At a closed briefing at the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs in recent days, the tone shifted. The diplomats — typically measured, almost studiously cautious — made an appeal that cut through the usual protocol: “Write about Ukraine! It is very important not to forget Ukraine and to understand what is really happening there.” With barely any Ukrainian journalists in the room, the message was clearly aimed at their own press corps.
French diplomats do not stray from script lightly. When they abandon the neutral, technocratic language that normally governs their exchanges with the media, it is because the political moment demands it. And the moment is telling: however insistently Emmanuel Macron calls on European leaders to step up support for Ukraine and invest in Europe’s own security, the response is uneven at best.
The ripple effect is visible in the headlines. Ukraine is steadily losing space and airtime. With local elections looming, populist parties are seizing the spotlight instead. Their line is straightforward: block Macron at every turn — even if it means, as the saying goes, cutting off your nose to spite your face. The far right, the far left and a clutch of smaller parties are vying for the protest vote, and public backing for Ukraine is slipping. Not dramatically, not yet. But compared with the 68 per cent who expressed support in 2022 — when blue-and-yellow flags fluttered across France — today’s 53 per cent feels markedly thinner.
The talks in Geneva are murky and, by most accounts, going nowhere fast. That alone would be troubling. What unsettles Europeans more is the suspicion that Moscow could cut a side deal with Donald Trump behind their backs. EU officials aren’t even in the room for the ceasefire negotiations. They are piecing together updates second-hand — from Kyiv and Washington.
“The Russians are sabotaging the peace deal in every way they can,” officials at the French foreign ministry say. “Their priority is not to fall out with Trump — and, if they can, to strike a broader deal with him on how power is divided in the world. Russia is increasingly dependent on China. Trump, meanwhile, doesn’t want Beijing growing stronger. It’s not hard to imagine them finding some common ground. Most likely economic.”
What would a US–Russia thaw mean for Europe’s security architecture? A softening of sanctions? American investment in Russia’s rare earth sector? The unfreezing of Russian state assets? The permutations are many. But the bottom line is stark: if Russia is “forgiven” for its countless war crimes — and worse, rewarded with territory — the entire edifice of international law starts to crumble.
And then there’s the uncomfortable question for Europe’s internal dissenters. Do Viktor Orbán and Robert Fico grasp that a return to great-power spheres of influence would eventually boomerang back on Slovakia and Hungary? Their countries are not members of any exclusive club of the mighty. If they understand that risk, they are doing a careful job of hiding it.
By contrast, French President Emmanuel Macron seems under no illusions about what is at stake. With Russia and China eyeing the Arctic — and Donald Trump openly musing about Greenland — Macron on 23 February urged EU capitals to take Europe’s security into their own hands and push through a 20th sanctions package against Russia, aimed in particular at oil trade. The confrontation between autocracies and the free world, he argues, is multidimensional. Ukraine is simply the first outpost.
Behind closed doors, Ukrainian and French diplomats tell a blunter story about Geneva. The talks, they say, have stalled. “The most important discussions are taking place in the political groups, where territories are being discussed,” French officials note. Ukrainian representatives add a crucial detail: “The Americans are not applying pressure on the territorial issue.”
That gap is precisely what Europeans are trying to close. Their goal is to get Washington to engage more seriously with their proposals — above all, to provide security guarantees to Ukraine and to support the so-called “coalition of the willing.” So far, movement has been glacial. There have been no official announcements suggesting real progress on either track.
In Paris, officials say the top priority for Ukraine’s security guarantees is creating mechanisms to respond if the ceasefire is broken. Wars of this kind have no precedent, and there’s no ready-made model to borrow or adapt. The bigger problem, they stress, is Moscow’s lack of even minimal willingness to halt its offensive. Russia’s presence at the talks, they say, is largely a show for Trump. Real security guarantees for Ukraine — and for Moldova, Georgia, and, secondarily, the Baltic states — rest on a strong, combat-ready Ukrainian army.
Meanwhile, the Americans are quietly nudging Europeans to take on the costs of Ukraine’s reconstruction once the war ends. With Washington reluctant to push for Kyiv’s fast-track NATO membership, it is encouraging Europe to open the door to EU accession instead. One option is gradual integration: first politically, then economically. “Kyiv is interested in this model; the challenge is convincing the Hungarians and other sceptics,” Paris officials add.
Few, however, expect a swift or lasting ceasefire. One key reason is China’s stance. For Beijing, the ongoing bloodshed in Ukraine is simply advantageous: it strains Western arsenals — though not drastically — and forces Russia to sell oil to China at $27 a barrel below the global market price. Bloomberg reports that Moscow now sends two-thirds of its crude to China and sources two-thirds of its imports from there. It’s understated influence, but highly effective.
China has the leverage to push Moscow toward at least a temporary ceasefire. Yet it is choosing not to. That leaves the Kremlin every reason to believe it has Beijing’s support — discreet, perhaps, but real and decisive.
