Why Geneva Becomes a Burden for Ukraine – and for All Those Who Stand by Her

In Geneva, delegations from the United States and Ukraine sit at long tables, and both sides speak of progress. But the more words are spoken, the clearer it becomes that no one wants to say what this progress actually means. The capitulation plan lies like a shadow over all the talks. A paper that demands that Ukraine give up large parts of its own country and grants concessions to Moscow that in Kyiv feel like an invitation for further attacks. The foreign ministers smile, talk about good moments, but every sentence sounds as if it swallows another one.

Marco Rubio calls the day “very worthwhile”, but he avoids concrete statements. He says they want a solution “as quickly as possible”, but emphasizes that Thursday, the deadline Trump set, is “not a strict limit”. They can keep negotiating, they can decide later, they can push the whole thing up one level. And then Rubio says a sentence that lingers: they must “of course present the result to Moscow, the Russians have a say here”. In many European capitals, this is not understood as a technical remark, but as a warning sign. The Ukrainian delegation speaks of good talks. Andriy Yermak says they are moving toward a “just and lasting peace”. But these words hang in the air while it becomes known that a group of US senators described the original draft as “a wish list from Moscow”. A description that the State Department rejects as “false”, but the damage is done: no one really knows whose plan is actually being negotiated here – that of a government or that of an aggressor.

The president himself sharpens this uncertainty. Trump publicly complains that Ukraine shows “zero gratitude” for American aid. He does not mention Putin, which is not surprising. He threatens deadlines, then says again that this is not his “final offer”. Zelensky answers calmly and reminds everyone that it was Russia that started the war, and that Ukraine “will always defend its home”. He thanks the United States, thanks “every American heart”, but between the lines stands the fear of becoming a pawn at the decisive moment.

In Europe, concern is growing. Friedrich Merz says openly that some parts of the plan are acceptable, others are not. The red line: the sovereignty of Ukraine must not be touched. Paris and London see it the same way, only they say it more clearly. France’s Defense Ministry calls the draft’s intended limitations on the Ukrainian army “a restriction on self-defense”. In Warsaw, Donald Tusk says what others only think: “It would be good to know who actually wrote this plan and where it originated.” When a Polish prime minister chooses such words, it is not a side comment, but an alarm from a country that does not know Russian violence from the news but from its own history.

While wording is being contested in Geneva, another actor tries to pick up an older thread. Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan announces a conversation with Vladimir Putin. He wants to push him to revive the grain agreement over the Black Sea – the agreement that once provided Ukrainian exports with a protected corridor before Moscow pulled the plug. Erdogan recalls that this corridor was more than trade: it was one of the few attempts to create a concrete path to relief in the middle of the war – for countries in the Global South that depend on Ukrainian grain, and for a Ukraine that wanted to show it remained capable of action despite attacks. The fact that Turkey is now trying again shows how large the gap is that an honest mediation effort can leave – and how thin the substance of a plan appears that lives on territorial concessions and amnesties but offers real protection only on paper.

At the same time, another line of this story is beginning in the United States, one that is hardly visible outside Geneva but has immediate consequences for hundreds of thousands of people. Nearly 200,000 Ukrainian refugees there are entering a situation that worsens every day. Many came through humanitarian programs, work, pay taxes, their children attend American schools – and now have to experience that their stay is suddenly destabilizing. Work permits expire or are not renewed. Applications sit in offices or return with new requirements that are barely possible to fulfill. Families report that they are falling into a state of limbo through no fault of their own, a limbo that can destroy their future.

In counseling centers, the files pile up. Some employers no longer know whether they may continue employing their Ukrainian workers. Others have already had to lay people off because agencies are playing for time or letting deadlines lapse. Lawyers warn that a situation is building up that could escalate within weeks – an administrative chaos that does not hit statistics but people who followed the rules. For us, this means: even more cases that come on top of ICE, investigations, and ongoing procedures. There are days when it becomes clear that the calendar no longer matches what can realistically be handled.

That these people and the negotiations in Geneva belong together is something the political world likes to ignore. But the connection is obvious. While a delegation in a conference room discusses how much an attacked country should give up, families elsewhere sit in front of letters from immigration authorities wondering whether they may remain in a country whose government is simultaneously putting pressure on their homeland. The capitulation plan may be described as an “opportunity” at press conferences. For Ukraine – at the front, at the negotiating table, and in the waiting rooms of American agencies – it looks mainly like a project in which others decide what it should sacrifice.

Geneva shows these days how closely war, diplomacy, and personal fate are connected. A president is pushing an attacked country in a direction that increasingly divides his own party. Senators speak of an “extortion attempt”, European governments resist a text that directly affects their security. A Turkish president tries to revive at least a previous agreement that once truly helped millions of people. And hundreds of thousands of refugees experience how, under the same government that speaks of peace in Geneva, their own protection becomes fragile.

One can praise this plan in speeches as a major breakthrough. For the people who dug graves in Bucha, for the soldiers lying in the mud east of Donetsk, for the refugees in the United States who have long become part of the everyday life of their neighborhoods, it remains something else: “A paper that does not bring security but delivers a country – and shows how much a democracy in the year 2025 is willing to sacrifice in the name of a quick closing line.”