We will not leave and we will not go out from our territory
On the 1,566th day of a war that has reshaped Europe's moral geography, Ukraine's president confirmed that Roman Abramovich — oligarch, former football magnate, and now reluctant envoy — had arrived in Kyiv bearing an offer to carry words between Zelenskyy and Putin. The backchannel exists, but the distance it must bridge remains as vast as ever: one side demands territory, the other refuses to yield it, and between them civilians continue to die under skies that neither diplomacy nor air defence has yet learned to protect.
- Zelenskyy publicly confirmed Abramovich visited Kyiv to serve as a direct conduit to Putin, breaking the oligarch's preferred condition of 'silent' negotiations.
- Ukraine's message through the backchannel was unequivocal — no territorial concessions, no withdrawal, no victory for Russia — while simultaneously demanding face-to-face talks with Putin himself.
- Russian strikes killed at least five civilians over the weekend, targeted a Chornobyl nuclear fuel storage facility, and crossed into Moldovan airspace, signalling a widening and increasingly reckless aerial campaign.
- Ukraine's air defences are critically strained after US stockpiles were depleted in the Iran war, leaving cities exposed to ballistic missiles even as Kyiv's forces intercept most drones.
- Zelenskyy met British, French, and German leaders in London, extracting a joint statement on the 'urgent need' for interceptor production — but no funding, no timelines, no binding commitments followed.
- The diplomatic thread is real but fragile: Abramovich has returned to a mediating role he abandoned after the invasion's failed early peace talks, yet the fundamental territorial impasse remains entirely unresolved.
On day 1,566 of the war, Zelenskyy revealed that Roman Abramovich had quietly slipped into Kyiv with an unusual offer: to carry messages directly to Vladimir Putin. Speaking to Sky News, the Ukrainian president described the encounter plainly — the oligarch wanted a 'silent' channel, no public announcements, just a discreet back-and-forth between the two capitals.
What Zelenskyy sent back was unambiguous. He told Abramovich to relay that Ukraine would not leave its territory, would not hand Russia a victory, and that he still demanded a direct meeting with Putin. Zelenskyy insisted the visit was not secret, even as the Kremlin's preference for silence suggested otherwise. Abramovich, sanctioned by the UK for his ties to Putin's regime, offered no comment.
His reappearance as a negotiator was notable — he had played a visible role in the invasion's failed opening-weeks diplomacy before vanishing from view. His return hinted that someone in Moscow still believed dialogue held value. Yet the core obstacle remained: Putin's demand for the Donbas, and Ukraine's flat refusal to concede it.
The military reality made diplomacy feel almost distant. Russian drones and missiles killed at least five civilians over the weekend — two at a transport stop in Zaporizhzhia, a minibus driver, a man in Dnipro. A drone also struck a spent nuclear fuel storage facility near Chornobyl; the structure was empty, but the choice of target seemed deliberate. Moldova reported Russian drones crossing its airspace, and one struck a residence in the Romanian border city of Galati.
Ukraine's exposure stemmed partly from depleted US air defence stocks following the Iran war, leaving cities vulnerable to ballistic missiles. The crisis was urgent enough that Zelenskyy flew to London to meet the leaders of Britain, France, and Germany. Their joint statement acknowledged the need to scale up interceptor production and develop anti-ballistic capabilities — but offered no funding, no deadlines, and no concrete plan.
The backchannel through Abramovich remained open, a thin thread stretched between two positions that had not moved. Ukraine would not surrender its land. Russia would not stop until it held the Donbas. Somewhere between those fixed points, an oligarch was being asked to carry messages that neither side had yet shown any willingness to truly receive.
On day 1,566 of the war, Volodymyr Zelenskyy broke his silence about a visitor who had slipped into Kyiv with an unusual proposal: Roman Abramovich, the Russian billionaire and former Chelsea owner, had come to Ukraine's capital offering to carry messages directly to Vladimir Putin. Speaking to Sky News, Zelenskyy described the encounter with precision. Abramovich had told him plainly: "I am messaging direct to you. And I want to take a message from you and give it to Putin." But there was a condition attached. The oligarch insisted the channel remain what he called "silent"—no public announcements, no visibility, just a quiet back-and-forth between Kyiv and Moscow.
What Zelenskyy chose to send back through this backchannel was unambiguous. "You are fighting against us on our territory," he told Abramovich to relay. "We will not leave and we will not go out from our territory. No, we will not give you victory." The Ukrainian president also reiterated his demand for a face-to-face meeting with Putin himself. Zelenskyy framed the Kyiv visit as something the Russians themselves wanted—a chance to understand what Ukraine might be willing to do. He stressed the meeting was not secret, though the Kremlin's interest in keeping it quiet suggested otherwise. Abramovich, who has faced UK sanctions over his ties to Putin's regime, offered no comment on the visit.
The oligarch's reappearance as a negotiator marked a shift. He had played a visible role in failed peace efforts during the invasion's opening weeks but had largely disappeared from view since. His return to the table now, however tentatively, suggested someone in Moscow still believed dialogue might be possible. Yet the fundamental gap remained unbridged. Putin had made clear Russia would not stop fighting until Ukraine surrendered the Donbas—the Donetsk and Luhansk regions—a demand Zelenskyy's message had just flatly rejected.
Meanwhile, the military situation was deteriorating in ways that made diplomacy feel almost abstract. On Sunday, Russian drones and missiles struck across Ukraine with devastating effect. At least five civilians died: two in a bombardment of a public transport stop in Zaporizhzhia, a 56-year-old minibus driver killed in a nearby drone strike, and a 59-year-old man in Dnipro. Russia's defence ministry claimed its air defences had downed 500 Ukrainian drones in the previous 24 hours, though the toll on Ukrainian civilians suggested Moscow's own aerial campaign was far from contained.
The targeting had grown more brazen. A Russian drone struck a storage facility for spent nuclear fuel near the Chornobyl power plant over the weekend. The structure happened to be empty of containers at the time, but the choice of target appeared deliberate—a message sent through ordnance. As long-range aerial strikes intensified on both sides, high-profile locations had become fair game.
Ukraine's vulnerability to this onslaught stemmed partly from a shortage of air defence systems. US stocks had been depleted during the Iran war, leaving Kyiv's civilians especially exposed to ballistic missiles, even as Ukrainian forces managed to intercept most of Moscow's drones and made gains elsewhere on the battlefield. The problem had become urgent enough that Zelenskyy met with the leaders of Britain, France, and Germany in London on Sunday to discuss it directly. The three nations issued a joint statement acknowledging "the urgent need to scale up the production of interceptors and co-develop anti-ballistic missile and deep strike capabilities." But the statement offered no details on funding, timelines, or concrete commitments—only the acknowledgment that something had to change.
Zelenskyy was scheduled to meet King Charles on Monday, continuing a diplomatic push aimed at securing the weapons Ukraine needed to survive. Across the border, Moldova's President Maia Sandu watched the escalation with alarm, noting that her own country needed high-technology interceptor drones and new laws to manufacture them. Russian drones had already crossed into Moldovan airspace repeatedly; one had struck a residence in the Romanian city of Galati near the border, injuring two people. For Moldova, seeking EU membership by 2030, the war next door had become an urgent security crisis of its own.
The backchannel through Abramovich remained open, but it was a thin thread. Zelenskyy had made Ukraine's position clear: no territorial concessions, no surrender, a demand for direct talks with Putin. Russia had made its position equally clear: the fighting would continue until Donbas was secured. Between those two immovable positions, a billionaire oligarch was being asked to carry messages that neither side seemed willing to truly hear.
Notable Quotes
He came to Kyiv. He said 'I am messaging direct to you. And I want to take a message from you and give it to Putin.' But he said it has to be silent without any kind of public messages.— Volodymyr Zelenskyy, speaking to Sky News
You are fighting against us on our territory. We will not leave and we will not go out from our territory, no we will not give you victory.— Zelenskyy's message to Putin via Abramovich
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would Abramovich risk coming to Kyiv at all? He's sanctioned, isolated. What does he gain?
That's the question, isn't it. He's not gaining anything material. But he may believe he's the only person Putin will actually listen to—someone with real access, real history. And maybe he thinks preventing total war is worth the risk to his reputation.
Zelenskyy said the meeting wasn't secret. But Abramovich wanted it silent. Those seem contradictory.
Not really. Zelenskyy means the Ukrainians didn't hide it—they're being transparent about the fact that talks happened. But Abramovich wanted no press, no announcement, no signal to Moscow that he was negotiating. He wanted plausible deniability.
What does Zelenskyy's message actually accomplish? Putin has already said what he wants.
It doesn't accomplish much militarily. But it's a refusal to negotiate under duress. It tells Moscow: you can't bomb us into surrender. And it keeps a door open, however narrow, for future talks on Ukraine's terms.
The drone strikes killing civilians—does that make diplomacy even possible?
It makes it harder, yes. Every death hardens positions. But wars don't end without talking eventually. The question is whether anyone is willing to talk before the killing stops, or only after.
Why does Moldova matter in this story?
Because it shows the war's reach. Ukraine isn't isolated. Every neighbor is watching, calculating their own security. If Ukraine falls or is forced to concede, Moldova knows it could be next.