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By Farman Aydin | AzerNews

The meeting between Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin in Alaska was presented as a pivotal moment in efforts to halt the devastating war in Ukraine. Yet in reality, it exposed more about Putin’s political vulnerabilities than about any real progress towards peace. Rather than negotiating as the iron-fisted strongman he so often portrays himself to be, Putin arrived in Anchorage reduced to the role of supplicant. The optics, tone, and substance of the encounter revealed a Russian leader bending over backwards to flatter Trump, all while ensuring that no meaningful agreement could emerge. The Theatre of Anchorage

Trump staged the Alaska summit with characteristic flair: military pomp, fighter jets roaring overhead, and a red carpet emblazoned with “Alaska 2025.” The symbolism was plain—the United States was hosting from a position of strength. By contrast, Putin’s presence was less one of equal footing and more of begrudging necessity. Russia has been battered by sanctions, diplomatically isolated by much of the West, and financially stretched by a war of its own making. Against this backdrop, Putin seemed less like a global powerbroker and more like a leader desperate to be in the same room as Trump.

Where previous summits between Russian and American leaders projected tense parity, Anchorage demonstrated a lopsided relationship. Putin looked uncharacteristically restrained, careful to couch his words in deference to Trump’s demands, including the latter’s insistence on an immediate ceasefire. That no agreement was reached had little to do with Trump’s position and everything to do with Putin’s refusal to prioritise peace over Russia’s broader imperial ambitions.

Perhaps the most telling nuance of the meeting was Putin’s calculated flattery. He praised Trump’s decisiveness, his “unique understanding of global realities,” and even his ability to bring together conflicting parties. Such sycophancy is rare from a man who built his domestic brand on deriding Western leaders as weak, indecisive, or corrupt. Yet before Trump, Putin’s tone shifted.

This was no accident. Putin recognises that Trump, unlike other Western leaders, grants him a stage without preconditions. Flattering Trump is not simply a diplomatic tactic; it is an attempt to curry favour with the one Western leader who still entertains the idea of Putin as an indispensable actor on the global stage. But this strategy came at a reputational cost. To many observers, Putin appeared diminished, reduced to stroking Trump’s ego rather than standing firm for Russia’s supposed interests.

No ceasefire, no substance

Beneath the gestures and photo opportunities, the hard truth is that no ceasefire was reached in Anchorage. Trump made it clear he wanted a halt to the violence—“today, not tomorrow”—but Putin would not oblige. Why? Because for the Kremlin, aggression in Ukraine is not a bargaining chip but the very foundation of its foreign policy.

The war is not simply about territory; it is about demonstrating Russia’s relevance, undermining the West, and reinforcing Putin’s image at home. Economic incentives, whether in the form of eased sanctions or energy deals, pale in comparison to the political capital Putin derives from continued aggression. In short, peace would deprive the Kremlin of its raison d’être. Hence, Putin flattered Trump with words while ensuring that his actions remained unchanged.

Several subtle moments betrayed Putin’s weakness during the summit. First, the expanded format of the talks. While Trump was joined by senior figures such as Marco Rubio and Steve Witkoff, Putin’s side consisted of the usual loyal lieutenants—Sergey Lavrov and Yury Ushakov—hardly a signal of fresh thinking or new flexibility. The contrast suggested a Russian delegation trapped in stale orthodoxy, while Trump projected adaptability.

Second, Putin’s language. Rather than issuing his trademark ultimatums, he avoided direct confrontation. His remarks were filled with generalities, appeals to “mutual respect,” and compliments towards Trump. For a man accustomed to lecturing the West, this tonal shift was glaring.

Third, the optics of place. Alaska, once part of the Russian Empire, has a symbolic weight. Hosting the meeting there underscored Russia’s historical decline—from a country that sold the territory to the United States for a pittance in the 19th century, to a present-day Russia arriving cap in hand on the same soil.

The strongman illusion

For decades, Putin has crafted the image of a leader who cannot be cowed, a master strategist playing chess while his opponents play checkers. Yet Anchorage exposed the illusion. His war in Ukraine drags on with mounting casualties and scant gains. His economy has been contorted to sustain military production, while living standards for ordinary Russians decline. His international position has shrunk, reduced largely to dependence on China and transactional relationships with Iran and North Korea.

In such a context, Putin’s fawning towards Trump is more than a diplomatic tactic; it is a symptom of weakness. Unable to secure concessions through strength, he resorts to flattery in hopes of salvaging relevance. The tragedy for Russia is that this posture offers no relief for its people and no respite from the war.

The Alaska summit will be remembered not for breakthroughs but for its symbolism. Trump used it to cast himself as a peacemaker; Putin used it to bask in the glow of American attention. Yet the fundamental dynamic was clear: Trump dictated the stage, the terms, and the spectacle, while Putin clung to the margins, flattering his host and refusing to yield an inch on substance.

If this is the behaviour of a supposed global strongman, it is a hollow performance. Putin left Alaska without a ceasefire, without concessions, and without the dignity of having negotiated as an equal. What remains is an image of a leader reduced to flattery, presiding over a war that has no economic, moral, or political justification, yet continues because it is all his regime has left.