Less than a month into 2025, the ‘Year of the Snake’ is already living up to its ominous reputation.
For Russians, it is the symbol of upheaval in the Chinese zodiac: the revolutions of 1905 and 1917, the Nazi invasion of 1941, Stalin’s death in 1953, and the Soviet collapse in 1989 all fell under its shadow. Now, some fear history is once again coiling to strike.
Why? Donald Trump’s abrupt shift in tone towards the war in Ukraine.
In these pages on Christmas Day – another ominous date for the Kremlin, being the day in 1991 the hammer and sickle flag lowered from its battlements for the last time – I argued the incoming President’s view on Europe’s bloodiest conflict since the Second World War would depend on his perception of Moscow’s strength three years into a war supposed to last three days.
Most pro-Kyiv insiders I spoke to were deeply pessimistic. They cited Trump’s slamming of President Zelensky as a “salesman,” his talk of having a “good relationship” with Vladimir Putin, his vocal frustration at Nato’s failures, and his philosophy of power: money over morality.
They thought Trump would perceive Moscow as the great bear: strong, untouchable, eternal. While most Ukrainians preferred the uncertainty of mercurial Trump over the slow-drip predictability of the cautious President Biden – “anything but this slow death,” one told me – they were still anxious.
Yet two weeks ago, as Trump’s inauguration approached, the atmosphere shifted. Sources closely tuned to the White House transition team told me about a growing urgency to project strength, fearing a repeat of the Biden administration’s chaotic Afghanistan withdrawal, and the damage it did to American prestige.
Less than a month into 2025, the ‘Year of the Snake’ is already living up to its ominous reputation.
For Russians, it is the symbol of upheaval in the Chinese zodiac: the revolutions of 1905 and 1917, the Nazi invasion of 1941, Stalin’s death in 1953, and the Soviet collapse in 1989 all fell under its shadow. Now, some fear history is once again coiling to strike.
Why? Donald Trump’s abrupt shift in tone towards the war in Ukraine.
In these pages on Christmas Day – another ominous date for the Kremlin, being the day in 1991 the hammer and sickle flag lowered from its battlements for the last time – I argued the incoming President’s view on Europe’s bloodiest conflict since the Second World War would depend on his perception of Moscow’s strength three years into a war supposed to last three days.
Most pro-Kyiv insiders I spoke to were deeply pessimistic. They cited Trump’s slamming of President Zelensky as a “salesman,” his talk of having a “good relationship” with Vladimir Putin, his vocal frustration at Nato’s failures, and his philosophy of power: money over morality.
They thought Trump would perceive Moscow as the great bear: strong, untouchable, eternal. While most Ukrainians preferred the uncertainty of mercurial Trump over the slow-drip predictability of the cautious President Biden – “anything but this slow death,” one told me – they were still anxious.
Yet two weeks ago, as Trump’s inauguration approached, the atmosphere shifted. Sources closely tuned to the White House transition team told me about a growing urgency to project strength, fearing a repeat of the Biden administration’s chaotic Afghanistan withdrawal, and the damage it did to American prestige.