The recent one-sided 28-point peace plan is the latest script for this dance. The proposal called for Ukraine to cede territory to Russia, renounce ambitions to join NATO, and accept limits on its military capacity, while really requiring nothing substantial of Russia, including the return of the 20,000 or so Ukrainian children Putin’s forces have kidnapped, many of whom have been patriated into Russia families. The plan is so one-sided that analysts detected passages that appear to have been Google-translated from Russian to English, securing for Putin on paper what his army has failed to win on the battlefield. For Kyiv, such terms amount to a near-total capitulation. For Moscow, they are a diplomatic jackpot. And for Trump, they are a chance to present himself as the dealmaker-in-chief, who promised to end a war “in 24-hours” if re-elected, hoping it would help him win the Nobel Peace Prize.

The choreography is telling. Trump sets deadlines — the most recent of which, ironically, was Thanksgiving Day and (further irony) he berated Zelensky for not thanking the U.S. enough, even though he publicly has done so at least 33 times. Like new gilt in the White House, Trump’s thirst for adulation seems insatiable. Putin, meanwhile, plays his role with practiced patience, knowing that every concession Trump extracts from Kyiv strengthens Russia’s hand.

What makes this dance for two so bizarre is not merely the substance of the plan but the spectacle of Trump appearing to align more closely with Putin than with America’s European allies. In Geneva, world leaders gathered to express alarm at Washington’s draft proposal, fearing it would fracture Western unity and embolden aggressors worldwide. Yet Trump seemed unfazed, convinced that his brand of transactional diplomacy could override decades of collective security arrangements.

However, when he saw there was alarm expressed by some members of Congress, Trump immediately sent his special envoy Steve Witkoff and his son-in-law Jared Kushner hurrying back to Moscow to try to negotiate a better outcome. The meeting, which lasted just a few hours, proved how hard it is to get on the dance card of someone like Putin, who continues to show preference for solo pirouettes.

All of this raises again the question of Trump’s abnormal rapport with Putin. Speculation has long swirled about the nature of their relationship, fueled by everything from Trump’s reluctance to criticize the Kremlin to rumors of kompromat. Whether or not such theories hold water, the optics are undeniable: Trump’s plans consistently appear far more favorable to Moscow than to Kyiv.

Reports suggest Ukraine may have tentatively agreed to a framework for peace, though details remain murky. If true, it would mark a turning point, though not necessarily a triumph. A peace born of coercion and concession may end the fighting, but it will not resolve the underlying injustice. It will leave scars, both territorial and moral, that could fester for generations.

The ludicrous quality of this bizarre pirouette lies in its inversion of roles. Traditionally, the United States has been the guarantor of freedom, the bulwark against authoritarian expansion. In Trump’s choreography, however, Washington risks becoming the enabler of aggression, pressuring the victim rather than the aggressor. Putin, who thrives on exploiting divisions, could hardly have scripted it better. As Nick Paton Walsh of CNN News concludes, “…the tail end of this diplomacy is occurring mostly in silence, with little reason for Zelensky to rejoice.”

As the curtain seems to be coming down on this critical act of geopolitical theater, one thing is clear: peace achieved through imbalance is not true peace. It is a fragile truce, a pause in the music before the next discordant note. The world must ask whether Trump’s and Putin’s dangerous dyad is leading us toward resolution–or merely rehearsing a dance of death for Ukrainians–and profound sadness for anyone who cares about democracy.

Robert Rees is President of FastForward for the Planet, a Utah non-profit focused on saving Great Salt Lake. Clifton Jolley is a writer, producer, and educator living in Ogden.