It Took Trump Only Twenty-Four Days to Sell Out Ukraine…

The New Yorker, in this edition,,,

Happy Sabbath! I send my best wishes to everyone…

The fisher’s town, nestled in one of Norway's most breathtaking fjords, was an illusion come to life—but beneath its idyllic surface, an undercurrent of unease pulsed like a hidden storm. Towering cliffs, draped in the name of Malva Marina—like the daughter of the famed Nobel Prize laureate from the far south of America—rose sharply from the crystal-clear waters, their jagged edges cutting into the sky like ancient sentinels.

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea, mingling with the rhythmic cries of gulls that circled overhead, their sharp calls echoing like warnings, yes ¨peligro¨...  Fishermen, their faces etched with the harsh lines of years spent battling wind and waves (similar to the coal miners who died of the damned black lung disease), hauled in their catch—silver flashes of cod and salmon spilling onto the docks, their lifeless eyes glinting in the pale sunlight.

Near the edge of the harbour, a weathered bulletin board stood, its surface a chaotic mosaic of handwritten notes and flyers. It was a relic of simpler times, yet it bore the weight of something darker, like Goebbels' propaganda boards under the shadow of the Nazi nightmare—a reminder of how innocence could be twisted into something sinister. Among the ads for boat repairs, lost pets, and local events, one note stood out, its simplicity stark against the chaos: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." The words stopped her in her tracks. She stared at them, her breath catching like the air had turned to ice. The image they conjured—tiny, pristine shoes, untouched and full of unspoken sorrow—sent a shiver down her spine. It was a whisper of loss, a story untold, and it tugged at something deep within her, something she had tried to bury but now clawed its way to the surface.

Her thoughts were already heavy from the morning’s news. Over breakfast, the radio had crackled with reports that an intrusive Russian submarine, the ¨Na zdorov'ye!¨ detected in nearby waters. The name felt ominous, its foreign syllables rolling off the newscaster’s tongue like a curse.

The submarine’s presence had stirred unease among the locals, its shadowy movements a reminder of the geopolitical tensions simmering just beneath the surface of their tranquil lives. Whispers of espionage, of unseen threats lurking in the depths, had spread through the town like a cold fog, seeping into every conversation and casting long shadows over the sunlit streets. 

She tried to shake off the weight, forcing herself to focus on the task—picking up groceries for the week. The market is just a short walk away, its stalls brimming with fresh produce, warm bread and jars of locally made preserves. These simple pleasures felt like a minor miracle If we remember the radioactive shadows of a failed nuclear power plant whose winds had reached the region decades before. It was a blessing, she thought, to live without that invisible threat. However, the memory lingered like a ghost, much like the haunting visions Andrei Tarkovsky had foreshadowed in his film Nostalgia—a prophecy of loss and longing that resonated deeply within her.

But as she moved through the crowd, the juxtaposition of the haunting ad and the lurking submarine lingered in her mind, pulling her thoughts in two directions. The baby shoes spoke of personal grief, of intimate, heart-wrenching loss. At the same time, the submarine was a symbol of something vast and impersonal, a reminder of the fragile balance of power that stretched far beyond the fjord. It was as if the universe was taunting her, forcing her to confront the duality of existence—the beauty and the brutality, the personal and the political, the intimate and the infinite.

The contrast left her feeling unmoored, adrift in a sea of emotions she couldn’t name. She paused by the water’s edge, staring out at the horizon where the fjord met the open sea. Somewhere out there, beneath the surface, the ¨Na zdorov'ye!¨ moved silently, its presence a silent threat, a predator lurking in the depths. And yet, here in the town, life went on—fishermen mended their nets, children played by the shore, and the bulletin board stood as a testament to the quiet, everyday tragedies that shaped their lives. It was a cruel irony, she thought, how the world could be so beautiful and so broken, shattered into may be in three irreparable pieces, all at the same time.

She took a deep breath, the crisp sea air filling her lungs, but it offered no solace. The baby shoes, the submarine, and the fjord's beauty were all part of the same tapestry, woven together in ways she couldn’t fully understand. For now, she would carry on, one step at a time, even as the weight of it all pressed heavily against her chest, threatening to crush her beneath its unbearable truth. The fjord stretched out before her, vast and unyielding, its waters hiding secrets she could never know. As she turned away from the harbour, the words echoed in her mind, a haunting refrain: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Distractors…

Indeed, the haunting phrase, "For sale: baby shoes, never worn," is a powerful example of how a few carefully chosen words can evoke profound emotion and curiosity. Such phrases can be potent distractors in communication, particularly in political communication. They divert attention, subtly steering public focus away from pressing issues or critical decisions that might otherwise provoke immediate scrutiny or resistance. By introducing an emotionally charged or ambiguous element, communicators can buy time, shape narratives, or soften the impact of controversial actions, all while keeping the public momentarily captivated by the distraction rather than the substance.

A Complex Morning in München…

Yesterday morning in Munich was a nightmare for many, oddly on Friendship Day.  It is undeniably true—painfully so—that Greta, hailed by some as a messianic figure and the embodiment of a global trend, represents a broader cultural shift. She is both the embryo and prototype of a movement embraced by modern-day green yuppies, the architects of trends and lifestyles that have driven the cost of living to unsustainable heights. These self-proclaimed sustainability champions often preach from positions of privilege, advocating for sweeping changes while remaining insulated from the harsh realities ordinary people face.

In today’s world, young people are increasingly locked out of essential opportunities: unable to afford homes, forced into the dehumanizing practice of "hot-bedding" (sharing a single bed in shifts with strangers), and left with little hope of forming families or building futures. The dream of stability and prosperity feels increasingly out of reach as the cost of living skyrockets and wages stagnate. Ironically, Greta’s activism—a movement driven by an elite—has, in many ways, contributed to a generation desperately seeking refuge in ultra-political tendencies. Unfortunately, policies prioritising abstract ideals over practical solutions often exacerbate inequality, leaving the most vulnerable to bear the consequences.

Greta’s rise to prominence has undeniably galvanized a generation but has also exposed modern activism's contradictions. While her message of climate urgency resonates globally, it often overshadows more immediate and pressing issues: retirees scavenging for bottles to supplement their meagre pensions, families struggling to put food on the table, and countless individuals left behind by a system that prioritizes grand gestures over tangible change. Actual progress requires more than viral moments and performative outrage; it demands a reckoning with the systemic inequalities that shape lives and a commitment to addressing them with empathy and pragmatism.

Unforgettable Omissions…

The Holodomor—a word that carries the weight of unspeakable sorrow, a name that echoes with the cries of millions. It was not merely a famine, a tragedy born of nature’s cruelty, but rather a deliberate act of devastation, a shadow cast by human hands. Between 1932 and 1933, the fertile fields of Ukraine, once golden with grain, became barren wastelands, and the people who tended them were left to wither like crops under a merciless sun.

This was no accident of history. It was a calculated act, a weapon wielded by a regime that saw the Ukrainian spirit as a threat to its iron grip. Stalin’s Soviet Union, in its relentless pursuit of control, stripped the land of its bounty and the people of their sustenance. Grain was seized not to feed the hungry but to feed an ideology. Villages were emptied, not by choice, but by starvation. Families were torn apart, not by time, but by the cold indifference of power. The Holodomor—¨holod¨, meaning hunger, ¨mor¨ meaning extermination—was a plague of human design. By the time it ended, an estimated ¨3.5 to 5¨ million Ukrainians** had perished, their lives extinguished by hunger, exhaustion, and despair.

The stories from those years are etched in pain. Mothers cradling children too weak to cry, fathers digging graves with hands trembling from hunger, entire communities vanishing into silence. The earth, once a source of life, became a witness to death. And yet, even in the face of such despair, the human spirit endured. People shared what little they had, whispered prayers in the dark, and clung to the hope that the world would someday know their suffering.

For decades, the truth of the Holodomor was buried under layers of denial and propaganda. The Soviet regime erased it from history, silenced its survivors, and exported its grain while its people starved. But the memory of those who perished cannot be extinguished. It lived on in the hearts of those who survived, in the stories passed down through generations, in the quiet defiance of a nation that refused to forget.

Today, the Holodomor is recognized as a genocide, a crime against humanity. It is a reminder of the fragility of freedom and the cost of silence. It is a call to remember the lives lost and the resilience of those who endured. In Ukraine, the fourth Saturday of November is a day of remembrance, a time to honour the victims and to ensure that such a tragedy is never repeated.

The Holodomor is more than a chapter in history; it is a testament to the strength of the human spirit and the enduring power of memory. It is a warning, a plea, and a promise—to remember, to resist, and to never let the shadows of the past darken the future.

A Game of Cat and Mouse…

The detection of Russian submarines in the territorial waters of European nations is a matter shrouded in sensitivity and secrecy, often classified to protect national security. These underwater incursions, whether confirmed or suspected, are rarely disclosed in full detail, yet they occasionally surface in reports from countries that can monitor such activities. Regions like the Baltic Sea, the North Atlantic, and the Arctic—hotbeds of geopolitical tension—are particularly prone to these shadowy encounters, where the silent dance of submarines beneath the waves mirrors the strategic manoeuvring above.

For instance, in 2020, Sweden announced the detection of a suspected foreign submarine in its waters, stopping short of explicitly naming Russia but leaving little doubt given the context.  Earlier in 2014, Sweden launched a massive search operation in the Stockholm archipelago after detecting what it believed to be a Russian submarine. The incident stirred both public anxiety and diplomatic unease. Similarly, in 2015, the United Kingdom reported tracking a Russian submarine near its naval base in Scotland, a reminder of Moscow's persistent probing of NATO's defences.

The exact number of such incidents remains undisclosed, buried under classification layers and strategic ambiguity. Yet, it is no secret that NATO members and other nations with advanced anti-submarine warfare capabilities maintain a vigilant watch over Russian submarine activity. These underwater sentinels, equipped with cutting-edge sonar systems and surveillance networks, track the movements of these stealthy vessels, particularly near critical chokepoints and strategic zones. The encounters' silent, unseen nature belies their significance, as they underscore the ongoing tensions and the delicate balance of power that defines modern geopolitics.

Parallel to these underwater games, another shadowy conflict plays out in the corridors of power and the boardrooms of corporations: —Russian industrial espionage in Europe. For decades, Russian intelligence agencies and their affiliated networks have sought to steal Europe’s most guarded secrets—advanced technologies, intellectual property, and trade secrets—often to bolster Russia’s industries, military capabilities, and strategic ambitions. This clandestine activity has left a trail of incidents across the continent, from the high-tech hubs of Germany to the energy-rich fields of Scandinavia and from the aerospace giants of France to the cutting-edge universities of the United Kingdom.

The methods employed are as varied as they are sophisticated. Cyber espionage is a favoured tool, with Russian hacking groups like APT28 (also known as Fancy Bear) launching phishing attacks, deploying malware, and exploiting vulnerabilities to infiltrate corporate networks. These groups, often linked to Russian intelligence agencies such as the FSB and GRU, have targeted industries ranging from energy and defence to pharmaceuticals and information technology. But it’s not just digital warfare; human intelligence plays a crucial role, too. Russian operatives have been known to recruit insiders—employees, contractors, or researchers—who can provide access to sensitive information. Sometimes, they pose as businessmen or academics, embedding themselves in European institutions to quietly extract valuable knowledge.

The targets of these efforts are as diverse as they are critical. In Germany, Russian hackers have zeroed in on the energy sector, seeking secrets related to renewable energy and smart grid technologies. In one notable case, a Russian diplomat was expelled after attempting to recruit a German aerospace employee to spy on industrial secrets. France, too, has faced its share of intrusions, with aerospace giant Airbus repeatedly targeted for its military and civilian aircraft data. Even the race to develop a COVID-19 vaccine wasn’t spared, as French cybersecurity officials uncovered Russian attempts to steal research from pharmaceutical companies.

The United Kingdom has also found itself in the crosshairs. British energy firms, defence contractors and universities have all been victims of Russian cyberattacks aimed at pilfering intellectual property. In Scandinavia, the oil and gas industries—vital to Europe’s energy supply—have been frequent targets, with Norway and Sweden both reporting breaches linked to Russian operatives. Even in Eastern Europe, nations like Poland and the Czech Republic have faced espionage campaigns as they modernize their militaries and infrastructure.

The motivations behind these activities are transparent. Russia seeks to close the technological gap with the West, using stolen innovations to modernize its industries and reduce import dependence. Military technology, in particular, is highly prized, as it can enhance Russia’s defence capabilities and maintain its geopolitical influence. The stakes are high for Europe, where intellectual property theft undermines economic competitiveness and poses a threat to national security.

In response, European nations have ramped up their defences. Cybersecurity measures have been strengthened, with governments and private companies investing heavily in advanced systems to protect their data. Intelligence sharing has become a cornerstone of the European response, with countries collaborating through NATO and the EU to track and counter Russian espionage. For Europe, the task is to stay one step ahead, safeguarding the innovations that drive its economies and protect its security. For Russia, the allure of stolen secrets—and the advantages they promise—continues to fuel its efforts, ensuring that this shadowy conflict will endure for years.

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It Took Trump Only Twenty-four Days to Sell Out Ukraine

Amid the chaos in Washington, the President’s phone call with Putin has Moscow filled with glee…

The New Yorker, by Susan B. Glasser, February 13, 2025.

Has Vladimir Putin ever had a better few days in Washington? Donald Trump, just four weeks into his second term, has executed a breathtaking pivot toward Moscow, reversing course after years of ruptured relations between the U.S. and Russia that resulted from Putin’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine. First, Trump signed off on gutting the U.S. Agency for International Development, delighting the Russian government, whose spokeswoman called it “a machine for interfering” in other countries’ affairs. Also on the chopping block may soon be Radio Free Europe, a Cold War legacy project whose coverage of Putin’s Russia has long infuriated the Kremlin. “Yes, shut them down,” Trump’s billionaire buddy and sometimes Putin interlocutor Elon Musk tweeted over the weekend.

Then, on Wednesday, the U.S. Senate voted to confirm former Democratic congresswoman Tulsi Gabbard, Trump’s controversial nominee to become the director of National Intelligence. Gabbard has, like Trump himself, often amplified Russian talking points about the war in Ukraine—a key reason Mitch McConnell, the former Senate Republican leader, refused to vote for her. But he was the only holdout in a Senate Republican Conference that, as recently as Gabbard’s confirmation hearing last month, included several G.O.P. senators said to be queasy about her nomination. These were the stalwarts who once vowed to stand with Ukraine until it beat back Russia. Now, they don’t even dare stand against a single Trump nominee.

That same day, Trump held his first formal phone call with Putin since returning to the White House. It could hardly have been more ominous for Ukraine—as clear a sign as possible that the American President who praised Russia’s war on its neighbour as an act of strategic “genius” now intends to force a ceasefire on Putin’s terms. According to Trump’s reports on his social media feed, the call featured chummy references to the U.S. alliance with the Soviet Union during the Second World War and a decision to “immediately” launch peace talks. Only afterwards did Trump call Ukraine’s President, Volodymyr Zelensky. It was all too obvious which of the two combatants he favoured.

“Do you view Ukraine as an equal member of this peace process?” A reporter in the Oval Office later asked Trump. “Umm,” he said, pausing so long that the silence was deafening. “It’s an interesting question,” he finally replied. “I think they have to make peace. Their people are being killed, and I think they have to make peace. I said that was not a good war to go into”—as if Ukraine had had a choice about an unprovoked attack by more than a hundred thousand Russian troops—“and I think they have to make peace.”

After Putin launched his invasion—three years ago this month—Joe Biden condemned the Russian leader as a killer and a thug, sent tens of billions of dollars in U.S. military assistance, and vowed to stand with Ukraine for “as long as it takes.” Whenever peace talks arose, Biden promised that the U.S. would undertake “nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine.” But Trump, on Wednesday, seemed to go out of his way to humiliate Ukraine, volunteering that he and Putin would “probably” meet soon in Saudi Arabia, with Zelensky pointedly not invited. Trump even appeared to adopt the Kremlin’s bloody imperial theory of the case for why Russia should be able to keep territory illegally seized from Ukraine since, after all, “they fought for that land.” No wonder gleeful pundits on Moscow state television were soon crowing about Russia’s “big success.”

For months, some of Trump’s most conventional Republican enablers have been gaslighting the American public, European allies, and embattled Ukraine by advancing the notion that Trump, once reinstalled in office, would be a sort of second coming of Ronald Reagan, determined to stand tough against the Russians and deliver a fair deal for Ukraine achieved by Reagan’s signature approach of “peace through strength.” You could almost hear Trump laughing as he mocked those apologists in his Oval Office appearance. The man is who he is. He still admires Putin and still couldn’t care less about Ukraine. “The strong do what they can, the weak suffer what they must” might as well be Trump’s motto. Of course, he was always going to pressure Ukraine to trade land for peace, international law and national sovereignty be damned. As for American guarantees to secure Ukraine against future Russian incursions?

If anyone was tempted to dismiss Trump’s words as mere negotiating tactics, two of the President’s Cabinet secretaries were dispatched to Europe on errands that underscored the degree to which Trump had sided with Putin. In Brussels, Trump’s new Defense Secretary, Pete Hegseth, lectured European allies about how the U.S. can’t worry about their security anymore and effectively ruled out any chance for Ukraine to join NATO. By peremptorily shutting the door to Ukraine, Hegseth foreclosed on any arrangement that might secure Ukraine from future Russian aggression and ceded a key point of leverage over Putin—before a single bargaining session. Meanwhile, Trump’s Treasury Secretary, Scott Bessent, was sent to Ukraine—not with additional aid but with a demand from Trump that the besieged government in Kyiv compensate the U.S. for its past assistance by agreeing to supply some five hundred billion dollars in rare-earth minerals. Biden used to frame America’s role in Ukraine as a bulwark in the global contest between autocracies and democracies. And Trump? He seems to be going for something more like a mob shakedown: pay up, or we’ll let Putin eat you alive. This, too, is vintage Trump. Indeed, his first Secretary of State, Rex Tillerson, made a famous outburst at the Pentagon in 2017 when he called the President a “fucking moron,” which was prompted, in part, by his anger at Trump likening American soldiers to mercenaries who should fight only for countries that pay.

The timing of the decision to preëmptively rule out NATO membership for Ukraine, on the eve of the annual Munich Security Conference, seemed like one of those deliberate Trump trolls, practically inviting unfavourable comparisons to Neville Chamberlain’s disastrous Munich “peace in our time” deal with Hitler on the eve of the Second World War. As Carl Bildt, the veteran European diplomat and former Prime Minister of Sweden, commented, “It’s certainly an innovative approach to a negotiation to make major concessions even before they have started. Not even Chamberlain went that low in 1938. That Munich ended very badly anyhow.”

The selling out of Ukraine was an inevitable consequence, no doubt, of America’s decision to reëlect Trump—the car crash that we’ve been watching unfold in slow motion since the evening of November 5th. For those warning about Trump’s plans for Ukraine, Wednesday’s revelations felt like the crash had finally happened. John Bolton, the hawkish Republican who served as Trump’s national security adviser and who has since publicly turned on him, said that his former boss had already “effectively surrendered to Putin” and appears prepared to force Ukraine to accede to “a settlement that could have been written in the Kremlin.”

The German Chancellor, Olaf Scholz, quite possibly a lame duck given upcoming elections in which his party’s share in the polls has collapsed to around fifteen per cent, blustered about Europe refusing to accept a “dictated peace.” But, in reality, who’s going to stop Trump? On the campaign trail last year, he used to brag that he would solve the Ukraine war in twenty-four hours. He broke that promise, but in the twenty-four days since he’s returned to power he’s given a brazen indication of how he plans to do so. Christmas came early for Putin this year.