‘What just happened – the suspension of military aid – was predictable. I expected it. It wasn’t too hard to predict,’ the former Ukrainian defence minister tells me. Oleksii Reznikov, speaking to me from Kyiv and wearing a ‘Saint Himars’ T-shirt, remains as upbeat as ever, chuckling as he recalls how, back in 2022, Ukraine was supposed to fall in three days. ‘We knew we wouldn’t. It was a matter of survival – three days became three weeks, three months, and now three years. These current events? Just another phase. We have tough negotiations ahead. This isn’t a two-player game – it’s multilateral, with competing interests and big personalities.’
Back then, among Ukraine’s allies, there was no consensus even whether Russians would invade or not. ‘We got conflicting intelligence. The Germans and French said there’d be no invasion; the Americans were sure there would be. Some top officials tried to convince Zelensky to leave Ukraine. ‘They will launch a full-scale invasion,’ they told him. His response? ‘Okay, if I accept that, what’s the next step? Will you impose sanctions now? Will you hit the Kremlin hard before they attack?’ The answer? ‘No, we’ll act after they cross the border.’ That’s when we suspected some were politely nudging us toward Minsk 3.’
As February 2022 approached, it became clear that not everyone in Moscow was on board with the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The last Russian Security Council meeting before the invasion was telling. Half of those present seemed blindsided, unprepared, as if they had only just realised what was about to happen. Some stammered through their remarks, unsure what exactly they were supposed to say. The lack of enthusiasm was evident, but it didn’t matter.
‘Our intelligence assessed the Kremlin’s expectations: [they thought] 30 per cent of Ukrainians would welcome them with flowers, like Crimea. Another 60 per cent would be indifferent, “just don’t touch us.” Only 10 per cent would fight. Well, we did meet them with flowers – just not the kind they expected. All Soviet-era artillery systems are named after flowers. Tulips, Peonies, Hyacinths. That was our bouquet.’
By March 2022, Ukraine had defied expectations. The Russians failed to take Kyiv, and peace talks began first in Belarus, and then almost culminated in a deal in Istanbul, after four days of grueling negotiations (10 to 14 March). ‘Erdogan genuinely thought he could stop the war,’ Reznikov says. ‘But the contrast in expectations was stark. The Russians essentially asked us to capitulate. We weren’t there for that. We were there to buy time, secure humanitarian corridors, handle prisoner exchanges, and convince the West we were worth backing.’
There were no real offers, or concessions to make, for that matter. ‘They demanded we rewrite our constitution, abandon Nato, make Russian a second official language, slash our military to miniscule numbers. Give ‘special status’ to Russian-speaking regions. We said no. The Ukrainian people want Nato and the EU. We’re not negotiating away statehood.’
The trademark Russian concerns about the threat of Nato expansion Reznikov found as laughable as ever. ‘Since 2022, Finland and Sweden joined Nato. Russia now has an even longer Nato border. Great success, right?’
Was Kyiv ever willing to freeze its Nato bid? ‘Not in any meeting I attended,’ Reznikov says.
Ukraine had good reason to doubt any diplomatic solution. Reznikov himself had spent two years negotiating with the Russians – endless hours in Minsk, Berlin and Paris as part of the so-called Normandy format. It was a futile exercise, he says. The Russians never budged, never compromised, never showed any genuine willingness to reach an agreement. Every meeting followed the same script: Moscow would repeat its demands, refuse any counteroffers, and drag out the process, all the while solidifying its own position on the ground. There was no good faith, no real attempt at negotiation. Only delay and deception.
Ukraine’s strategy was clear – buy time, rally western support. But what did the Russians want? ‘I think they were stunned their initial plan failed. I remember negotiations, seeing Roman Abramovich – he was the only one with direct access to the Kremlin, the rest were just props. He looked really upset. Deep down, we hoped that meant they realised they’d made a mistake. That maybe, against all odds, we’d find a way out. Three years later, I think we were too optimistic.’
‘The US wants Europe to foot the bill for Ukraine’s security guarantees – and that makes sense’
And Boris Johnson allegedly derailing a peace deal? ‘That’s an urban legend,’ Reznikov says. ‘He was a strong supporter, hated Putin, had the freedom to act without EU bureaucracy thanks to Brexit. But I never heard him advising us on negotiations. And in any case, knowing Zelensky, no number of Boris Johnsons could have pushed him into something he didn’t think was right for Ukraine.’
Three years on, the battlefield has changed. What began as a conventional war – artillery, tanks, fighter jets – has evolved into something else entirely. Ukraine and Russia are locked in a hybrid war, where old Soviet weaponry and cutting-edge Nato arms are deployed alongside electronic warfare and drone strikes (Ukraine produces many of its own drones). The days of straightforward territorial advances are long gone. Instead, Ukraine is facing a war unlike any other, a war that, Reznikov reasons, ‘will be taught in military academies and manuals as the new way of warfare. In a way, this war is the last conventional war on Earth. It’s also the dawn of the new war, the unmanned war.’
With this in mind, President Trump’s decision to suspend military aid to Ukraine, Reznikov argues, does little to change the bigger picture.
‘It’s leverage. A signal. ‘Downscale your expectations, think clearly, calculate – do the math with or without us.’ That’s the message. Washington’s decision will have more impact on the civilian population than on the frontlines. It will cost Ukrainian lives. I don’t see how that benefits the US.’
Will Ukraine fight on? ‘We don’t have a choice. It’s survival. The Russians use the infamous “salami tactics” – slice by slice, pause, return for more. We don’t have the luxury of stopping.’
Zelensky’s last meeting with Trump went poorly. What’s Reznikov’s verdict, as a seasoned negotiator? ‘A clash of emotions,’ Reznikov says. ‘Once that passes, they’ll be back at the table. Negotiations aren’t about emotion – they’re about interests, finding a deal.’ This mindset, Reznikov argues, will help the sides to move towards a ‘Zopa’ (zone of possible agreement). The irony of this acronym is not lost on him: Zopa, depending on your spelling, means arse in Russian.
Where does Ukraine go from here? ‘The US wants Europe to foot the bill for Ukraine’s security guarantees, not just for us but for the whole continent. And that makes sense – investing in Ukraine’s security means securing Europe’s eastern flank.’
And Europe itself? ‘They have the military wherewithal. The industry is robust – Germany, France, the UK, the Scandinavians. They can step up if they’re serious. The peacekeepers under the aegis of a “coalition of the willing” is a noble, brave idea, but Russia will only engage if it sees a worthwhile trade-off. They will probably want some other peacekeepers in there too, someone they know and trust. And Britain? Yes, they’ll lead. They have strong US ties and the backing of Canada, Australia and New Zealand. They’re not held back by Hungary and Slovakia’s vetoes.’
Reznikov, like Ukraine, is bracing for what’s next.
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