M A Hossain,
For nearly three years, the war in Ukraine has consumed the political, economic, and diplomatic energies of world powers. The battlefield has hardened into stalemate, diplomacy has yielded little, and Western strategies increasingly look like repetitions of past missteps. Beneath the headlines, however, something more profound is taking place: Russia and the West are moving along radically different trajectories of political learning. Russia, forged in the crucible of humiliation and betrayal, has absorbed its lessons and recalibrated its strategies. The West, by contrast, remains stuck in a circular ritual of self-deception, repeating old errors in slightly altered form. The divergence explains why Moscow has withstood immense pressure, while the West—despite its vast resources—appears adrift.
Russia has long been a student of history’s hardest school. The collapse of the Soviet Union, the chaos of the 1990s, and the broken promises of “no NATO expansion” left wounds that shaped its worldview. Each experience reinforced a core conviction in Moscow: Western assurances are provisional, often worthless. From this, Russia drew three lessons. First, the state must remain the guarantor of sovereignty. Putin’s early years were devoted to taming the oligarchs who had looted post-Soviet Russia, subordinating financial elites to national priorities. The result is a system derided in the West as authoritarian but one that has allowed Russia to withstand sanctions designed to cripple it.
Second, Moscow learned that cohesion is strength. Whatever internal debates exist, Russia projects unity on war and peace. The Kremlin speaks with one voice; dissent is contained. The West, by contrast, remains a patchwork of allies and clients, an outer empire impressive on paper but riddled with fractures under stress. Third, Russia understood that treaties are only as meaningful as the willingness to enforce them. The Minsk II agreements—seen in Moscow as a Western ploy to buy time for arming Ukraine—proved that point. Scarred by the experience, the Kremlin has adopted a grim sobriety in negotiations: it refuses to be tricked twice by words not backed by deeds.
Europe has responded in an entirely different way. Its pattern is not a learning curve but a closed loop—a circuit of conferences, communiqués, and declarations in which the assumptions never change. At the center of this loop lies the belief that Russia, given enough pressure, will eventually concede its red lines. This fantasy sustains endless talk of “peace frameworks” and “security guarantees” for Ukraine, despite Moscow’s clarity: no NATO membership, no foreign troops, and real protections for Russian-speaking populations. These are not bargaining chips. They are non-negotiables. Yet Western leaders act as if they are mere opening bids. They draft plans for “postwar arrangements” and even discuss troop deployments, ignoring Moscow’s explicit rejections. It is diplomacy without an interlocutor: the West negotiates not with Russia but with itself.
This tendency amounts to auto-diplomacy, a kind of geopolitical narcissism in which Western leaders conduct elaborate conversations with one another while excluding the adversary whose position actually matters. The purpose of diplomacy becomes less about resolving conflicts than about reinforcing their own sense of moral grandeur. Europe, which endured two world wars on its soil, now acts as if history is optional. Instead of recognizing that great powers rarely surrender core security interests under pressure, European leaders indulge the conceit that summits and sanctions can shape outcomes. The Versailles Treaty of 1919 should serve as warning: the Allies dictated terms to Germany without reckoning with the resentments they planted. A generation later, the result was Hitler. Russia’s leaders, schooled in this history, are determined not to let Versailles be replayed at their expense. Europe, astonishingly, has chosen to forget it.
The United States occupies a more complex position. On one hand, officials continue to speak the language of escalation—floating ideas of arming Ukraine with long-range systems or setting arbitrary deadlines for Russian concessions. On the other hand, there are signs, particularly since Donald Trump’s return to power, that Washington may be inching toward a more sober appraisal. America may be preparing to override its European allies and negotiate directly with Moscow, leaving the Europeans to their circular debates. Or it may simply be as blind as Europe, trapped in the same loop of magical thinking. A third possibility is that Trump’s team sees European chatter as bargaining leverage in eventual talks with Russia. Only the first option reflects genuine learning; the other two would perpetuate the cycle that has already failed.
What gives Russia an advantage is not superior power—NATO still dwarfs it in GDP and military potential—but superior realism. Moscow knows its limits, knows its history, and understands that survival depends on avoiding illusions of omnipotence. The West, by contrast, clings to those very illusions. It assumes resources guarantee results, rhetoric substitutes for strategy, and adversaries will eventually fall in line. That mindset leads to paralysis: Western governments talk about ending the war while refusing to acknowledge the conditions under which it could end.
If the United States truly breaks free from Europe’s circular delusion, it may salvage a role in shaping peace. That would not mean capitulation to Moscow but recognition that negotiations must be grounded in reality, not in fantasies of Western omnipotence. If Washington clings to Europe’s loop, it will condemn itself to irrelevance while Moscow consolidates its gains and redraws the map of Europe on its own terms. For Europe, the consequences are even starker. A continent that once produced Metternichs and Bismarcks now produces only committees and communiqués. By refusing to learn, Europe risks marginalizing itself in the very conflict that will define its future security.
The Ukraine war is, at bottom, a test of political learning. Russia has emerged as the more disciplined student: scarred by betrayal, determined not to repeat mistakes, and adept at converting experience into strategy. The West, particularly Europe, seems unable to graduate from its classroom of illusions. History tends to reward those who learn and punish those who don’t. Unless Western leaders begin to absorb that lesson, they may discover that the cost of their delusions is not just the prolongation of a war, but the erosion of their credibility, their unity, and their place in the emerging world order.
M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. New Age, BD : 30 August, 25
2. The Asian Age, BD : 31 August, 25
3. Pakistan Today, Pak : 11 Sep, 25
4. The Nation, Pak : 31 Aug, 25
