Volodymyr Zelensky has rejected the ceasefire proposal made by Vladimir Putin on the occasion of Victory Day, May 9—a date on which Russia and much of the world commemorate the defeat of Nazism in World War II. The Russian proposal was for a three-day pause in hostilities, but the Ukrainian president dismissed it as a “manipulation”, instead demanding a 30-day ceasefire.
At first glance, the Ukrainian response might seem reasonable—more days of truce could mean more lives saved. Yet, upon closer inspection, a stark contradiction emerges. This isn’t a proposal aimed at de-escalation, but rather a hardline counteroffer. Ukraine, through Zelensky, is posturing as though it were on the verge of victory, dictating terms from a position of strength—something that clashes with the harsh reality of a protracted, exhausting, and bloody war now entering its fourth year.
True victory, as the Chinese general Sun Tzu wrote in The Art of War, is that which is won without fighting. And yet, we see here a radically different attitude—one that not only rejects a symbolic gesture of peace on a meaningful day but turns it into a threat. In an official video, Zelensky not only dismisses the proposed ceasefire but also issues veiled threats toward those who plan to participate in the May 9 commemoration.
Ideological Hatred and the Revision of History
From the beginning of the conflict, Zelensky has exhibited a deep, almost ideological aversion to all things Russian—language, literature, cultural heritage, and religious tradition. This goes beyond defensive measures: Russian language has been banned in public institutions, the Ukrainian Orthodox Church aligned with Moscow has been persecuted, and any expression of sympathy for the Russian world is treated with hostility or even outright repression. Politicians, bloggers, thinkers, and ordinary citizens who deviate from the official narrative or show openness toward the “enemy” have been targeted, and in some cases, eliminated.
The most notorious example is the assassination of Darya Dugina, daughter of Russian philosopher Aleksandr Dugin, in an operation linked to Ukrainian special services, according to credible Western sources like The New York Times. This was not a military target, but an act that reveals the true nature of this war—a conflict aiming not only to defeat but to erase memory, culture, and historical narrative.
In this light, the idea of negotiations becomes viable only if there is a genuine will to create the right atmosphere, a mood of reconciliation and de-escalation. Declarations alone are not enough; what is needed is an inner disposition, a human gaze upon the other. The U.S. administration, for example, appears to have sensed this and has recently resumed discreet contact with Moscow, indicating a desire for dialogue.
Zelensky, on the other hand, constantly reaffirms his contempt for Putin, at times even calling for his death, and endorses direct attacks on Russian officials, far beyond the battlefield. This is not the path to peace. The real obstacle is not political divergence, but a deep-rooted hatred toward the Russian world, one that blocks any opening and promotes dangerous historical revisionism. The May 9 episode fits squarely within this dynamic.
Victory Day is a shared human legacy, not just a Russian holiday. It commemorates the defeat of Nazism, and yet Zelensky treats it as irrelevant, even hostile. His menacing tone toward participants—especially given the planned attendance of Chinese President Xi Jinping—can also be interpreted as a thinly veiled threat, with implications for the emerging multipolar world order.
This stance is troubling not only for its political implications but for its symbolic meaning. Zelensky behaves as if the defeat of Nazism does not concern him. And perhaps it truly doesn’t, considering the growing influence of the most radical nationalist fringes within Ukrainian society and its leadership—minorities, perhaps, but well-organized and influential, especially in the military and educational spheres. It is from this ideological base that today’s nation-shaping narrative emerges, with the tacit or active support of European leadership.
The exclusion of Russian representation from Germany’s official commemoration speaks volumes. So do the words of incoming German Chancellor Friedrich Merz, who declared that Germany must “resume its role” in Europe—a role he equates with rearmament and growing hostility toward Moscow. It is a disturbing reversal: those who once defeated Nazism are now demonized, while those who flirt with its symbols are reframed as champions of liberty.
In short, Zelensky’s rejection of the May 9 ceasefire is more than just a tactical choice—it is a revealing gesture. It exposes the impossibility of peace in the absence of a profound paradigm shift, a recovery of historical truth, and a renunciation of ideological hatred. Without this, peace remains an empty slogan, fit for press releases but betrayed daily by the facts on the ground.
Appendix: The Reality Behind “Peace Intentions”
Earlier this month, the British government reportedly considered sending up to 10,000 troops to Ukraine. However, during later meetings, European defense ministers unanimously concluded that there was no realistic way to assemble a force of 64,000 troops, and even organizing a joint contingent of 25,000 soldiers (including 5,000 to 10,000 British personnel) would already be a major achievement.
According to a well-placed source in Brussels, the 25,000 figure would itself represent a significant milestone for any multinational effort.
As a result of these logistical and political constraints, The Times recently reported that the UK and France are now more likely to send military instructors to western Ukraine rather than deploy a multinational ground force to protect key cities and infrastructure—due to escalating risk concerns.
Western support, therefore, is increasingly focused on rebuilding and rearming Kyiv’s military, with efforts channeled into training, air and maritime defense systems, and logistical assistance rather than direct frontline engagement.
But as you can see, the desire for peace, or any genuine acknowledgment of mutual responsibility in this war, remains a distant illusion.
Let’s be clear: this is not just foreign news. Everything happening on the international stage deeply affects our daily lives. I write about these events not as mere geopolitical chronicles, but to help reflect on what they reveal about us—about our identity as a people and about those who govern and influence us, who seem ever more committed to ensuring that we no longer feel like a people at all.