Alaska 2025 and Munich 1938: parallels and differences

Unsettling parallels

What unsettles European leaders most is the parallel many see between the 2025 Alaska Summit and the 1938 Munich meeting involving British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, French Prime Minister Édouard Daladier, and Adolf Hitler.

And although the geopolitical context has changed, the underlying issue remains deeply troubling: the exclusion of the directly affected party—Ukraine.

In Munich, the fate of Czechoslovakia's Sudetenland was decided without the Czech government's participation as London and Paris sought to avoid war by conceding to Hitler, which only led to the full occupation of Czechoslovakia months later and the eventual outbreak of the Second World War.

The future of Ukraine and its eastern regions, potential land swaps, NATO membership, security guarantees, and the disarmament of Kyiv were all reportedly discussed during the three-hour Trump–Putin meeting.

Ukraine's exclusion has drawn comparisons to what happened in Munich when the directly affected state was excluded from negotiations, constituting an implicit recognition of the legitimacy of the imposed war. It emboldens both the aggressor and the negotiator and is widely interpreted as a signal of weakness and disunity within the opposing alliance.

Much has been written about the lessons of Munich, foremost among them the failure of the policy of appeasement. Yet what most concerns Europe's major powers today is whether what happened after Munich happens in Ukraine. Hitler did not retreat after Munich; he escalated. European leaders believe that Putin will not stop at Ukraine. And no one is more skilled than he at interpreting such signals and translating them into acquisitions on the European battlefield.

After the summit, many observers breathed a sigh of relief that no deal was struck akin to Munich. There were no land swaps agreed to in Zelenskyy's absence—an issue the Ukrainian president insists must be decided by the people, in line with the country's constitution. Nor did it amount to a repeat of his capitulation during his first term as president, when the US effectively acquiesced to Russian demands in 2017 and 2018 by withdrawing support for the Syrian opposition and surrendering influence in opposition-held zones to Moscow.

In 2025, Trump returned from Alaska, claiming he had acted "to make peace." In 1938, Chamberlain returned from Munich proclaiming he had "brought peace." What he in fact brought was a promise that would soon be shattered by war in Europe.

Red carpet for a Nobel

Today, Trump's version of "peace" advances his ambition for a Nobel Prize while granting Putin something arguably more valuable: a ceremonial welcome on American soil, elevated status at the press conference, public praise for his positions on domestic issues, and a veneer of legitimacy in shaping the future of Ukraine and European security.

To prevent an ugly repeat of history, a durable solution in Ukraine requires Kyiv's presence at the negotiating table, not the dinner table. Equally vital is the substantive involvement of European nations whose military and financial commitments to the conflict make them key stakeholders in any future settlement. This goes beyond coordination before and after summits.

Above all, it demands that Trump, in his engagements with Putin, honour the commitments he has made to his Western allies. These are among the enduring lessons of Munich.