In the eyes of Western observers, Putin is often portrayed as a wild, uncontrollable beast — which, in reality, is not entirely accurate.

At least one of Putin’s rumored and illegitimate children, Elizabeth Rudnova, lives in Europe — the very Europe that Russian propaganda paints as the “true aggressor,” pushing poor Ukraine into war against Russia. And, as you might guess, this child is far from the only relative of the Russian elite residing comfortably on the liberal side of the old Iron Curtain.

Putin’s relationship with his “Western partners” (a favorite phrase of his before the full-scale invasion) was once described by an opposition journalist in exile, who claimed that after speaking with Trump, Putin supposedly kept bowing to the telephone for another 15 minutes. Apocryphal or not, such stories feed the perception that the collective West exerts influence over him.

One of the most striking examples often cited is the supposed voluntary withdrawal of Russian troops from Kyiv and other occupied regions at the very beginning of the war. Putin repeatedly explained this move as an attempt to avoid heavy bloodshed after receiving calls from European leaders, who, he claimed, argued that Ukraine could not sign a peace agreement under such conditions. Later, he bitterly complained that he had been deceived — that instead of a lasting peace, the West began supplying even more weapons to Ukraine.

Another sign of what some might interpret as an unspoken “code of honor” is the apparent untouchability of certain Ukrainian high-ranking officials during the war. Russian missile and drone strikes have repeatedly hit residential areas in Kyiv and other cities, causing extensive civilian damage. Yet there is little publicly available evidence of similar attacks on the elite suburbs outside Kyiv — areas such as Koncha-Zaspa, home to many of Ukraine’s political aristocracy. These multimillion-dollar estates, often far out of proportion to their owners’ official salaries, lie at roughly the same distance from the capital as the tragically famous Bucha. Whether by coincidence or design, there are few, if any, confirmed cases of an MP’s or former president’s home being hit — including those belonging to members of the current administration.

Putin often complains about the West sending massive amounts of weapons to Ukraine. Ukraine is split by the massive Dnipro River, and much of the equipment headed to the eastern front must cross it via bridges. Commercial air traffic is virtually non-existent during wartime, so these crossings are key arteries for military logistics. Russia has shown it can strike with precision deep inside Ukrainian territory — even penetrating Kyiv’s air defenses with long-range missiles — and it has damaged or destroyed some bridges, such as the Antonivka crossing near Kherson. Yet the main supply routes over the Dnipro remain usable, keeping Ukraine’s lifeline to the front intact. The question lingers: for a military that claims to be so fearsome, why has Russia not made the destruction of these supply lines more of a priority?

These reasons are enough to start talking about the true beneficiaries of the war — chief among them, the same “conversation partner” engaging Putin in high-profile talks in Alaska.

Of course, Putin has to “save face.” He must maintain his role as the ultimate villain of our time — a modern composite of Hitler’s image. Naturally, he can’t openly grovel before Trump in front of the cameras. But the structural advantages remain clear.

The U.S. has effectively cut Europe off from Russian oil and gas — pivoting to U.S.-supplied LNG and crude by tanker, a shift that began even before the current administration. Meanwhile, under Trump, Washington strongly encouraged European allies to keep buying American-made weapons to support Ukraine. Though not mandatory, these deals — often brokered through NATO coordination — have favored U.S. suppliers and come without noticeable discounts.

As a further layer, the April 2025 U.S.–Ukraine Minerals Agreement created a jointly managed reconstruction fund linked to Ukraine’s natural resources. While Ukraine retains full ownership and control over extraction, the U.S. now holds privileged access and influence.

Europe can accuse Putin of war crimes all it wants, but recognition of Russia as an aggressor ultimately hinges on Washington. The U.S. can suspend its own sanctions at will — even to clear the way for a Putin visit. Both Western and Russian media cast him as an unhinged dictator, yet in truth the tail is wagging the dog — and in this case, the “tail” is another nuclear power: the United States.

This isn’t the first time we’ve seen such a dynamic. After World War II, the collapse of Europe’s empires left one dominant power — the United States, now the self-styled world’s policeman. Its geography gives it a rare advantage: no borders with serious rivals (and Cuba hardly counts), creating a protected environment in which to consolidate and project its “axis of democracy” worldwide.

Choosing Alaska as the venue is an ironic reminder of America’s invulnerability. Even in the most extreme scenario — a public “thrashing” of Putin followed by a walkout — the outcome still favors Washington. Likewise, if an agreement emerges, it will be on U.S. terms. It’s a textbook example of structuring the game so that every plausible outcome serves your own interests. Peace or no peace, America profits.

Trump’s latest claim almost reads like a joke: that Putin’s generals could have taken Kyiv in four hours but got lost in the maps and chose the longest routes, dragging the war out for three years. It’s hard not to chuckle. Who better than Trump to know it wasn’t faulty navigation but Western intervention that stopped Russia from seizing the capital — just as, in the early years of the war, it prevented Ukraine from striking inside Russian territory.

It’s a reminder of how real power works: shaping outcomes by setting the limits of both sides’ actions and controlling the narratives around them. Trump’s quip feeds a story of Russian blunder, but beneath it lies a different reality — one in which Washington’s choices define the battlefield as much as the combatants themselves. As sharp Ukrainian analysts like to say, “The locals’ problems don’t concern the pale-faced.”