In Geneva at the end of November, when the United States and Ukraine announced a “renewed and refined peace framework,” many people breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that the transnational scandal surrounding the raw document – which, just a week earlier, had pulled everything out of context, from amnesties to abandoning NATO – had finally passed. Newspapers wrote about a “correction,” diplomats spoke of “more precise language,” and advisors emphasized that all of this was merely a working stage. But the truth is that the problem was never the wording. The real issue lay behind the scenes: the red lines turned out to be blurred not only in the draft that had provoked outrage, but also in the minds of those expected to articulate them.
Strangely, the world in such moments begins to resemble a hall of mirrors. In Geneva, diplomats speculate about what Ukraine considers non-negotiable. In Kyiv, they try to guess what Washington truly wants. Across Europe, governments attempt to decode signals from both capitals without compromising their own interests. And Ukrainians – both in Ukraine and abroad – hold one simple but immovable truth: no Ukrainian territory can be recognized as Russian. Not temporarily. Not de facto. Not as part of any transitional arrangement. Everything else can be discussed, but not this. And this is precisely the truth that makes the upcoming negotiations so fragile.
The Geneva meeting, which was meant to fix a disastrous start, exposed the core problem: most “red lines” are not being spoken aloud. The government does not want to appear unreliable. The opposition does not want to look like traitors. Diplomats do not want to create the impression of a hard position they may later struggle to defend. The active segment of society is afraid even to form an opinion: say it out loud – and accusations of “concessions” will follow immediately. Everything rests on an unspoken agreement not to call things by their names.
And this creates a terribly convenient vacuum for everyone at the negotiating table. Wherever Ukrainians remain silent, someone else will speak instead. Not necessarily enemies. It may be an ally with a different goal and a different political calendar. In Washington, the main objective is to end the conflict before major engagements with China begin. In Brussels, it is to secure guarantees that the war will not return to Europe with renewed force. In Geneva, it is to avoid a failure that would discredit the entire format. Each side has its logic, but none of them has any incentive to articulate Ukraine’s constraints better than Ukrainians themselves.
The haziness of red lines is not just a technical flaw. It is a chasm into which reality eventually collapses. Especially when the sides hold different understandings of what peace actually is. For part of the international community, peace means above all a ceasefire. For Ukraine, peace means the return of its people and its land. The distance between these two notions is not diplomatic but moral. This is why any peace formula touching on territory is destined to face resistance. It is not a political position – it is a form of survival. The war has taught Ukrainians to look at a map not as a sheet of paper, but as a body. And a body is not amputated for the sake of compromise.
This is understood in Moscow, Berlin, and Washington. That is why no one in Geneva speaks openly about territories. Everyone talks about “parameters,” “conditions,” “stages,” “mutual security mechanisms.” It's a language that lets diplomats move forward without touching the exposed nerve. But this language also creates the illusion that the problem lies in technique. In reality, it lies in the nature of these negotiations. Peace cannot be built on words chosen so carefully that they end up meaning nothing.
There is another subtle aspect people prefer to avoid. Ukrainian political culture operates according to the logic of “all or nothing.” This logic gave birth to the Maidan, and this same logic fuels resistance to compromise. It is heroic, but also destructive when hard decisions are required. Over the last years, a peculiar instinct has taken shape: the government must sign something so that society can immediately destroy them for it the next day. This is not a strategy – it is a defense mechanism. And likewise, the authorities fear even to touch difficult topics, knowing that the public sphere is poisoned by the readiness to punish any attempt to search for a way out.
And this applies not only to territory. It applies to everything that cannot be explained in a soundbite. Amnesties. Guarantees. Statuses. Oversight mechanisms. Stages. Timelines for troop withdrawal. Questions that can be resolved only under cold, impartial light. But in Ukraine that kind of light is despised – it illuminates not only the enemy but also one’s own reflection.
Meanwhile, in the United States, peace is perceived differently. Here, the primary issue is accountability to the voter. No one intends to lose their domestic political battles for the sake of noble or abstract principles. And this difference in cultural codes now shapes the negotiations far more than the 28 points everyone has been discussing. In Washington, what matters is delivering a result. In Kyiv, what matters is not breaking. In Brussels, what matters is maintaining control over one’s own fears. In Moscow, it is the desire to return to the club of great powers and reaffirm its so-called “historic mission.” And when these four forces move simultaneously, Ukraine’s red lines – unless spoken aloud – become invisible.
All of this looks bleak, but there is also hope in it. Ukrainians will not agree to the legitimization of foreign flags on their land. They will not agree – not because “the Constitution says so,” but because this line cannot be crossed without killing the identity itself. The world may not fully understand this, but it will have to accept it. Peace that contradicts human nature does not last.
In Geneva, according to reports, diplomats are already trying to circumvent the issue of territorial status, hoping it can be addressed later. This is wishful thinking. Some things cannot be postponed because they determine everything else. And the fact that Ukraine will not agree to recognizing occupation is not Ukraine’s problem. It is a fact that belongs at the center of negotiations, not at their periphery.
Ukrainians in the United States feel this especially sharply. Here, among people who understand both realities – Ukrainian and American – the gap between how the war is seen in Kyiv and how it is seen in Washington is unmistakable. For America, the war is part of a global chessboard. For Ukrainians, it is part of their own home. And this gap cannot be bridged with phrases like “refined peace framework” or “coordination of positions.” It can be bridged only with honesty.
One thing must be acknowledged: without clearly defined Ukrainian positions, other parties will act according to their own interests. Not out of malice. Simply following the logic of great-power politics. If Ukraine does not set the boundaries of what can and cannot be negotiated, the world will assume that there are no boundaries. If Ukraine does not make clear that territorial issues are not technical matters, others will treat them as technical.
There are many things in this war that do not depend on Kyiv. But there is one that depends solely on it: clarity.
The world may search for compromises, retreats, hybrid formulas, and “peace architectures.” But the world cannot build a peace that contradicts the nature of Ukraine itself. And the nature of Ukraine is simple: land is neither sold nor gifted. It is reclaimed – or people die for it.
This truth – not the 28 points, not the Geneva meetings, not the multilateral negotiations – is the core of the entire process. And as long as it remains unshaken, every diplomatic construction has at least a chance not to become yet another agreement that collapses after the first shot.
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