People are dying because of our help for Russia.
As spring turns toward summer, Ukraine stands at a crossroads familiar to nations throughout history — capable of enduring, but dependent on the will of distant allies to survive. President Zelenskyy's urgent appeal to Washington for anti-ballistic missiles arrives at a moment when American military capacity is divided between two theaters of war, and when political will in Washington has become as scarce a resource as the interceptors themselves. The war in Iran has not merely stretched supply lines — it has reshuffled the global energy order in ways that paradoxically enrich the very adversary Ukraine is fighting. What unfolds in the coming weeks will test whether democratic alliances can hold their shape under the weight of competing crises.
- Russia is preparing a massive coordinated assault on Kyiv — drones and ballistic missiles in waves — and Ukraine's interceptor stockpiles are dangerously close to empty.
- The U.S. war with Iran has consumed the very missile defense production capacity Ukraine needs, while suspended Russian oil sanctions are funneling money back into the Kremlin's war chest.
- Zelenskyy is working every channel available — personal letters to the White House, appeals through envoys, offers of drone technology partnerships — to secure a surge of American support before the next wave hits.
- Four hundred million dollars in congressionally approved Ukraine aid sits frozen, a bipartisan sanctions bill has stalled for eighteen months, and Republican lawmakers show little appetite to challenge the administration's posture.
- Russia absorbs 30,000 to 35,000 casualties a month yet keeps mobilizing replacements — a grinding desperation that Zelenskyy warns makes Putin more dangerous, not less, and less likely to negotiate without greater Western pressure.
On a Friday morning in late May, Volodymyr Zelenskyy sat down with CBS News to deliver a warning that had grown impossible to defer: Russia was preparing a massive strike on Kyiv, and Ukraine was running out of the means to stop it. A recent assault had already seen more than 600 Iranian-made drones and thirty-plus ballistic missiles launched in a single coordinated wave. Ukraine intercepted what it could, but the arithmetic was unforgiving — Russia was losing 30,000 to 35,000 soldiers a month and replacing them at nearly the same pace, a mobilization that spoke less to strength than to a dangerous, cornered desperation.
What Ukraine needed above all else was anti-ballistic missiles. Zelenskyy had written directly to the White House and Congress to say so. The obstacle was not indifference so much as scarcity: the three-month-old U.S. war with Iran had consumed the interceptor production capacity that might otherwise have flowed to Kyiv. The Strait of Hormuz was closed, oil prices had surged, and to ease the energy crisis Washington had suspended sanctions on Russian petroleum — meaning Russia was growing wealthier even as it prosecuted the war. Zelenskyy praised the intelligence sharing he had received from the Trump administration, but he was direct about what was still missing: a commitment to surge interceptors, and a willingness to send envoys to Kyiv rather than only to Moscow.
In Washington, Senator Chris Murphy offered a starker diagnosis. The $400 million Congress had allocated for Ukraine sat unspent, withheld by the administration. A bipartisan sanctions bill had been stalled on the Senate floor for a year and a half. Murphy did not see enough Republican resolve to break with the president, and he was candid about the moral dimension: American sanctions relief on Russian oil was, in effect, helping fund the missiles aimed at Ukrainian civilians. From a different corner of the Republican Party, former Vice President Mike Pence acknowledged the administration's accomplishments while questioning its direction — on tariffs, on Ukraine's stops and starts, on the drift toward populist politics over conservative principle. The deeper question both men were circling was the same: whether the institutions and alliances that had long defined American foreign policy could still hold their shape when tested by two simultaneous wars and a fractured political consensus.
On a Friday morning in late May, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy sat down with CBS News to deliver a warning that had grown urgent: Russia was preparing a massive attack on Kyiv, and Ukraine's ability to defend itself was running out of time.
The scale of what Ukraine faces is staggering. In a single recent assault, Russia unleashed more than 600 Iranian drones—Shaheds—alongside thirty-plus ballistic missiles in a coordinated strike. Ukraine threw everything at it: every weapon in its arsenal, every interceptor it could fire. The math was brutal. Russia was sustaining between 30,000 and 35,000 casualties per month, yet mobilizing comparable numbers to replace them. The country was grinding through soldiers at a pace that suggested desperation, not weakness. But desperation, Zelenskyy understood, could make Putin more dangerous, not less. The attacks kept coming—twice a week, sometimes twice every ten days, waves of drones and missiles targeting civilians, energy infrastructure, water supplies, schools.
What Ukraine lacked, what it desperately needed, was anti-ballistic missiles. This was the gap that could determine whether the country survived the next phase of the war. Zelenskyy had sent a personal letter to the White House and Congress spelling this out. The problem was not complicated: U.S. production of these interceptors was already stretched thin. The war with Iran—now three months old—had consumed resources that might otherwise have gone to Ukraine. The Strait of Hormuz was closed. Oil prices had spiked. Gas in some American towns hit six dollars a gallon. And the consequence rippled backward: to keep Russian oil flowing onto global markets and ease the energy crisis, the U.S. had suspended sanctions on Russian petroleum. This meant Russia was getting richer, not poorer, even as it fought in Ukraine.
Zelenskyy spoke carefully about what he needed from the Trump administration. He praised the intelligence sharing, the early warnings that allowed Ukraine to prepare. But he was also direct: he needed President Trump to say yes to a surge of interceptors. He needed the envoys—Steve Witkoff, Jared Kushner, Secretary of State Rubio—to come to Kyiv, not just Moscow. He needed them to see the country, to understand what was at stake. And he needed them to understand that Ukraine was ready to negotiate with Russia, that more pressure and more sanctions might yet bring Putin to the table. But that negotiation could only happen if Ukraine could survive what was coming.
On the question of whether Russia would ever negotiate, Zelenskyy was measured. Yes, he believed it was possible. The losses were unsustainable. The mobilization burden was becoming a crisis. But it would take more pressure, not less. It would take the kind of unified Western response that had, so far, been inconsistent.
Back in Washington, Senator Chris Murphy of Connecticut, speaking from Hartford, was blunt about the political obstacle. The $400 million that Congress had allocated to Ukraine sat unspent. The Trump administration was withholding it. A bipartisan sanctions bill that would tighten the screws on Russia had been sitting on the Senate floor for eighteen months, blocked by Trump's opposition. Murphy did not believe there was enough Republican courage to break ranks. He hoped he was wrong. But the pattern was clear: Trump did not want to help Ukraine, and the Republican caucus was not willing to fight him on it.
Murphy's frustration extended to the broader strategic picture. The Iran war was a disaster—not just for Americans paying six dollars a gallon for gas, but for the global order. It had humiliated the United States. It had made Iran more powerful. And it had made Russia more powerful, because sanctions relief on Russian oil was literally funding the missiles that were about to rain down on Kyiv. From a moral perspective, Murphy said, the idea that America was helping Russia fund this war was ridiculous. It was not small potatoes. People were dying because of it.
Former Vice President Mike Pence, speaking from a different corner of the Republican Party, offered a different critique. He acknowledged that the Trump administration had gotten some things right: the border was secured, the tax cuts had been extended, Israel had been supported, Iran had been confronted. But on other fronts—price controls, tariffs, the marginalization of the right to life, the stops and starts on Ukraine—the administration was embracing the politics of the populist right, not the conservative agenda that had defined the party. The question Pence posed was whether the Republican Party would stand up to Trump, or whether primary voters had locked the party into a direction it could not escape. The answer, so far, seemed to be the latter.
Citações Notáveis
This is the biggest deficit for us. We use all our weapons, what we have, what we produce. And, of course, we use anti-ballistic missiles.— President Zelenskyy on Ukraine's critical shortage of air defense interceptors
Russia is getting billions of additional dollars because of our sanctions relief. That's allowing them to buy some of the missiles that are on the verge of raining down on Kyiv.— Senator Chris Murphy on the unintended consequences of suspending Russian oil sanctions
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does Zelenskyy keep asking for Trump's approval when Congress already allocated the money?
Because the money is frozen. Trump won't release it. Congress can pass a bill, but if the president won't spend what's already been appropriated, the law doesn't matter. That's the leverage.
And the anti-ballistic missiles—why can't Ukraine just build them faster?
They're trying. But it takes time, and they don't have time. In the meantime, people die. That's the trap. Ukraine has brilliant engineers and battlefield innovation, but you can't innovate your way around physics and manufacturing capacity.
So the Iran war is actually making Ukraine's situation worse?
Directly. Every interceptor the U.S. sends to the Middle East is one that doesn't go to Kyiv. And the sanctions relief on Russian oil? That's money in Putin's pocket. It's a perverse circle.
Does Zelenskyy actually believe Russia will negotiate?
He says yes, but conditionally. He thinks the losses will eventually force Putin's hand. But he's not waiting passively. He's asking for more pressure, more weapons, more time to survive until that moment comes.
Why is Pence criticizing Trump if they're in the same party?
Because Pence thinks Trump has abandoned conservatism. He's not attacking Trump's voters—he's trying to remind them what they used to believe in. It's a losing argument, but he's making it anyway.
Is there any chance Congress forces Trump's hand on the Ukraine money?
Murphy doesn't think so. He says Republicans don't have the courage. But he also says he hopes he's wrong. That's the tension—the mechanism exists, but the political will doesn't.