The Alaskan summit between Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin was less a diplomatic negotiation than an episode of The Apprentice: Geopolitics Edition.

Trump, grinning like a compare about to deliver a catchphrase, called the talks “productive.” That word, in his universe, is shorthand for “I got a photo op.” For him, international security is a stage set, and he the star turn, hair lacquered, chin thrust forward, convinced the world is his studio audience.

Putin, the consummate cynic, played along with relish. He dangled vague hints of compromise one moment, hinted at escalation the next, throwing just enough bait to keep Trump puffed up with the fantasy that he was about to strike the deal of the century. Nothing tangible was agreed, but Trump did not care. He strutted out of the summit as though he had just closed a property deal in Manhattan, not presided over a discussion about Europe’s bloodiest war since 1945.

Europe, meanwhile, looked on from the cheap seats. Macron, with his usual rooster strut, declared that Moscow cannot dictate Europe’s future. Merz droned on about solidarity before disappearing back into indecision. Brussels officials produced statements about “values,” as if phrases on a press release could substitute for tanks or missiles. The spectacle was one of impotence—a chorus of hand-wringing bureaucrats watching the casino dealer in Washington shuffle the deck.

To Trump, “peace” means selling Ukraine down the river while branding himself the saviour who ended the war. Territory, sovereignty, NATO membership, all become chips on the table of his casino diplomacy. Putin understands this game perfectly: keep Trump grinning and the concessions will follow.

The claim, repeated yet again, that Russia has “no veto” over Ukraine’s membership of NATO or the EU is laughable. Of course it has a veto. It enforces it with artillery, airstrikes and occupation. And NATO’s consensus model means Germany’s reluctance to act, combined with Europe’s chronic timidity, gives Putin precisely what he wants. Brussels may issue as many communiqués as it pleases, but in practice the veto belongs to Moscow’s rocket brigades.

Alaska underscored Europe’s humiliation. For all the rhetoric about “strategic autonomy,” the continent remains shackled to Washington, and even worse, to Trump’s whims. NATO runs on American money, American arms, American leadership. Europe, despite endless promises, has neither the unity nor the courage to carry its own weight. When Trump is in charge, the alliance becomes a circus: the ringmaster waving his arms, the audience applauding, while the elephants rampage through the tent.

The true victor was Putin. Every staged laugh, every handshake with Trump, became propaganda for Russian state television: the West bowing to Moscow, Ukraine’s fate reduced to a side deal between great men. And Trump, ever the narcissist, gladly handed Putin the footage. He is less president than performer, less strategist than showman. For him, the summit was not about securing Europe’s peace but about securing another headline.

Europe’s leaders still fail to grasp this reality. Macron and Merz love to intone about European sovereignty, but sovereignty without steel is illusion. Brussels clings to its pieties about values while still outsourcing security to America. The EU fancies itself a geopolitical actor, but it has all the gravitas of a pantomime chorus, chanting lines while the real players write the script elsewhere.

Alaska was not diplomacy; it was theatre. Trump postured like a casino boss promising jackpots, Putin smirked like the house that always wins, and Europe, once again, walked away with empty pockets. Ukraine, still under bombardment, will pay the bill. And the West will continue to pretend that a reality television star can deliver security with a grin and a slogan.

Main Image: Kremlin