I'm from the United States of Performance

Where our president surrendered to an authoritarian leader who has an international arrest warrant issued for war crimes.

Today I watched my president roll out a red carpet for the man who is murdering children in Ukraine, and I felt something deeper than disgust. I felt rage, sharp and unshakable, rising alongside a grief I can’t put down, rage that he would honor a war criminal, and grief that my country would let him.

That grief sat heavy, turning quickly into a weight that settled into my bones, the kind that makes it hard to breathe, because I’ve seen this before in history books and survivor stories. And now it’s here, unfolding in front of us. The recognition that millions will suffer, families will be broken, children will be lost, all because one hollow man cannot live without the worship of power. I carry that knowledge like a stone I can’t set down.

The image that keeps haunting me is not the handshake. Not the red carpet. Not even the military jets screaming overhead like we were welcoming a hero. It's the moment Trump leaned in and patted Putin's hand, smiling like they were old friends, before inviting him into the Beast, the president's armored limousine, a moving fortress that no hostile foreign leader has ever been allowed inside. Until now.

I felt sick watching it.

I watched the footage again and again, trying to understand what I was seeing. The way Putin's face lit up when Trump gestured toward the limousine. The casual nature of it, as if inviting a war criminal into America's most secure vehicle was just another Tuesday. The way Trump looked proud, like he was showing off a new toy to someone whose approval he desperately craved.

Because I know what that moment will mean in Moscow tonight. Russian state TV will run it on a loop. The ride in the Beast will be proof that Putin is untouchable. The smile will be painted as respect. And the war crimes will fade into the background for people who want to believe the show.

Every time I see Trump legitimize Putin, I think about the Ukrainian mothers I've seen on the news, searching through rubble for their children. I think about the woman in Bucha who found her son's body after the Russians retreated. I think about the grandmother in Mariupol who died shielding her granddaughter from shrapnel. I think about the teacher in Kharkiv who kept teaching classes in a subway station because she refused to let Putin steal her students' education. And I carry that weight too. It's not the same as living it, but it's the weight of knowing your country could have done more, and chose the photo op instead.

What broke my heart today was knowing that Ukraine's president Volodymyr Zelenskyy wasn't even in the room. The man whose country has endured three years of brutal invasion will get a phone call "later." His voice was shut out while his future was negotiated without him.

The setting only underscored the theater of it all, a meeting on what Trump called "neutral ground" at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Alaska. As if geography could erase the fact that one man on that tarmac is the aggressor and the other is the enabler.

Just hours before they smiled for the cameras, Ukrainian civilians continued to suffer. Russian drones devastated the central market in Sumy, including approximately 20 market stalls, an educational institution, and several nearby non-residential buildings.

And then there was Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov, who stepped off a plane in Alaska wearing a sweatshirt stamped with the letters “CCCP,” the proud initials of the old Soviet Union.

That wasn’t clothing. That was a statement. A reminder of the empire Putin dreams of rebuilding. A signal that Russia has never let go of its hunger for domination.

That sweatshirt was a slap in the face not just to Ukrainians, but to every nation once swallowed by Soviet rule, every family scarred by decades of repression. It was worn to remind the world that in Russia’s eyes, this war isn’t just about Ukraine, it’s about restoring the empire that once terrorized half of Europe.

While they shook hands, our tax dollars funded a show that legitimized a war criminal.

While Putin smiled, our right to free elections, a free press, and free speech, all the things Putin has crushed in Russia, took another step toward erosion here.

While Trump performed, the man who just sentenced journalist Evan Gershkovich, a 32-year-old American reporter for The Wall Street Journal, to 16 years in a Russian penal colony for the “crime” of reporting the truth was treated like an honored guest. Evan, the son of Soviet Jewish immigrants who built a life in New Jersey, grew up believing in the promise of a free press.

He risked his safety to cover Putin’s war honestly, and for that, he was accused of espionage in a sham trial closed to the world. Sixteen years, longer than Evan has been a professional journalist, handed down for daring to write what Putin didn’t want the world to see.

The U.S. government has declared him “wrongfully detained.” He is our citizen. He is our responsibility. And it is unfathomable that while an American is locked in a Russian prison for doing his job, the President of the United States smiles, shakes Putin’s hand, and treats him like a valued guest.

If Putin can jail an American journalist for 16 years and Trump praises him, what does that say about the future of our own journalists? About what it means to be an American citizen under a president who refuses to defend you?

While they played their parts today, our freedoms became a little less secure.

While the Beast ferried Putin like a visiting dignitary, the foundation of our alliances cracked.

While the jets roared overhead, the truth was drowned out by applause for a show that will cost lives.

This isn't leadership. It's appeasement.

And history knows where appeasement leads.

In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, then leader of the United Kingdom, returned from Munich waving a signed agreement and proclaiming “peace for our time,” believing he had avoided war by allowing Hitler to annex the Sudetenland. Less than six months later, Hitler violated that agreement by occupying the rest of Czechoslovakia, dissolving its independence, and proving that a handshake did not halt aggression; it fueled it. Chamberlain believed he was being pragmatic, managing through diplomacy and optics. Sound familiar? The parallels are chilling: an authoritarian makes demands, a democratic leader caves, the cameras capture the handshake, and meanwhile, the aggressor goes home planning the next invasion.

Putin knows this history. He plays Trump the same way. Flatter him. Feed his ego. Make him feel like he belongs to the inner circle of "strong men" he's always admired. And in return, Trump hands him exactly what he wants: a stage, legitimacy, and the weakening of our alliances.

I couldn't stop thinking about the people in Kyiv and Kharkiv tonight, how they will watch these images and know exactly what they mean. They will feel the sting of being abandoned in the middle of a war. They will see the red carpet, the smile, the pat on the hand, and know the man they've counted on is playing for the other side's cameras.

I think about my own children tonight, how they'll inherit whatever world we leave them. How they'll ask me what I did when democracy was under attack. How I'll have to explain that some people chose photo ops over principles, chose applause over alliances, chose performance over protecting the vulnerable. I think about the Ukrainian children who won't get to grow up because we couldn't find the courage to stop the man who is killing them.

The weight of this isn't just on me. It's on all of us. Because when America normalizes this kind of performance, the consequences don't stop in Ukraine. They reach into our lives, too. The same man who legitimizes Putin would do the same for any authoritarian who could help him tighten his grip here. We've already seen glimpses of it. The admiration for Xi Jinping's 'strength.' The praise for Kim Jong-un's 'beautiful letters.' The envy of Erdoğan's control over his press. This isn't foreign policy, it's a preview of what American authoritarianism would look like. The red carpet today was practice for the ones he'll roll out for every dictator who promises to help him stay in power.

Putin is not a partner for peace. He is a war criminal who oversaw the siege of Mariupol, who bombs apartment buildings, who poisons opponents, and who imprisons journalists. And the man in our highest office treated him like an equal, because in Trump's world, power is not about moral right. It's about who can make him feel important.

And here's what makes this worse: we paid for it. American taxpayers funded the jets, the red carpet, and the security detail that protected Putin on American soil. We paid for the privilege of watching our president normalize a war criminal. We funded our own humiliation. Every tax dollar that went into that spectacle could have gone to Ukrainian aid, to supporting our NATO allies, to strengthening our own democracy. Instead, it went to making Putin feel important.

Authoritarians know the power of a staged moment. The optics become the story. The story becomes the memory. And by the time the truth catches up, the damage is already done.

This theatrical performance wasn’t just for Putin; it was for us, too. A show meant to lull Americans into thinking diplomacy was happening, while giving Putin images he can parade back home as proof of his strength. He will twist those photos, distort the handshakes, and weaponize every smile to tell Russians that the world respects him, that his war is justified, that he has already won.

So I don't watch the jets or the handshakes or the Beast. I watch what happens after the curtain falls.

And when it falls on this day, Ukraine will still be under attack, Putin will still be in power, and Trump will still be chasing the applause he's never earned.

What I know, and what I want you to know, is that the story isn't over yet. Not if we refuse to clap for the show. Not if we call our representatives. Not if we share the truth. Not if we vote like democracy depends on it.

Because every time I carry this weight, every time I feel that break inside me, I remember why I fight. I remember the mothers in rubble, the voices cut out of the room, the people standing against this with nothing but their will.

And I know we can be stronger than the performance. I still believe in a better world. And you should too.

I'll see you tomorrow.
Heather

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PSS. Good thing my travel writer days are over. I won’t be going anywhere near Russia after writing this post.