Russia is vulnerable, and Ukraine's campaign is working
Vladimir Putin's call for peace negotiations with Ukraine this week is less a gesture of statesmanship than a confession of strain — his refineries are burning, his supply lines are fracturing, and the territorial deal he believed he had secured with Washington appears to have dissolved. What began as a war of imperial ambition in February 2022 has become, four years on, a test of whether an empire can sustain losses it cannot publicly acknowledge. The moment reveals an old truth: that the powerful rarely seek the table until the battlefield has humbled them.
- Russia is losing approximately 35,000 soldiers per month, with the heaviest toll falling on minority regions of the federation — a demographic wound that carries the memory of imperial collapse.
- Ukrainian missile strikes on oil refineries and logistics infrastructure have forced emergency fuel rationing in Sevastopol and pushed Moscow to consider banning diesel exports entirely.
- The Kremlin's expected territorial dividend from the Anchorage summit has evaporated as Trump moves closer to NATO allies and meets Zelensky at the G7, leaving Russian officials sounding publicly wounded.
- Russia is waging a parallel destabilization campaign across the West — infrastructure sabotage, electoral interference, and industrial-scale disinformation — even as its own internal cohesion frays.
- Ukraine's Western allies now face a defining choice: negotiate on Moscow's terms while Russia is weakened, or intensify support to collapse Russian logistics before a ceasefire locks in territorial losses.
Vladimir Putin's call this week for peace talks with Ukraine is not a sign of confidence — it is an admission that the war is going badly. His oil refineries are being struck by Ukrainian missiles. His supply lines are broken. Airports are closed. In Sevastopol, the governor has imposed emergency curfews on public transport and commerce as fuel shortages bite into what Russia considers its most prized territorial gain.
The timing is telling. When Putin complained that Ukrainian attacks on oil infrastructure were designed to 'destabilise society,' he was inadvertently confirming that Kyiv's strategy is working. The Kremlin had believed it had secured a favorable settlement through last year's Anchorage summit with Donald Trump — an understanding that would deliver Moscow roughly a fifth of Ukrainian territory. That understanding has since collapsed. Trump, who once inflated the cost of American military aid to Ukraine and cut it for much of his term, now appears to be realigning with NATO allies. His meeting with Zelensky at the G7 left Kremlin officials visibly stung. Sergei Lavrov called the summit an American 'ploy to buy time.' A Kremlin aide complained that only Russia had honored the deal.
Trump, observers note, gravitates toward winners. For eighteen months, Russia appeared to be one. Now, with Ukraine dominating the Black Sea and positioning itself as a useful partner to American Gulf allies through anti-drone technology, the calculus is shifting. Russia's parallel campaign to destabilize the West — through infrastructure sabotage, disinformation, and apparent interference in British politics — continues, but it has not reversed the momentum.
The deeper danger for Putin is internal. Casualties at 35,000 per month, drawn disproportionately from Ingushetia, Dagestan, Tatarstan, and other non-Russian regions of the federation, risk producing exactly the kind of defeated, embittered army that helped bring down the tsar after World War I. Putin's empire is held together by the perception of strength. A fracturing military could fracture the federation itself.
Western allies now face a consequential decision: accept negotiations that freeze Russian territorial gains, or recognize that Putin's own words have revealed a vulnerability — and press it.
Vladimir Putin's sudden call for peace talks with Ukraine this week amounts to an admission that Russia's war is not going as planned. The Russian president, who launched a full-scale invasion in February 2022, is now asking to return to the negotiating table—a reversal that speaks volumes about the military pressure he faces. His oil refineries are burning under Ukrainian missile strikes. His supply lines are fractured. The airports he relies on are shuttered. Public enthusiasm for the war, once manufactured by state media, has grown harder to sustain.
The timing of Putin's pivot reveals what he himself has inadvertently confirmed: Ukraine's campaign against Russian logistics is working. When he complained this week that Kyiv's attacks on oil infrastructure and supply operations were designed to "destabilise society," he was essentially describing a strategy that is succeeding. The Kremlin's frustration is palpable. Mikhail Razvozhayev, the Russian-appointed governor of Sevastopol, announced emergency measures including shutting down public transport at 10pm and closing shops and cafes at 8pm—fuel shortages are beginning to cripple what Russia considers its greatest prize in Ukraine.
But Putin's desperation runs deeper than damaged refineries. He believed he had secured a deal with Donald Trump at an Anchorage summit last year—an understanding, as Kremlin officials describe it, that would give Moscow control of roughly 20 percent of Ukrainian territory in exchange for peace. That agreement, from Moscow's perspective, has evaporated. Trump, who cut military aid to Kyiv for much of his previous term and inflated the cost of American support by claiming it was $300 billion when it was closer to $120 billion, now appears to be moving closer to NATO allies rather than toward Russia. This week, as Trump met with Zelensky at the G7, Kremlin officials sounded wounded. Sergei Lavrov, Russia's foreign minister, suggested the Anchorage summit had been an American "ploy to buy time to rearm the Kyiv regime." Yuri Ushakov, a Kremlin aide, complained that only Russia had honored the supposed understanding.
The shift in American policy matters because Trump, as one observer noted, likes to back a winner. For eighteen months, he backed Russia. Now, with Ukraine gaining complete dominance of the Black Sea and forcing Moscow to consider banning diesel exports after refineries were hit by long-range missiles, the calculus may be changing. Trump has also been distracted by his conflict with Iran, a development that has paradoxically boosted Ukraine's standing—Kyiv offered anti-drone defenses to American allies in the Gulf, positioning itself as a useful partner rather than a liability.
Meanwhile, Russia has been waging a parallel campaign of destabilization against the West itself. When Britain's defense secretary John Healey and his deputy resigned over inadequate military funding, contributing to the collapse of Keir Starmer's government, the Kremlin celebrated. Kirill Dmitriev, Moscow's main envoy to the United States, posted on social media that Russia had played a role in exposing what he called Starmer's failures. Beyond electoral interference, Russia has sabotaged infrastructure across Europe and the UK with bombs and arson. On social media, it leads the world in disinformation—spreading lies about London being a crime hotbed when violent crime in the capital is actually at its lowest point in decades.
Yet Russia itself is being hollowed out by the war it started. Casualties are running at approximately 35,000 per month, with disproportionate losses coming from non-Russian regions of the federation—Ingushetia, Dagestan, Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, Sakha, Tuva, and Buryatia are supplying vast numbers of the men being killed. This is the historical nightmare that haunts Putin: a defeated army returning home to destabilize the empire. It happened after World War I, when Russian forces returned from ignominy and helped topple the tsar. The federation that Putin rules—an empire run from Moscow—could fracture if its constituent regions lose faith in the Kremlin's ability to protect them.
Ukraine's Western allies now face a choice. They can accept Putin's call for negotiations based on territorial concessions and Ukrainian military weakness, the path many in the British Foreign Office and some military officers advocated for when Ukraine appeared to be losing. Or they can recognize what Putin himself has revealed: that Russia is vulnerable, that Ukraine's campaign is working, and that sustained support could break Russian logistics entirely rather than merely freeze the front lines. A collapsed Russian army is dangerous to the men in the Kremlin. Putin knows this. The question is whether the West will seize the moment he has inadvertently created.
Notable Quotes
Russia is ready for peace negotiations with Ukraine, on the basis of agreements reached in Istanbul— Vladimir Putin, Monday statement
The other side has not been fully able to do its part, referring to the US not honoring the Anchorage understanding— Yuri Ushakov, Kremlin aide
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would Putin ask for peace talks now if Russia still believes it can win?
Because he can't sustain the war as it is. His refineries are burning, his supply lines are broken, and he's losing 35,000 soldiers a month. He's not negotiating from strength—he's negotiating because the alternative is collapse.
But didn't Trump promise him something at Anchorage? Why would that deal fall apart?
Trump did seem to offer territorial concessions. But Trump also likes backing winners. When Ukraine started winning—dominating the Black Sea, hitting Russian infrastructure—Trump's calculation shifted. He's distracted by Iran now, and Ukraine made itself useful by offering him anti-drone defenses for his Gulf allies.
So this is really about Trump changing his mind?
It's about Trump seeing which way the wind is blowing. But it's also about Ukraine actually winning on the battlefield. Putin wouldn't be pleading for talks if his army wasn't being bled dry and his logistics weren't collapsing.
What happens if the West accepts his offer?
Ukraine gets frozen in place, weakened, and Russia keeps what it's stolen. In a few years, Putin tries again. The alternative is to finish what Ukraine has started—break Russian logistics completely and force a real collapse.
Is that even possible?
Ukraine is already doing it with medium-range strikes inside occupied territory. With sustained Western support, yes. The question is whether the West has the stomach for it, or whether it will take the easier path of a negotiated settlement that leaves the threat alive.
What's the risk of pushing Russia too hard?
A defeated army is dangerous. Soldiers come home angry. Minority regions of the Russian federation—Ingushetia, Dagestan, others—might rise against Moscow. But that's a problem for Putin to manage, not the West's responsibility to prevent.