In a move that has sent shockwaves through diplomatic circles and reignited debates over the future of Eastern Europe, President Donald Trump's administration has unveiled a sweeping 28-point draft proposal aimed at brokering an end to the nearly four-year-old war in Ukraine. Obtained by The Associated Press on Thursday, November 20, 2025, the document—crafted in secretive negotiations between Washington and Moscow—calls for Ukraine to make profound concessions, including the surrender of significant territory in the eastern Donbas region to Russia, a drastic reduction in the size of its armed forces, and a permanent bar on joining NATO. The plan, which appears to tilt heavily in favor of Russian President Vladimir Putin, has been formally presented to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who responded with a cautiously measured statement on social media, pledging "constructive, honest, and swift work" while emphasizing Ukraine's unyielding red lines on sovereignty.
The war, which erupted on February 24, 2022, when Russian forces launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, has claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, displaced millions, and reshaped global alliances. What began as a swift bid by Moscow to topple Zelenskyy's government in Kyiv has devolved into a grinding stalemate, with Russian troops controlling roughly 20% of Ukrainian soil, including the annexed Crimean Peninsula and parts of the Donbas industrial heartland. Trump's intervention comes amid mounting fatigue in Western capitals over the conflict's costs—over $200 billion in U.S. aid alone—and his repeated campaign promises to resolve it "in 24 hours." Yet, as details of the draft emerge, critics warn that this blueprint risks rewarding aggression rather than deterring it, evoking comparisons to the infamous 1938 Munich Agreement that appeased Nazi Germany.
At its core, the proposal envisions a territorial settlement that would formalize Russia's de facto control over the entirety of Donbas, encompassing the Luhansk and Donetsk regions. Currently, Ukrainian forces hold about 14% of this contested area, a foothold maintained through fierce fighting and Western-supplied weaponry like HIMARS rockets and ATACMS missiles. Under the draft, Kyiv would withdraw from these positions, effectively handing Moscow a strategic victory it has failed to achieve militarily despite waves of conscripted assaults. This cession would not only consolidate Russia's grip on resource-rich coal and steel mines but also secure a land bridge to Crimea, annexed in 2014—a move still deemed illegal under international law.
Compounding these territorial losses, the plan mandates a cap on Ukraine's military strength, shrinking its active-duty forces from approximately 880,000 troops to just 600,000. This downsizing would include restrictions on heavy weaponry, such as long-range strike systems, ostensibly to prevent future escalations but practically neutering Kyiv's defensive posture. In exchange, Ukraine would receive vague "security guarantees" from the United States and its European allies. A side agreement outlines that any "significant, deliberate, and sustained armed attack" by Russia would be interpreted as a threat to "the peace and security of the transatlantic community." However, this language stops short of binding commitments to military intervention, leaving responses to the discretion of NATO members. As one senior U.S. official, speaking anonymously, clarified: allies would "determine the measures necessary to restore security," a formulation that echoes the ambiguities of past accords like the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, which famously failed to protect Ukraine after Crimea's seizure.
The draft's pro-Russian tilt extends to broader geopolitical shifts. It explicitly prohibits Ukraine's accession to NATO and freezes the alliance's eastward expansion indefinitely—a long-standing Kremlin red line rooted in fears of encirclement. Moscow has long portrayed NATO's post-Cold War enlargement as provocative, justifying its invasion as a defensive measure against "existential threats." This provision would represent a diplomatic coup for Putin, undermining decades of alliance policy and potentially emboldening further adventurism in the region. Additionally, the plan paves the way for lifting Western sanctions on Russia, imposed since 2014, and reinstating Moscow in the G8 (now G7), from which it was expelled after Crimea. Frozen Russian assets totaling $100 billion would be redirected toward Ukraine's reconstruction, a sweetener that Trump has touted as "fair compensation," though Ukrainian officials dismiss it as inadequate for the war's devastation, estimated at over $500 billion.
The origins of this controversial document trace back to high-level backchannel talks initiated shortly after Trump's inauguration earlier this year. U.S. Special Envoy Steve Witkoff, a real estate magnate with no prior diplomatic experience but credited with Trump's Gaza ceasefire, spearheaded the drafting alongside Secretary of State Marco Rubio. Key input came from Kirill Dmitriev, a Putin confidant who heads Russia's sovereign wealth fund and has emerged as Moscow's point man on economic diplomacy. The duo huddled in Miami last October, blending elements from Trump's Israel-Hamas blueprint—a "Peace Council" chaired by the U.S. president to monitor compliance, with sanctions triggers for violations. Witkoff's discussions with Rustem Umerov, Zelenskyy's defense adviser, yielded "several modifications," per a U.S. official, before the plan was forwarded to Kyiv.
On Thursday, U.S. Army Secretary Dan Driscoll arrived in the Ukrainian capital for face-to-face deliberations with Zelenskyy, marking the first high-level Trump administration visit since the draft's completion. Driscoll, a Trump appointee with a background in logistics rather than strategy, conveyed the proposal's urgency amid reports of Russian gains in Donetsk. Zelenskyy's public response was diplomatic but firm: "Our teams—of Ukraine and the United States—will work on the provisions of the plan to end the war. We are ready for constructive, honest and swift work." Privately, however, Ukrainian sources describe the document as a "Russian wishlist," with Zelenskyy expected to press Trump directly in upcoming calls. Ukraine's Deputy U.N. Ambassador Khrystyna Hayovyshyn echoed this at a Security Council briefing, declaring: "There will never be any recognition, formal or otherwise, of Ukrainian territory temporarily occupied by the Russian Federation as Russian. Our land is not for sale." She further rejected caps on self-defense rights or alliance choices, invoking Ukraine's constitution, which prohibits territorial concessions.
The plan's reception in Europe has been one of alarm and indignation, with diplomats decrying their exclusion from the process. EU Foreign Policy Chief Kaja Kallas, speaking in Brussels, insisted: "For any plan to work, it needs Ukrainians and Europeans on board." She lambasted the lack of Russian concessions, noting, "We haven’t heard of any concessions on the Russian side." German Foreign Minister Johannes Wadephul, after phone talks with Witkoff and Turkish counterpart Hakan Fidan, emphasized multilateral efforts to halt "Russia’s war of aggression." Fears abound that the deal could fracture transatlantic unity, emboldening Putin by signaling Western exhaustion. U.K. Prime Minister Keir Starmer reinforced this, stating: "The future of Ukraine must be determined by Ukraine." Even within the U.S., pushback is mounting. Republican Rep. Don Bacon, an Air Force veteran, branded it "unacceptable—a 1938 Munich," alluding to the appeasement that presaged World War II. Trump's special envoy Keith Kellogg, a Ukraine hawk, announced his January departure, sidelined as Witkoff dominates Putin channels.
Trump's persistence stems from frustration with stalled prior efforts. A summer summit in Alaska yielded no breakthroughs, and a planned Budapest follow-up fizzled. The president has vented publicly: "I thought that was going to be my easy one because I have a good relationship with President Putin. But I’m a little disappointed in President Putin right now." Yet, his approach—pairing oil sanctions effective Friday with olive branches—reflects a carrot-and-stick philosophy. White House Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt defended the draft as a "framework" incorporating Ukrainian feedback, insisting it's a "live document" open to revisions.
As Zelenskyy navigates domestic scandals and frontline pressures, the plan amplifies his dilemmas. Conceding Donbas would violate constitutional oaths and inflame public outrage, where polls show 80% oppose territorial giveaways. Russia's retention of half the output from the Zaporizhzhia nuclear plant—Europe's largest, seized early in the war—adds another flashpoint, risking energy blackmail. Ukrainian officials view the "Peace Council" as toothless oversight, fearing it prioritizes U.S.-Russia resets over Kyiv's security.
Broader implications loom large. A weakened Ukraine could destabilize the Black Sea, disrupt grain exports feeding Africa and the Middle East, and erode NATO's credibility. Analysts like those at the Atlantic Council argue the draft ignores Russia's pattern of treaty breaches—from Minsk agreements to Budapest—predicting renewed aggression within years. Conversely, Trump allies, including son-in-law Jared Kushner (who advised on the draft), hail it as pragmatic realism, averting escalation to nuclear brinkmanship.
Zelenskyy's office hints at a direct Trump dialogue soon, potentially via secure video. European ministers, convening urgently, plot inclusive alternatives, perhaps incorporating U.K.-French peacekeeping ideas. For now, the draft hangs like a sword of Damocles, testing alliances forged in blood. As Putin savors apparent gains without battlefield costs, the world watches whether Trump's dealmaking yields durable peace or a prelude to partition. In Kyiv's resilient spirit, one hears echoes of defiance: Ukraine fights not just for land, but for a principle—that sovereignty isn't negotiable at gunpoint.
