There is much scepticism, on all sides, about the possibility of a breakthrough in Donald Trump’s diplomacy to end the Ukraine war. Elite opinion seems to have already passed its verdict: The Alaska summit a triumph for Putin, who scored a PR win, took European ceasefire demands off the table and got a reprieve from further US sanctions – while Trump got nothing. The Russians, we are told, remain inflexible in their maximalistic demands and the talks are going nowhere. But is that true?
The fact that negotiations still continue, in private, is likely a sign that there remains scope for progress. Critics like to point out that this is merely a Russian delaying tactic, that they never intended to compromise and that Putin just wants to fight on. But the American negotiators would also be aware of this scenario; yet they clearly have reasons to keep talking to the Russians. And the reasons can only be that, however intractable the problems at hand, some creative solutions must also be in play; they often are, in big negotiations. You have to think outside the box.
Some unexpected proposals have already cropped up. The possibility of Chinese peacekeepers is rumoured to have been discussed. An American-backed army of private military contractors – mercenaries – is now mooted as an alternative to NATO boots on the ground, in order to guarantee Ukrainian post-war security. And there is a suggestion for establishing a 40km-wide (some say, up to 100km) ‘buffer zone’ when the fighting stops. The search for an agreement is very much on, despite whatever else is happening on the battlefield or off it.
Incidentally, both the Chinese angle and the demilitarised zone (DMZ) idea were put forward in this very column exactly two years ago. In that article I argued that any enduring peace deal for Ukraine would require five elements. First, a territorial settlement. Second, Ukrainian neutrality and EU membership. Third, a DMZ “on an unprecedented scale – perhaps tens or even hundreds of kilometres in width”. Fourth, an arms control treaty perhaps on the level of the 1990s Treaty on Conventional Armed Forces in Europe. Finally, a UN-led peacekeeping mission, the largest ever, perhaps over 60,000 troops. Crucially, it would need to include allies of both Ukraine and of Russia – hence the Chinese peacekeepers point.
Of all these, the territorial deal is arguably the trickiest. Questions of land rights and possession evoke the deepest and oldest passions in a nation and carry a unique psychological and political charge. It is no surprise that this is what appears to be the principal difficulty in the negotiations, with the security guarantees for Ukraine a close second. How could any Ukrainian leader accept to part with national territory after so many sacrifices?
Emotions aside, the problem is straightforward. Aside from Crimea, in October 2022 Russia formally annexed four Ukrainian regions. It doesn’t control them fully: it occupies almost all of Lugansk, about 70 per cent of Donetsk and Zaporozhye, and about 60 per cent of Kherson. The Russians also hold other smaller bits of Ukraine, but only the four regions are subject to explicit legal and political claims. There is also the Crimea, but its loss since 2014 is now widely accepted de facto and does not appear to be a particular stumbling block in the current talks.
Under Russian if not international law, the four regions are now Russian territory. Moreover, even before the war in 2020 Russia adopted a constitutional amendment which forbids the ceding of any territory once it has been declared part of Russia. So Moscow formally insists on Ukraine vacating the four annexed oblasts completely as part of any peace deal, irrespective of where the frontline is. It is an absurd situation, but we are where we are.
Unquestionably, the only way through this is some kind of fudge or “creative solution”. Neither side can give in openly on this point and recognise the other’s claim on the oblasts or renounce its own. Given its weaker position, Ukraine may accept a de facto territorial split based on the existing frontline, in the name of “battlefield reality”. But it couldn’t accept handing over unoccupied territory to the enemy, even in a “land swap” deal for other areas held by Russia in Sumy or Kharkov, as proposed by President Trump.
In Russia’s case there is likely more flexibility on this point. It might have more wriggle room, even under its own legal terms, than it appears. Relenting on the rest-of-Donetsk demand, for example, could be presented by Moscow as just “border adjustment” of an oblast rather than full territorial cessation.
Interestingly, the individual annexation laws signed by Putin with each of the four regions leave the issue of their exact territorial extent unclear. They only refer to the “borders existing on the date of acceptance” into Russia and “date of formation” as administrative units of Russia (two separate things). There is also to be a “transitional” period up to 1 January 2026 for full incorporation, potentially meaning a window in which borders are not legally defined. Global opinion seems to think Moscow’s acts of annexation create clear and irrevocable facts. Russia’s own legal texts suggest otherwise, although this might not mean much since the issue is fundamentally political not legal.
Even if the Russians hold to their own legal maximalism, however, there are other options for fudging the issue. Shocking as it may sound in an age of sovereignist populism, “sovereignty” with respect to territorial governance and authority is a much laxer term than most people imagine. While the idea of sovereign states existing within sovereign borders is the norm in international relations, there are many deviations from this ideal model. And most of them are likewise rooted in the quest to solve past wars.
They range from the post-WWI League of Nations Mandates such as the Mandate of Palestine or the Saar, to free cities (like Danzig), international zones (old Tangier), or condominiums (e.g. the Brčko District in Bosnia, formed in 1999 with sovereignty shared by Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Serbia). There are also treaty-based special regimes (e.g. Svalbard, Antarctica), leased territories, a whole variety of DMZ arrangements, and so on. Anything is possible under the make-believe “framework” of international law, and some of this may be applied in Ukraine.
But realistically, given the circumstances, there seems to be only one kind of potential sustainable solution to the problem of the unoccupied parts of the four oblasts that Russia claims and Ukraine (rightly) does not want to give up. That is to create a vast DMZ of over 60km of either side of the frontline under some kind of international control regime and security. This width would broadly cover the remaining distance from existing Russian lines to the inner Ukrainian borders of Donetsk, Zaporozhye and Kherson. Moscow would not technically cede back to Ukraine any territory it annexed; nor would Kiev actually be letting the Russians march into currently unoccupied territory.
Finding a compromise agreement across all elements required for a peace deal in Ukraine – under present conditions – is probably one of the complicated tasks in the history of modern statecraft. Success will come only by thinking outside the box and being prepared to entertain never-before-seen solutions. It’s still all to play for.
Lessons from Minsk II for the Ukraine peace talks