Red Square shall be excluded from any Ukrainian weapons deployment
On the symbolic date of Russia's Victory Day, May 9, 2026, Ukraine and Russia announced a three-day ceasefire — yet the guns did not fall silent. Zelenskyy met Moscow's demands for parade-day assurances not with deference but with sardonic decree, granting Red Square its safety while Ukrainian drones struck refineries nearly a thousand miles inside Russian territory. The truce exists as a diplomatic fiction layered over a grinding war, one in which Ukraine's deepening missile shortages and $25 billion in energy infrastructure damage reveal the asymmetry between the two sides' endurance — even as peace envoys prepare to arrive and the world watches to see whether negotiation can find purchase where the battlefield has not.
- Zelenskyy turned Russia's demand for Victory Day safety guarantees into a public act of mockery, issuing a formal decree granting Moscow permission to hold its parade — a move that reframed submission as sovereignty.
- Despite the announced ceasefire, Ukrainian forces struck a Lukoil refinery in Perm for the second straight day and hit oil infrastructure near Moscow, while Russian assaults on southeastern Ukraine continued at full intensity.
- Ukraine's air defense is approaching a breaking point — key batteries operating at half capacity, missile stocks so depleted that allies are being asked to supply as few as five to ten interceptors at a time.
- Russia has shifted to targeting small, dispersed power substations across Ukraine, a strategy that has proven devastatingly effective precisely because Ukraine cannot defend everywhere at once, with energy damage now estimated at $25 billion.
- With 12.7 million Ukrainians needing humanitarian aid and over 3,000 attacks on the healthcare system since 2022, the human cost accumulates beneath the diplomatic maneuvering as US envoys prepare to visit for renewed peace talks.
On the morning of May 9, 2026 — Russia's Victory Day — Volodymyr Zelenskyy issued a decree granting Moscow permission to hold its military parade in Red Square, specifying that Ukrainian weapons would not be deployed there. The proclamation was precise in its mockery. Russia had spent weeks demanding assurances that its celebration, already stripped of tanks and heavy hardware, would not be disrupted by Ukrainian drones. Zelenskyy, with evident satisfaction, simply granted the permission himself.
The three-day ceasefire announced that same day existed in a strange space. Fighting continued in the southeastern sector, where Russia claimed control of a village in Donetsk while Ukrainian forces struck the Lukoil refinery in Perm — 930 miles from Ukraine's border — for the second consecutive day. Ukrainian drones also hit an oil pumping station and a depot near Yaroslavl, and at least thirteen airports across southern Russia closed in response to the threat of further strikes.
Beneath the diplomatic theater lay a deepening crisis. Ukraine's air force disclosed critical shortages of air defense missiles following Russia's winter bombardment campaign, with some batteries operating at half capacity. Ukraine depends entirely on foreign supplies for missile interception, and with the United States simultaneously deploying Patriot systems in its operations alongside Israel against Iran, the supply bottleneck had forced Ukraine to request as few as five to ten missiles at a time from allies. Russia, meanwhile, had shifted strategy toward small, dispersed power substations — targets too numerous for Ukraine's depleted defenses to protect. The World Bank estimated $25 billion in damage to Ukraine's energy sector alone, with total reconstruction costs exceeding $90 billion.
The humanitarian toll was equally stark. The WHO reported more than 3,000 attacks on Ukraine's healthcare system since February 2022, with 12.7 million Ukrainians requiring humanitarian assistance. WHO Europe's director stated plainly that each such attack violated international law and could not be normalized.
Looking ahead, Zelenskyy said he expected Trump administration envoys to visit Ukraine within weeks to restart peace negotiations. Ukraine's lead negotiator had already held talks in the United States covering prisoner exchanges and security guarantees. On the night before the ceasefire began, Russia fired 67 drones — the lowest number in nearly a month — yet Zelenskyy reported hundreds of short-range drone attacks and ground assaults continuing regardless. The ceasefire was, in practice, a ceasefire in name only: the war grinding on at a slightly reduced tempo while Ukraine faced the harder question of how long its defenses could hold.
On the morning of May 9, 2026, Volodymyr Zelenskyy issued a formal decree. It granted Russia permission to hold its Victory Day military parade in Moscow. The proclamation was precise in its mockery: Red Square, it specified, would be excluded from any Ukrainian weapons deployment. The decree arrived as Ukraine and Russia announced a three-day ceasefire beginning that same day and extending through May 11.
The gesture was Zelenskyy's answer to weeks of Russian pressure. Moscow had been demanding assurances that its Victory Day celebration would not come under attack—a parade expected to be notably stripped of tanks, missiles, and heavy military hardware. Russian officials had warned of retaliation against Kyiv if drones so much as crossed Red Square's airspace. Zelenskyy, in his Monday remarks, had noted the obvious: the Kremlin feared Ukrainian drones might buzz overhead. His decree, issued with evident satisfaction, turned the tables on the demand for permission by granting it himself.
But the ceasefire existed in a strange space. On the ground, the fighting had not paused. Ukrainian forces reported that despite the announced truce, Russian assaults continued at full intensity in the southeastern sector where Kyiv's troops had recently reclaimed small patches of territory. The Russian defense ministry claimed control of the village of Kryva Luka in Donetsk's eastern reaches, though independent verification remained unavailable. Meanwhile, Ukraine's security service struck the Lukoil refinery in Perm for the second consecutive day—the third such attack in nine days—igniting a facility critical to Russia's primary oil processing capacity. The target lay roughly 930 miles from Ukraine's border. Ukrainian forces also hit an oil pumping station in the region and struck a Russian depot near Yaroslavl, about 125 miles northeast of Moscow. At least thirteen airports across southern Russia closed Friday morning due to the threat of further Ukrainian attacks.
The ceasefire's fragility was matched only by Ukraine's deepening vulnerability. The air force announced a critical shortage of air defense missiles after Russia's winter bombardment campaign. Certain units and batteries were running at half capacity or worse, with launchers holding only a handful of interceptors. Ukraine manufactures its own systems for downing long-range drones but depends entirely on foreign supplies for missile interception. The Patriot systems and Nasams and Iris-T platforms that form the backbone of Ukraine's air defense were increasingly stretched thin. The United States, meanwhile, was deploying the same Patriot systems extensively in its war alongside Israel against Iran, creating a supply bottleneck that forced Ukraine to request as few as five to ten missiles at a time from its allies.
The damage to Ukraine's energy infrastructure told the story of what those shortages meant. Russia had shifted its aerial strategy toward small power substations, using expanded drone capacity to disrupt the grid more systematically than ever before. Ukraine, unable to defend everything, concentrated its limited air defenses on major power plants and left the smaller facilities vulnerable. The World Bank estimated that Russia's bombardment had inflicted roughly $25 billion in damage to Ukraine's energy sector, with total reconstruction costs exceeding $90 billion. A London-based research group noted that Russia's focus on distributed targets—small substations scattered across the country—had proven devastatingly effective precisely because Ukraine lacked the defensive resources to protect them all.
The humanitarian toll extended far beyond infrastructure. The World Health Organization reported more than 3,000 attacks on Ukraine's healthcare system since the full-scale invasion began in February 2022. About eighty percent of those strikes hit outpatient clinics, hospitals, and care facilities. The remaining twenty percent targeted ambulances and other health vehicles. Hans Kluge, the director of WHO Europe, stated plainly that every such attack violated international humanitarian law and could not be normalized. The United Nations reported that 12.7 million Ukrainians required humanitarian assistance.
Zelenskyy, looking ahead, said he expected envoys from Donald Trump's administration to visit Ukraine within weeks to restart peace negotiations. Ukraine's lead negotiator, Rustem Umerov, had attended meetings in the United States that week, discussions touching on prisoner exchanges and security guarantees for Ukraine in any eventual settlement. The three-day ceasefire, then, appeared less a pause in the war than a moment in which the machinery of negotiation could turn. Russia had complained that Israeli authorities, responding to Ukrainian pressure, had turned away a grain shipment at Haifa—cargo that Ukraine claimed had been stolen from its occupied territories. Moscow said it regretted the decision. Kyiv called it a diplomatic victory.
On the night of May 8 into May 9, Russia fired 67 drones across Ukrainian territory—the lowest number in nearly a month. Zelenskyy reported hundreds of Russian attacks with short-range drones and attempted ground assaults. Russia's defense ministry countered that it had downed 264 Ukrainian drones and was responding symmetrically. The ceasefire, in other words, was a ceasefire in name only. The war continued at a slightly reduced tempo, both sides claiming the advantage, while Ukraine faced the harder question of how to sustain its defense when the missiles that kept it alive were running out.
Citas Notables
I hereby decree: to permit the holding of a parade in the city of Moscow on May 9, 2026.— Volodymyr Zelenskyy
Every one of these attacks is a violation of international humanitarian law. This cannot be normalised.— Hans Kluge, WHO Europe director
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Zelenskyy issue that decree about the parade? Was it just theater?
It was theater, but theater with teeth. Russia had been demanding assurances that its Victory Day wouldn't be attacked. Zelenskyy turned it around—he granted permission, as if Ukraine were the authority granting favors. It was a way of saying: we're not the ones asking for permission here.
But the ceasefire was real, wasn't it?
Real on paper. The three days were genuine. But fighting continued the whole time. Ukraine kept striking Russian oil refineries. Russia kept assaulting the frontline. A ceasefire that doesn't stop the fighting is more of a diplomatic signal than a military pause.
What's the actual crisis underneath all this?
Air defense missiles. Ukraine is running on fumes. They're asking allies for five or ten missiles at a time. Russia knows this. That's why it's shifted to attacking small power substations—targets Ukraine can't defend everything against. It's a war of attrition now, and Ukraine is losing the attrition.
Is the negotiation happening because Ukraine is weakening?
Probably partly. But also because Trump's people are coming. Zelenskyy is signaling openness to talks while still fighting. It's a delicate balance—you negotiate from strength, but you also negotiate when you're running out of ammunition.
What does victory look like for either side at this point?
That's the question no one can answer yet. Russia controls more territory than it did a year ago but hasn't achieved its objectives. Ukraine is still fighting but bleeding resources. The ceasefire, the decree, the negotiations—they're all ways of trying to find an off-ramp that doesn't look like surrender.