In his column "Ukraine Left to Fend for Itself. Europe Talks but Does Not Act" in The Telegraph, journalist Owen Matthews argues that European leaders’ pledges to send peacekeepers to Ukraine should not be taken seriously. In his view, these are ritual gestures of "solidarity" rather than real steps to defend Kyiv.
In his Telegraph column, Owen Matthews contends that Europe is misleading Ukraine. Despite loud declarations about readiness to deploy "forces of stabilization" on Ukrainian soil, genuine military intervention is not on the horizon. Yesterday’s meeting of the so-called "Coalition of the Willing" offered little more than another performance of political solidarity.
Matthews notes that French President Emmanuel Macron’s proposal faces one insurmountable obstacle—Vladimir Putin. From the outset, Russia waged this war to block Ukraine’s Western integration and its path toward NATO. "Putin has repeatedly made clear that he is categorically opposed to any allied military presence on Ukrainian soil," the journalist writes. As such, even the discussion of NATO peacekeepers looks less like a solution than a further complication.
In reality, Matthews observes, European leaders use such initiatives merely to signal support for Volodymyr Zelensky, but little more. "Ukrainians have every reason to be angry with their allies," he stresses. Military aid from the EU and the United States has indeed helped Kyiv endure, yet the three-and-a-half-year war has been marked by chronic delays and insufficient deliveries. Western pledges—starting with Justin Trudeau’s 2022 promise to provide Kyiv with "whatever it needs, for as long as it takes"—have in practice rung hollow.
Matthews traces the roots of this contradiction back to 2014. After the annexation of Crimea, Angela Merkel insisted that "Europe’s borders remain unchanged" and that Kremlin aggression would not be tolerated. Yet just a year later, Germany signed a €9.5 billion contract to build the Nord Stream 2 pipeline, deepening its dependence on Russian gas. "It is hardly surprising that, in preparing for a full-scale invasion, the Kremlin did not take Western threats seriously," the journalist notes.
Even after the war began, the West’s logic remained the same: support Ukraine but avoid direct confrontation with Russia. Disputes over deliveries of Leopard 2 tanks, F-16 fighters, HIMARS and ATACMS missiles followed a familiar pattern—"help, but not too much." As General Mark Milley, then chairman of the US Joint Chiefs of Staff, told Joe Biden back in September 2021, "avoiding a direct war with Russia is the absolute priority."
That is why, Matthews argues, the European peacekeeping plan looks like a utopia. The very notion of a military "deterrent force" implies a willingness to fight and die. Yet public opinion in Europe resists this: polls show that 68% of the French oppose sending their soldiers to Ukraine if the war drags on. Unsurprisingly, the final statement by 26 of the 35 members of the "Coalition of the Willing" was couched in ambiguity: they agreed "to deploy troops or provide resources to support peacekeepers in the air or at sea." "The key word here is 'or,'" the author notes.
For Matthews, what leaders chose not to mention is equally telling. The question of Ukraine’s NATO membership was not raised at all—"one item from the Kremlin’s wish list gone." And Ursula von der Leyen’s remark about turning Ukraine into a "steel porcupine" only underscores that Kyiv is expected to rely on its own strength. Europe, the journalist concludes, prefers to keep its distance.