London:When news first leaked earlier this month that U.S. officials had drafted a far-reaching peace proposal for Ukraine conducted largely behind closed doors and, at least initially, without the full participation of Kyiv or its European partners, it detonated a political and diplomatic storm. More than three and a half years into Russia’s full-scale invasion, and after hundreds of thousands of casualties on both sides, the idea of a negotiated settlement is not in itself surprising. What shocked many was the substance of the 28-point document: a sweeping plan that drew heavily on Russian proposals submitted to the White House back in October, in which the Kremlin wants to freeze the conflict largely on Russia’s terms, reshape Ukraine’s security posture for years to come, and set the stage for Moscow’s re-entry into global diplomatic circles. Since then, the plan has been revised and trimmed down to 19 points in the version reportedly shared between Washington and Kyiv. But the core question remains the same: is this a roadmap to peace, or a blueprint for Ukrainian capitulation?
For months, rumours circulated of back-channel talks between American and Russian interlocutors. The plan emerged from those conversations, crafted at a time when U.S. policymakers were seeking to end a grinding war that had become politically divisive at home and strategically destabilising abroad. According to multiple reports, the early draft took shape before Ukraine’s leadership was fully briefed, an omission that immediately raised red flags among European allies. Germany, France, and the UK were said to be blindsided. Ukraine, already negotiating from a position of vulnerability, found itself presented with a blueprint that looked far from a genuine partnership. The optics were clear: Washington was trying to end the war; Moscow was happy to entertain terms that recognised many of its gains; and Kyiv, the country at the centre of the conflict, had limited say in the earliest stages.
The most contentious element of the U.S. draft concerned territory. In plain terms, the plan would accept the “de facto” control of Crimea and the entirety of Donetsk and Luhansk Oblasts by Russia, even those sections still held by Ukrainian forces. It stopped short of internationally recognising these areas as Russian, but the practical effect would be much the same: Ukraine would no longer contest those regions militarily or politically. Further south, the plan proposed freezing the front lines in Kherson and Zaporizhzhia, leaving those territories in a limbo not unlike the Korean Peninsula’s DMZ—heavily militarised, firmly divided, and politically ambiguous.
For many in Ukraine, this was not compromise, it was dismemberment and humiliation. The idea that a foreign power could draw new boundaries on Ukrainian soil, codifying Russia’s territorial gains, was seen as an affront to sovereignty and a reward for aggression. President Zelenskyy’s public reaction was cautious, but members of his government were more direct: “Ukraine will not legalise occupation,” one senior official told reporters.
If territorial concessions formed the backbone of the plan, the security arrangements provided the scaffolding around it. The draft proposed barring Ukraine from joining NATO, explicitly and permanently. There would be no future referendum on NATO, no phased path, and no ambiguity. In exchange, the United States and other Western partners would provide a new package of vague “security guarantees,” in which support for Ukraine would be robust but non-military; economic pressure on Russia would return if Moscow violated the ceasefire; and Ukraine would receive training and defensive tools, but no deployment of foreign forces on its soil. A separate element capped the size of Ukraine’s military at around 600,000 troops, though that number was later softened in revised drafts. Nevertheless, the principle remains; the plan would limit Ukraine’s ability to defend itself independently.
Critics immediately warned that this would create a security paradox. Ukraine would be stripped of its most credible defence option, NATO membership, while also being restricted from maintaining a large enough army to deter future attacks. Russia, meanwhile, would face no such constraints. European diplomats drew the obvious conclusion, claiming that the proposal amounted to “Ukraine’s neutrality forced at gunpoint.”
On the economic front, the plan offered Ukraine access to at least $100 billion in reconstruction funds, sourced partly from frozen Russian assets but also from Western contributions. It also proposed a phased reintegration of Russia into global economic structures, potentially opening the door to its return to what was once the G8. From Washington’s perspective, these measures were designed as an incentive package: Russia gains international legitimacy; Ukraine gets capital to rebuild; and the West gets a chance to stabilise the region and refocus on other priorities. For Kyiv, however, the maths looked different. Why, officials in Kyiv argued, should Russia regain economic stature without being held accountable for the deaths and damage inflicted on the people of Ukraine? Why should a country whose infrastructure, cities, and industrial bases which were relentlessly bombarded by Russia over a period of nearly four years be forced to accept reconstruction funds in exchange for territorial concessions?
For Europeans, especially Eastern Europeans, the prospect of welcoming Russia back into diplomatic clubs was unthinkable. Poland’s foreign minister, Oxford educated Radoslaw Sikorski, was blunt: “We cannot rebuild Europe by rewarding its aggressor,” he insisted.
The initial U.S. draft galvanised Europe. Within days, reports emerged that a coalition led by Britain, France, and Germany had produced a counter-proposal. This European version retained the desire for a ceasefire but emphasised Ukrainian sovereignty, rejected territorial concessions, and insisted on a non-aggression agreement underwritten by internationally binding mechanisms. It also strengthened the language on retained sanctions in the event of Russian non-compliance. For the first time since the war’s outset, Washington and its European allies were not entirely aligned—at least on paper. The U.S. plan sought a pragmatic settlement; the European plan sought a principled peace. Ukraine, for its part, praised the European document as “aligned with Ukrainian interests.”
Meanwhile, Russia’s public stance has been a masterclass in strategic vagueness. President Vladimir Putin has described the U.S. plan as “a possible foundation” for peace, but only after careful “analysis.” Putin is clearly playing Trump for time. His goals are to impede the enforcement of oil sanctions that came into force on 21 November and delay the adoption of the secondary sanctions bill at the U.S. House of Representatives. Russia has not committed to any version of the agreement, and it retains leverage simply by appearing open to negotiation. After all, every day the war continues, Ukraine expends ammunition, energy, and political capital. By praising the broad outline while withholding acceptance, Moscow increases pressure on Kyiv while positioning itself as the more “reasonable” actor in the eyes of global swing states.
The revised 19-point document, reportedly shaped by direct talks between U.S. and Ukrainian officials, remains largely unseen by the public. Leaks suggest that some of its harsher provisions, particularly military caps and certain territorial recognitions, have been softened. But it’s unclear how far the revisions go or whether they meaningfully alter the underlying geopolitical calculus. Peace plans live and die by what they can deliver, not what they promise, and at present, the fundamental tension remains unresolved. The U.S. wants a quick, stabilising settlement; Europe wants a just peace; Ukraine wants sovereignty and security; and Russia wants recognition of its conquests.
Any peace plan that leaves Ukraine territorially diminished, militarily constrained, and politically isolated is unlikely to gain broad support in Kyiv or Europe. Conversely, any plan requiring Russia to relinquish its territorial gains appears unacceptable to the Kremlin.
That is the core dilemma. For now, the U.S.-drafted proposal is a political document in search of a viable constituency, an ambitious attempt to end a war without resolving the forces that caused it. Whether it becomes the foundation of a final settlement or joins the long archive of broken Eurasian peace drafts will depend on forces far larger than paper. It will be contingent on battlefield momentum, shifting political winds in Washington, Russia’s internal stability and, crucially, Ukraine’s extraordinary resolve.
On Tuesday, Moscow delivered the clearest possible response to Trump’s peace proposal by firing 22 missiles and sending more than 460 drones to attack targets in Ukraine, killing seven civilians. What is also clear is that the quest for peace—real, sustainable peace—remains as fraught as the war itself.
John Dobson is a former British diplomat, who also worked in UK Prime Minister John Major’s office between 1995 and 1998. He is currently a visiting fellow at the University of Plymouth.
