Trump and Zelensky at Loggerheads Despite Oslo Peace Talks

In Oslo this week, Steve Witkoff, Donald Trump's envoy, embraced Volodymyr Zelensky before their scheduled talks. Zelensky posted the moment to social media with a message about working for peace and thanking partners for their support. The gesture was meant to signal alignment. But the hug could not undo what had happened in the ten days prior—a cascade of decisions and statements that had left the Ukrainian leader questioning whether the American president still regarded him as anything resembling an ally.

The two men have never been comfortable with each other. Their relationship has always carried friction. But this month the temperature dropped sharply. Trump told Newsmax that Zelensky was "not a good guy for us to deal with." When a reporter asked his view of Zelensky's position on a proposed diesel deal with Russia, Trump dismissed him outright: "Zelensky doesn't know what he's talking about." These are not the words of a patient negotiator. They are the words of someone signaling displeasure to an audience. Yet with Trump, such rhetoric can be difficult to parse. In June he had attacked Israel's prime minister with crude language, only to reverse course four months later and call him a great warrior. As one analyst at the Centre for European Reform noted, Trump could always execute another reversal. But this, he added, looked bad.

Zelensky, by contrast, had mostly restrained himself. He is dependent on American support and knows it. But this month his frustration broke through. Speaking to a congressional delegation, he referenced "decisions on the American side that are hard to explain between friends" and voiced a fear that political calculations in Washington had led to a deliberate slowdown in aid. When Trump accused him of being the main obstacle to peace, Zelensky responded with visible exasperation, writing on Telegram that Ukraine had welcomed "literally EVERY attempt" by partners to end the war with dignity.

The substance behind the rhetoric was alarming. Earlier this month, as Ukrainian negotiators arrived in Miami to meet with Trump's envoys, the president announced a deal with Vladimir Putin to open American markets to Russian diesel. The move was framed as a way to lower US petrol prices ahead of congressional elections, but to Kyiv it read as a signal: Washington was willing to strike bargains with Moscow, and it was displeased with Ukraine's campaign of long-range strikes on Russian oil refineries. Two days before sanctions on Russia were set to take effect under legislation named after the late senator Lindsey Graham—a vocal Ukraine supporter—Trump waived them. He said the sanctions would complicate his peace efforts. For Ukraine and its backers, it was another indication that the White House was tilting toward the Kremlin. A former US ambassador to Kyiv told the BBC the pattern was clear: carrots for Russia, sticks for Ukraine.

The restrictions on military aid compounded the damage. Patriot air defense missiles, desperately needed to intercept Russian ballistic missiles, had slowed to a trickle due to global shortages and what Ukrainian officials described as deliberate delays by the Trump administration in approving transfers from American allies. According to the Washington Post, citing an unnamed Ukrainian official, only a couple of Patriot interceptors remained in Ukraine's stockpile. Separately, allegations emerged—unconfirmed by US officials—that the administration had restricted the flow of American satellite intelligence and interfered with Ukraine's access to Elon Musk's Starlink satellite internet. The timing was particularly damaging. Russia had escalated its drone and missile campaign against Ukrainian cities. On October 12, five Russian S-400 missiles struck Kyiv reportedly before air raid sirens sounded, a failure Zelensky attributed to missing early warning from US intelligence. When asked about the intelligence pause, Secretary of State Marco Rubio blamed a software problem. On Starlink, he denied any White House order to throttle service. Yet the frequency with which such suspicions surfaced pointed to a deeper erosion of trust.

The roots of Trump's mistrust run deep. A decade ago, he had become convinced Ukraine interfered in his 2016 campaign, a belief without foundation. When Zelensky became president, Trump pressed him to investigate election interference claims. During a July 2019 phone call, Trump also asked Zelensky to investigate Joe Biden. Zelensky refused both times. The White House was withholding $391 million in military assistance at the moment of that second request—a juxtaposition that led to Trump's first impeachment. Whether that resentment still shapes his current policy is unclear. What is clear is that the relationship has lurched downward again.

After the Oslo talks, Witkoff was heading to St. Petersburg to present updated proposals to Putin. Norway's prime minister said the discussions had helped "straighten out a few things." Zelensky indicated that the early warning issue had been resolved and expressed optimism about Patriot supplies and Starlink access. "I think we will have good results too," he said. Yet the optimism felt fragile, a diplomatic courtesy extended in a moment of deep uncertainty. Zelensky and Trump appeared once again to be at odds, and the stakes—for Ukraine, for Europe, for the shape of the post-war order—could not be higher.