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Elnur Enveroglu

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Steve Witkoff’s recent visit to Moscow has exposed a critical shift in the diplomatic landscape surrounding the Russia–Ukraine war. While fighting on the ground remains ferocious, an equally intense political battle is unfolding between Washington and the Kremlin. What became clear during Witkoff’s talks is that Moscow remains absolutely committed to entrenching its control over captured Ukrainian territories, and the current diplomatic format, conducted largely between the United States and Russia, pointedly excludes both the European Union and Ukraine’s own senior leadership. The absence of Kyiv and Brussels from negotiations that could define Ukraine’s future carries profound strategic implications, not least because it risks translating military gains into political concessions without the direct consent of those most affected.

This diplomatic imbalance unfolds against a backdrop of growing instability inside Ukraine. A spate of corruption cases and the shock of President Zelenskiy’s resignation have visibly demoralised the Ukrainian military, eroding the unity and confidence that once sustained the country’s defence effort. Morale is increasingly brittle at a time when Russia has seized the momentum on the battlefield, pushing deeper into Ukrainian territory where defensive lines are thinner and political direction uncertain. The crisis of governance in Kyiv reinforces the perception that Ukraine’s ability to prosecute a long war is diminishing, which in turn shapes the calculations of external actors seeking a negotiated settlement.

The United States’ renewed interest in resolving the conflict through diplomacy rather than an indefinite commitment to arming Ukraine is driven by a blend of strategic pragmatism and geopolitical necessity. Washington is acutely aware of the risks of escalation, whether nuclear, conventional, or regional, and sees negotiations as a mechanism to contain a war that threatens to metastasise across Europe. It also faces domestic political constraints: financial fatigue, competing priorities in Asia, and the political cost of maintaining a long-term military pipeline to Ukraine. At the same time, negotiating from a position of influence enables the US to shape the terms of any settlement, potentially limiting Russian gains while avoiding a destabilising collapse in Ukraine.

Donald Trump’s perspective on the negotiations reflects his longstanding transactional worldview. He is likely to view the emerging diplomatic track favourably if it produces a rapid halt to the fighting and reduces America’s financial and military exposure. His principal metric is whether an agreement can be presented as a success to domestic voters, not whether it perfectly aligns with principles of territorial integrity or European security doctrine. In practice, this approach would impose stronger pressure on Ukraine to accept painful territorial compromises and could soften the punitive measures imposed on Moscow if such concessions speed up the deal. Trump’s emphasis on dealmaking could therefore accelerate a settlement, but at the cost of validating Russia’s battlefield strategy.

If Russia succeeds in securing its demands at the negotiating table, the consequences for Europe would be far-reaching. A settlement that formalises territorial conquest, even implicitly, would legitimise a fundamental breach of post-Cold War norms, encouraging Moscow to test the limits of Western resolve elsewhere. Although an outright attack on NATO territory remains unlikely, Russia could significantly intensify hybrid tactics across Eastern Europe: political destabilisation, energy coercion, cyberattacks, and manipulation of minority populations. Moldova, Georgia, and even the Baltic states would face heightened pressure. Poland and the Baltic nations would respond by accelerating defence spending and tightening alignment with NATO structures, but the psychological impact of a perceived Western retreat would be profound.

The European Union would struggle to craft a unified response. Some member states would push for hardening security policy and expanding defence integration, while others, wary of economic costs and domestic political pressures, might advocate rapprochement to restore stability. This divergence would weaken the EU’s strategic coherence precisely when unity is most essential. The bloc would likely adopt a dual-track approach: supporting military reinforcement in frontline states while simultaneously attempting to rebuild diplomatic channels with Moscow. The credibility of this strategy would depend entirely on whether Europe proves willing to bear the economic and political costs of long-term confrontation.

Beyond Europe, Russia’s assertiveness would extend into the Caucasus and the wider CIS. A perceived victory in Ukraine would reinforce Moscow’s ambition to reclaim a dominant role across the post-Soviet space. In the South Caucasus, Russia could lean more heavily on Armenia’s vulnerabilities, seek new leverage over Georgia, and attempt to reinsert itself into security dynamics affecting Azerbaijan. Its tools would be familiar: military presence, political pressure, energy manipulation, and information campaigns designed to fracture local political cohesion. Central Asian states, particularly Kazakhstan, would face renewed attempts by Moscow to shape their political and economic orientation. Some would move closer to Russia for protection, while others would seek deeper ties with China or Turkiye as counterweights. The region would experience a subtle but decisive re-Sovietisation of influence, short of annexation but unmistakably constraining sovereign decision-making.

A Russian victory, defined here as the consolidation of territorial gains and a weakened international response, would thus reconfigure the geopolitical landscape across Europe and Eurasia. It would signal that territorial revisionism is once again a viable instrument of statecraft, embolden authoritarian actors worldwide, and complicate efforts to maintain a rules-based order. Countries caught between great powers would face sharper choices; NATO’s burden would grow heavier; and the EU’s internal divisions would become increasingly exposed. For the Caucasus, Central Asia, and Eastern Europe, the next decade would be characterised by heightened insecurity, strategic hedging, and contested sovereignty.

Witkoff’s Moscow meetings, though just one episode in a longer diplomatic process, highlight the risks of a settlement that resolves American interests while leaving Ukraine weakened and its neighbours exposed. Without a coordinated Western strategy that integrates military, diplomatic, and economic tools, Russia could emerge from this war not chastened but emboldened. The result would be a more coercive regional order and a fractured security architecture that leaves Europe and the post-Soviet space in a far more precarious position than before the conflict began.