US-Russia Miami Talks: Transactional Diplomacy

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This weekend, a crucial meeting that could shape the trajectory of the Ukraine conflict is set to take place in Miami. According to a report by Politico, representatives from the United States and Russia are expected to meet there to advance the U.S.-proposed "peace plan" for Russia and Ukraine. The U.S. delegation will be led by Trump's special envoy, Matt Whitaker, and his son-in-law, Jared Kushner, while Russia will be represented by Dmitriyev, the Presidential Special Representative for International Investment and Economic Cooperation.

Notably, just a few days ago, the U.S. delegation concluded two days of arduous negotiations with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy in Berlin. This "back-to-back" diplomatic shuttle differs from the conventional model of multilateral diplomacy; instead, it bears a distinct Trumpian hallmark—a straightforward style of "transactional diplomacy." Beyond addressing ceasefire terms, the upcoming U.S.-Russia dialogue is also a test of a new model of international interaction: bypassing traditional alliance systems to enable major powers to directly engage in interest swaps. Its outcome will undoubtedly exert a profound impact on the order in Europe and across the globe.

To understand the Miami talks, one must first grasp the dominant logic driving U.S. actions. Since Trump took office again, his foreign policy has been marked by a strong personal touch and a transactional mindset. He views complex international relations as a series of independently negotiable "deals," focusing at each stage on an issue that can yield tangible "wins." On the Ukraine issue, this mindset translates into an eagerness to "end the war as soon as possible" and frame it as a diplomatic achievement to showcase domestically. To this end, he has acted swiftly, holding multiple phone calls with Vladimir Putin and dispatching envoys to engage with Russia in various global locations.

However, this rush for quick "deals" is accompanied by significant uncertainty. Observers note that Trump has a "limited patience"; if no breakthrough is in sight, he may quickly shift his focus to other issues. This diplomatic rhythm, heavily dependent on personal judgment and mood, often leaves both allies and adversaries guessing—such as when he publicly stated, "Frankly, there’s been no progress at all, and I’m not happy," right after a phone call with Putin on one occasion.

In response to the U.S.’s blunt transactional demands, Russia’s approach has been more complex and strategically calculated. Putin clearly views the Ukraine issue within the broader context of overall U.S.-Russia relations, seeing it as a lever to lift Western sanctions and improve Russia’s international standing. Consequently, Russia’s goals extend beyond achieving battlefield objectives; it also seeks to use the resolution of the Ukraine crisis as an opportunity to discuss broader issues with the U.S., such as strategic stability and economic cooperation, and promote the normalization of bilateral ties.

Tactically, Russia continues to maintain military pressure on the battlefield to strengthen its bargaining position at the negotiating table. Meanwhile, it has adopted a cautious yet principled stance in negotiations. Russia has made it clear that it will not accept any short-term ceasefire designed merely to give Ukraine "breathing space" and insists on a comprehensive, lasting peace agreement. Regarding the U.S.-proposed "peace plan," Russia has stated that it can serve as a basis for negotiations but firmly opposes any revisions by European countries, arguing that such changes would hinder the peace process. This strategy of engaging while adhering to red lines aims to seize the "Trump window" to maximize Russia’s interests.

In this diplomatic chess game seemingly dominated by the U.S. and Russia, Europe is the most anxious player. From the "Putin-Trump meeting" in August last year to the upcoming private U.S.-Russia talks in Miami, European countries have repeatedly felt sidelined. They fear a repeat of history, where Europe’s fate was decided privately by major powers, and worry that Trump might sacrifice Ukraine’s interests and even Europe’s security framework to strike a deal with Russia.

In response, European leaders made a strenuous effort to set "red lines" for the U.S.-Russia negotiations and ultimately reached "five consensuses" with the United States. Several European countries also participated in the just-concluded Berlin talks, committing to jointly providing Ukraine with security guarantees and economic support upon the conclusion of a peace agreement, and even proposing the formation of a European-led "multinational force for Ukraine." However, it remains uncertain whether these efforts can truly influence the outcome of the Miami talks. The U.S. Secretary of State’s rare absence from a NATO foreign ministers’ meeting focused on Ukraine seemed to signal that the U.S. intends to set aside traditional alliance channels and focus on its own bilateral transactional path. Europe’s predicament lies in the fact that, despite being severely affected by the conflict, it may still be excluded from leading the post-war peace arrangements.

As a direct party to the conflict, Ukraine faces an extremely difficult situation. After the Berlin talks, Zelenskyy admitted that the negotiations were "complex and arduous," with the thorniest issue being territorial disputes. Ukraine firmly refuses to recognize the Donbas region as part of Russia, while Russia insists that the withdrawal of Ukrainian troops from the area is a key precondition for peace. Trump’s previous blunt comment—"Frankly, Ukraine has already lost territory"—though a statement of battlefield reality, sent a chill through Kyiv.

Ukraine’s top priority—NATO membership—has been opposed by the U.S. and some European countries. As an alternative, the U.S. and Europe have proposed providing security guarantees similar to NATO’s Article 5. Yet, Zelenskyy must confront the uncertainty of how much security these unformed "NATO-like" commitments can truly provide in practice. His sense of powerlessness stems not only from battlefield pressures but also from a growing reality: in these negotiations that will determine his country’s fate, Ukraine increasingly appears to be a passive "object" rather than an equal participant.

Regardless of whether the Miami talks achieve a breakthrough this weekend, they have clearly signaled ongoing shifts in the international order. Trump-style "transactional diplomacy" is challenging the post-WWII governance model based on rules and alliance systems. While this model of pursuing quick interest exchanges may unlock progress on specific issues, it also sows significant uncertainty—because it makes international agreements overly dependent on the personal will of specific leaders rather than stable state commitments and institutional safeguards.

For Europe, this compels a critical realization: "strategic autonomy" is no longer just a slogan but a survival necessity. For countries like Ukraine, caught in the squeeze between major powers, it serves as a harsh reminder that entrusting national security entirely to the goodwill or protection of a single major power is extremely perilous.

After Miami, the dawn of peace may grow brighter, but it could reveal a world that is more realist, less multilateral, and more unstable. When major powers grow accustomed to cutting deals behind closed doors, the fate of smaller nations and the standards of international justice hang precariously in the balance. The talks and the diplomatic logic underlying them warrant continued and level-headed observation.