putin: “Why should Trump trust you?” His frustration, after all, had been palpable just months ago, dismissing Putin’s words as “meaningless.” Would this summit also be meaningless? And to President Trump: “Why should you trust Putin?”
Then there was the glaring absence of a deal. Trump mumbled about “obstacles,” some “not significant,” one “most significant.” But what were they? He left us with a void. And more critically, neither man uttered the word “ceasefire” even once. The very heart of the matter, the slogan “pursuing peace” emblazoned on the backdrop, felt like a cruel joke. He spoke, instead, of a “new chapter in US-Russia relations,” a broader, more self-serving ambition.
The final, chilling detail came from Putin’s interpreter, who conveyed Putin’s desire for a “lasting and long-term” settlement that would “eliminate primary causes, root causes,” and consider “all legitimate concerns for Russia.”
“Root causes.” That, I know, is Kremlin code, an unyielding declaration that his red lines – NATO expansion, the “protection” of Russian speakers in eastern Ukraine – remain indelible. There were no concessions. He wants the whole lot. Still.
And so, I left, feeling lighter in my pockets of hope and clarity. What was promised as a momentous summit felt more like a private clubhouse meeting, a stage for a bromance devoid of accountability, utterly robbed of the pressing questions that needed answering, and the tangible steps towards peace that were conspicuously absent...
These reflections are reprinted from the author’s Linkedin page. See the original here.
