the United States remains the only power capable of resolving European conflicts — as it did in 1917, in 1945, and throughout the Cold War.

The debate surrounding a possible plan to end the war between Russia and Ukraine has brought back into focus a fundamental truth of European geopolitics: whenever the continent falls into crisis, it is Washington that ultimately has to step in.
For this reason, the proposal can be described not just as an American success, but as a historical one. It is yet another confirmation of the United States' role as the key arbiter of European order.

From World War I to World War II, and all through the Cold War, the United States intervened whenever European powers were unable to contain their own conflicts. The discussion around the Ukraine plan fits into this long-standing pattern: Europe benefits from American stability, but remains unable to generate it on its own.

According to this interpretation, the plan mirrors the traditional U.S. diplomatic approach:
– it reaffirms Ukraine's sovereignty,
– introduces a non-aggression framework (also in favor of European states),
– clarifies the status of disputed territories,
– and places economic and security guarantees under direct American supervision.

This structure echoes the U.S. strategic model of the 20th century: a rules-based international order, deterrence, and the ability to enforce — and apply — sanctions.

Once again, the European Union appears as a strong economic actor but a geopolitically incomplete one. The war at its borders has exposed familiar limitations: the lack of unified military leadership, insufficient diplomatic leverage, and an inability to negotiate independently with a major power like Russia.
Into this vacuum, the United States naturally re-enters as the central decision-maker.

The most delicate part of the plan — the status of Crimea, Donetsk, and Luhansk — can be interpreted as strategic realism. It starts from the situation on the ground but embeds it within a rigid deterrence framework: automatic sanctions, economic pressure, and continuous monitoring.
This is an approach the United States has used before in various contexts, from postwar Europe to managing relations with the Soviet Union and later China.

Ukraine's neutrality, as envisioned in the plan, would not mean isolation. Instead, it would position Ukraine inside a U.S.-led security perimeter parallel to NATO. Reconstruction financed by frozen Russian assets and European contributions would anchor Ukraine firmly in the Western sphere, with Washington acting as the primary guarantor.

The proposal to gradually reintegrate Russia into the global economy — contingent upon compliance with strict rules — reflects the broader American strategy of "conditional stability": economic incentives tied to restraint and the cessation of hostilities.

The creation of a U.S.-led Peace Council is arguably the most significant component. It formalizes what history has repeatedly shown: without Washington, Europe struggles to build a credible security framework. It also signals the decline of the United Nations–based order, which no longer reflects geopolitical realities.

For this reason, the plan is less a personal triumph for Trump than the continuation of a long historical pattern:

Its significance, beyond questions of feasibility, lies precisely in this: it reaffirms that European stability still depends on America's ability to negotiate, guarantee, and — when necessary — intervene.

Europeans have yet to fully realize that 250 years ago what was born was not merely a nation, but an idea: the United States of America.
Not just a new country — but a new global concept, one that continues to shape the security architecture of the Western world.

Marco Baratto