The talks in Abu Dhabi, where delegations from Ukraine, Russia and the US met, concluded with a series of statements aimed at downplaying the fact that the meeting had not been a complete disaster, but had not achieved much either. The Ukrainians said there was work to be done; the Americans described the talks as ‘good’; the Russians, however, were in no mood to sugar-coat the lack of progress and instead left, placing their trust in Vladimir Medinsky, the head of the delegation, who assured that Russia would reclaim every centimetre of its territory – and, as far as Moscow is concerned, the entire Donbas belongs to it too. The only outcome—always a positive one, but ultimately the only one possible—was an agreement on the release of prisoners of war. Today, Donald Trump’s envoys, Steve Witkoff and Jared Kushner, will be in Moscow; they will meet Vladimir Putin and then travel on to Dublin, where they are expected to brief Volodymyr Zelensky on the outcome of their talks with the Kremlin leader. One of their objectives is to secure Putin’s consent for a European mediator – who as yet has no face, name or affiliation – to be present at future talks.
The Ukrainians had travelled to the Emirates with no expectations; over the years they have become accustomed to lowering their expectations, and the delegation was content simply to see that the Americans’ attitude was not hostile. In Putin’s presence, everything changes: Kushner falls silent, Witkoff stammers, but for the time being the Ukrainians are returning home in a position no worse than before, and they know that a harsh winter awaits them, with few certainties other than that the Russians want to press ahead – as Medinsky’s words in Abu Dhabi confirmed. And every day they confirm this with their actions.
Last week, whilst the US mid-term elections were still due to take place, Russia struck the village of Komyshuvakha in the Zaporizhzhia region. Initial reports made it clear that it would be a massacre: more than fifty people died. CNN reconstructed the bombing using footage from body cameras worn by the rescue workers, who also lost their lives. The attack struck a school that had been converted into a collection point for humanitarian aid and a shelter. On the morning of the bombing, a message had been sent to local residents informing them that they could come to collect food, medicines and other aid. An initial bombardment struck the school whilst it was still not full, killing one woman and injuring another, who became trapped under the rubble. Rescue workers arrived, and fifteen minutes later, alarms began to signal that a new attack was imminent. The rescue team joined the other residents, rushed into the shelter and, five minutes later, the cameras went dark. The area, sixteen kilometres from the front line, was targeted by six attacks; a particularly heavy glide bomb was used to strike the shelter where the population had fled with the rescue workers: a 2,700-kilo bomb containing 1,360 kilos of explosives, designed to strike fortified underground structures. Moscow used an anti-bunker bomb against a shelter in a civilian area.
The distribution of aid was public; everyone knew where it would take place and at what time, including the Russians. The Komyshuvakha massacre may have been a test of the new weapon deployed by Moscow: after the first attack, as often happens, rescue workers arrive, and people also rush to the scene to watch. The second attack took everyone in the shelter by surprise, burying them beneath the rubble. Those who arrived after the final bomb saw the school’s ruins surrounded by burning cars, crumpled bicycles and craters. For Zelensky, it was a message from the Russians to the Ukrainians: you are alone, trapped; America is no longer paying attention to this.