By Nina Bachkatov
A few days after the 7–8 July Nato summit, one conclusion stands out: it was not really a single event but a collection of parallel interpretations. President Trump saw it through the lens of leverage, burden-sharing and personal diplomacy; Nato general secretary Rutte and European leaders was it as an exercise in preserving transatlantic unity; president Erdogan saw an opportunity for Turkey’s defence industry and strategic influence; president Zelensky and parts of the Ukrainian security establishment saw momentum for escalation and pressure on Moscow; Russian leaders interpreted the same developments as evidence of a Western confrontation with Russia.
For weeks, Nato Secretary-General Mark Rutte had worked to keep President Donald Trump on board, whatever the cost. That meant accepting the principle of raising defence spending to 5 per cent of GDP, alongside tens of billions in additional support for Ukraine. Yet Trump arrived at the summit in a combative mood. He berated Iran, criticised allies that had failed to support the US-Israeli campaign, rebuked Denmark over Greenland and Spain over its defence spending, while barely mentioning Ukraine. To underline his detachment, he declared that he had attended largely because President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan would be there. Every gesture, every smile and every remark was scrutinised for its geopolitical significance.
In the end, Rutte secured a joint communiqué reaffirming Nato’s commitment to Article 5, a principle Trump himself had previously cast into doubt. Trump also pledged continued support for Ukraine, despite his renewed focus on the Middle East after the collapse of the ceasefire with Iran. Initially, he said he would have no time to meet President Volodymyr Zelensky beyond the official dinner. Eventually, however, the two did sit down together. Before the cameras, Trump played the role of a protective elder statesman, alternating generous compliments with awkward attempts at humour. Zelensky’s expression betrayed the difficulty of striking the right balance between gratitude and restraint, particularly when Trump once again appeared to place Russia and Ukraine on an equal footing in the search for a settlement he hoped to broker.
Political and Business
Erdoğan also arrived with objectives extending well beyond diplomacy. His priority was to ensure that Turkey secured a significant share of the hundreds of billions of euros that European governments are expected to spend replenishing depleted military stockpiles and strengthening their own defence industries.
Whether democratic leaders will succeed in persuading public opinion that Russia represents Europe’s overriding security threat remains uncertain. Convincing voters that civil defence begins with bunkers rather than with equipment to combat wildfires and other climate-related disasters may prove equally difficult. Yet the contracts will be awarded regardless, and Ankara intends to compete aggressively for them.
Strikingly, Turkey has begun using much the same argument as Ukraine. It can manufacture weapons more quickly and at lower cost, while drawing on years of operational experience gained in Syria, Iraq, Libya and Azerbaijan. Turkish officials even sent some participants home with an unusual gift: a revolver engraved with each recipient’s name, a gesture that caused considerable embarrassment in several European capitals.
Unlike Ukraine, however, Turkey is a long-standing Nato ally. It also shares with the US president a less categorical view than many European leaders of Ukraine’s campaign against Russian energy infrastructure. Having spent years developing Turkey into a regional energy hub, Ankara is wary of strategies that further destabilise energy flows across the Black Sea region.
Russia’s Unknown
Zelensky’s 40-day campaign to force Vladimir Putin into negotiations extends well beyond the systematic destruction of Russian energy sites and ports, from the Baltic to the Sea of Azov. It is also a hybrid campaign aimed directly at Russian public opinion. The assumption in Kyiv is that, once confronted with the tangible costs of war on their own territory, Russian citizens will press the Kremlin to negotiate an end to the conflict. Many European governments, as well as Britain and Canada, broadly share that assessment.
The opposite outcome, however, cannot be ruled out. The growing visibility of the conflict inside Russia has already swept away one of the central fictions of the Kremlin’s narrative. Until recently, referring publicly to a “war” rather than a “special military operation” could lead to prosecution. Today, official discourse increasingly speaks of war—not a war against Ukraine, but a proxy war waged by Europe against Russia. The combination of the Nato summit and Ukrainian strikes deep inside Russian territory, made possible in part by Starlink, Western intelligence and Western-made components, has helped remove earlier inhibitions. The United States is mentioned far less frequently by name and Trump continues to be portrayed as the one Western potential dealmaker.
This shift should not be dismissed as mere propaganda, any more than the increasingly frequent references to the risk of a Third World War. Russian society has repeatedly demonstrated an ability to combine criticism of its leaders with a powerful rally-round-the-flag reflex whenever the country appears to be under external threat. The Soviet experience offers ample historical precedents. Many of the children of those persecuted during Stalin’s purges fought Nazi Germany shouting “For Stalin. Up to Berlin”, convinced that the survival of the nation took precedence over their grievances.
Nor are economists persuaded that Russia can be brought to its knees solely through attacks on its energy sector. The destruction of a substantial share of the country’s refining capacity undoubtedly imposes heavy costs on the federal budget, but the Kremlin’s more immediate challenge lies elsewhere: managing shortages. It can increase diesel imports, prioritise supplies for what it defines as strategic sectors—including the armed forces and agriculture—and ration deliveries to remote regions, where entire fleets of agricultural machinery may depend on a single filling station. Civilian consumers are likely to bear much of the burden. In previous shortages, lower-grade diesel was sold to ordinary users.
Ukraine’s Strategic Debate
On 25 June, President Volodymyr Zelensky announced that he had approved a 40-day campaign by Ukraine’s Security Service (SBU) aimed at forcing the Kremlin to the negotiating table. The SBU enjoys an unusual degree of operational autonomy, relying not only on military personnel but also on networks of business people and civilian intermediaries whose independence is central to its effectiveness. Encouraged by what they see as the diplomatic outcome of the Nato summit, many within the service appear convinced that sustained pressure can force Russia to negotiate on Ukraine’s terms, and perhaps even create the conditions for recovering occupied territory.
Many senior military officers are less certain. After more than four years of war, they are acutely aware of the dangers of underestimating their adversary. Some fear that an expensive campaign against targets deep inside Russia could strengthen, rather than weaken, domestic support for the Kremlin. Recruitment campaigns launched after the recent attacks on the port of St Petersburg offer an indication of this shift. Rather than inviting volunteers to join frontline combat units, they appeal to citizens to become part of drone units responsible for defending their own city against Ukrainian attacks.
For many men in uniform, technology alone cannot determine the outcome of the war. “Modern warfare is a war of attrition,” former commander-in-chief Valery Zaluzhny recently argued in an interview, warning against drawing “hasty conclusions” from the spectacular success of recent Ukrainian operations. His successor, General Oleksandr Syrsky, has repeatedly expressed a similar view. However impressive Ukraine’s technological innovations may be, he said, victories are ultimately decided on the battlefield, where Russia still enjoys a substantial advantage in manpower and equipment.
Others worry that Russia’s response will increasingly focus on Ukraine’s cities. Rather than merely increasing the number of missile and drone attacks, Moscow appears to be improving their precision. On 11 and 12 July, Russian strikes targeted dozens of petrol stations regularly used by Ukrainian soldiers for refuelling and food. Kyiv was also much hit. Mayor Vitali Klitschko warned that the capital remained dangerously exposed to retaliatory attacks following Ukraine’s campaign against Russian energy infrastructure. While firmly supporting resistance to the invasion, he has repeatedly criticised the city’s inadequate air-defence capabilities and the vulnerability of civilians. Even if Trump were able to persuade producers to license Patriot missile production in Ukraine—a highly uncertain prospect—the country’s largest cities would remain inadequately protected for many months, and perhaps years.