Neville Trump Meets His Master In Alaska

There are bad summits, dumb summits, and morally bankrupt summits.

And then there’s the Trump-Putin Alaska Summit to empower Russia to end its, a moral outrage wrapped in a diplomatic dumpster fire, tied up with a gold-plated bow of Donald Trump’s congenital weakness and clownish self-regard, a perfect exemplar of the Russians decades-long ability to make Trump dance like a trained monkey to the tune to their organ grinder of the moment plays.

In the mid-1980s, after Trump’s first visit to Moscow, he blistered NATO with paid full-page ads in the New York Times and the Washington Post and defended the Soviet Union - the Soviet Union - on television. This was in the height of the Cold War.

His endless tongue bath of Vladimir Putin is the terminus of a long arc of abject humiliation, of the supposed strong man begging the dwarfish Russian autocrat to politically turn him over for the spanking he deserves from Daddy Vladdy.

This isn’t just an unforced error; it’s the season finale of The Biggest Loser of American Foreign Policy. Not since Neville Chamberlain stepped off the plane in 1938 waving his little scrap of paper and promising “peace in our time” as Hitler licked his chops over the Sudetenland has a great power seen its status in the world sold so cheap.

Only now, instead of a stiff-lipped British Prime Minister handing territory to a genocidal dictator, we’ve got Donald J. Trump, a man whose moronic geopolitical instincts are a cross between a mobbed-up real estate hustler and a shaky krokodil addict, kneeling before Vladimir Putin, smiling like a dog that’s just been patted on the head by its master, meekly accepting Putin’s ravenous demands for the death of Ukraine and a green light to proceed with the dismantlement of Europe.

The only goal of this summit is Putin’s; the slaughter and dismemberment of Ukraine.

Trump’s personal hatred of Ukraine stretches to the Burisma/Rudy yGiuliani “drug deal” in which Zelenskyy refused to fabricate “evidence” against Joe Biden in the 2020 election.

J.D. Vance hates Ukraine because he’s part of an odd niche of the MAGA GOP that believes Putin is the savior of the white Christian world. Despite the long history of American falling for this kind of crude agitprop, Vance and that Bannonite crew of Russophiles, Putin keeps selling it and they keep buying.

This is a legitimizing summit in which the President of the United States treats a kleptocratic thug as an equal partner in deciding the fate Ukraine, and Europe. That’s not just bad optics. That’s the kind of self-inflicted wound historians will still be writing about when we’re all dust.

Part of this fiasco’s origin story lies in the towering incompetence of Stephen Witkoff, the casino-and-condo developer turned amateur foreign policy meddler who somehow managed to bumble his way into this mess. Witkoff’s resume in diplomacy is about as impressive as a Trump University law degree, but that didn’t stop him from overplaying his hand in utterly calamitous talks with Russia that left the U.S. boxed in and Russia smelling blood in the water. Trump’s repeated statements of “land swaps” to end the war built on the gibbering fool Witkoff’s mistakes.

Instead of keeping Putin at arm’s length, Witkoff’s sloppy, historically ignorant nonsense and pre-capitulation gave Moscow exactly what it wanted; that Putin and Trump would determine the fate of Ukraine.

And when Trump saw a chance to put himself in the center of the action (and the cameras), he grabbed it with the same short-fingered enthusiasm he reserves for Sharpies, tween girls, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.

What we’ve got now is the culmination of Witkoff’s amateur-hour setup and Trump’s boundless appetite for flattery from strongmen. It’s not statecraft. It’s not strategy. It’s a reality TV pitch meeting with nukes.

You don’t have to be George Kennan to see what’s happening here. Putin has been running the same play on Trump since their first bro-date in Helsinki: dangle the illusion of “historic” deals, play to Trump’s desperate need to be seen as a big man on the world stage, and wait for him to give away something for free. The Epstein distraction is just gravy for Putin.

Trump eats it up every time.

They knew that you don’t give your adversary the photo op, the legitimacy, and the diplomatic framing they crave without extracting something of real value.

But Trump? He gives it away for a pat on the head. He’s like a cat bringing home a dead mouse, expecting the rest of us to clap while he tracks blood across the carpet.

The most dangerous part isn’t that he’s selling out American interests; it’s that he doesn’t even understand he’s doing it. He thinks he’s winning. He thinks Putin respects him. He thinks he’s the dealmaker here, when in reality he’s the mark.

Some will roll their eyes at comparing this farce to the Sudetenland. But look closely: in both cases, you have a second-rate leader so overmatched by his adversary that he mistakes personal charm for strategic leverage, all while undercutting his own nation’s position. Chamberlain walked away believing he’d secured peace; Trump will walk away believing he’s secured “the best deal in the history of deals” right up until Putin unleashes another wave of drones and cruise missiles on Ukrainian civilians.

Chamberlain’s naiveté gave Hitler strategic breathing room. Trump’s stupidity gives Putin a freer hand in the Europe, undercuts NATO, and signals to every ally and adversary on the planet that U.S. commitments are negotiable if you stroke the President’s ego.

What’s maybe more disgusting than Trump’s personal enthrallment to Putin is the fact that the so-called “foreign policy grown-ups” in the Republican Senate, the ones who know better, are lining up behind him like starstruck interns. The former Republican Party, the one that once produced towering foreign policy figures on Russia matters like Richard Lugar, John Danforth, and John McCain, no longer pretends to oppose Russia.

If Trump’s in, they’re in, be it Lindsay Graham, Roger Wicker, or former Senator and now White House cafecito boy Marco Rubio.

These are men and women who cut their teeth under Reagan, who used to talk about standing up to the Soviets, who swore that they’d never let Moscow dictate terms to Washington. Now they’re squinting at the floor, muttering about “diplomatic engagement” and “bold leadership,” as if repeating Trump’s talking points will somehow keep them safe from the wrath of the MAGA base.

They’ve traded their convictions for fear of mean tweets and a bad primary. They’ve watched their party’s foreign policy turn from “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall” to “Mr. Putin, can I bring you a hot towel when you’re done with my wife?” And they’ve done it with the meek complicity of courtiers who’d rather keep their titles than keep their souls.

Donald Trump is not a serious man. He’s not a serious thinker. He doesn’t read briefing books; he doesn’t understand the Ukraine, Russia, Putin, or European security. He is mentally incapable of making rational judgements about Putin for a portfolio of reasons, but abject historical illiteracy, mental illness, dementia, and compromise are certainly in the top tier.

He approaches diplomacy the same way he approaches marriage vows, business ethics, or the truth: as a set of optional guidelines. He doesn’t just fail to grasp the stakes; he fails to grasp that there are stakes beyond how it makes him look on TV.

That’s why this summit is so dangerous.

Foreign policy isn’t a game of vibes. It’s a long, grinding, unglamorous business of protecting your national interests, shoring up your allies, and making sure your enemies never mistake your patience for weakness. Trump has inverted all of that. He’s showing the world that America can be led by a man so insecure, so desperate for validation, that he’ll risk decades of hard-won strategic advantage for a handshake and a compliment.

The Alaska Summit isn’t a bold move. It’s a humiliating capitulation dressed up in gold lamé. It’s Trump bending the knee, Witkoff fumbling the ball, so-called Secretary of State Marco Rubio sweating freely, but sitting with a thousand-yard stare, and the Senate GOP looking on with the dead eyes of people who’ve traded their integrity for proximity to power.

And in the long, ugly arc of history, it’s going to look exactly the way it feels right now: like the day America to give Russia a tremendous gift; permission to rip the territorial integrity of Ukraine apart, and proceed with its dismantlement of Europe.

America’s moral credibility were all worth less than Donald Trump’s fragile ego.

Because for all the flags, the anthems, and the bluster about America First, this summit is really about one thing: Donald Trump’s need to feel like the biggest man in the room, even if it means letting Vladimir Putin walk out with the silverware.

And like Chamberlain before him, he’ll smile for the cameras, wave his little scrap of paper, and insist that he’s secured “peace in our time.” But the rest of us will know better. We’ll know we’ve been sold out, and that the man who did it never understood the price.

So go ahead, Donald.

Sell out Ukraine, Europe, and American security. Bask in the applause of the one man on Earth whose approval you crave more than your own children’s. Grin like a game show host while Putin pockets the winnings. History will remember you, not as the dealmaker you pretend to be, but as the casino mark who strutted out of the room thinking he’d won, all while the pit boss was already counting your chips.