The G7 has nudged open a window for diplomacy in Ukraine

Mr Trump went to Evian at a time of acrimony and transatlantic distrust. He left calling the trip a “Great Success”. The leaders of the seven member countries—America, Britain, Canada, France, Germany, Italy and Japan—described his deal with Iran as a “breakthrough”. Mr Trump inked it, unexpectedly early, during the dinner in Versailles on June 17th. A maritime coalition led by Britain and France, said Mr Macron, was ready to help reopen the Strait of Hormuz.

Crucially for Europe, all seven, including America, expressed “unwavering support” for Ukraine and vowed to “strengthen sanctions” on Russia, including on oil and gas. They promised to deliver more air-defence systems and long-range strike capabilities, and to consider enabling Ukraine to manufacture allied weapons under licence. Mr Macron referred to an “Evian moment”. Friedrich Merz, Germany’s chancellor, applauded a “new tone” in transatlantic relations. It is now clear to Mr Trump, says a French diplomatic source, “that today the Ukrainians are the winners and the loser is [Vladimir] Putin”, Russia’s president.

As ever when trying to assess Mr Trump’s stance on Ukraine, some scepticism is in order. Europeans have seen Mr Trump flip sides over Ukraine before, while progressively distancing himself from being involved in the war that he once promised to solve. One phone conversation with Mr Putin, and any commitment made on the lawns of Evian could be instantly forgotten. Mr Macron, who choreographed the meetings between Mr Trump and Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine’s president, has seen his persistent efforts to win over the American president come to nothing before. Yet, argue European diplomats, there are reasons to think that there could be space to re-engage Mr Trump on Ukraine. European help demining the strait and ensuring safe passage might entail an implicit bargain that the Americans will increase pressure on Russia over Ukraine.

The guarded optimism stems from the emerging deal with Iran. In theory, that accomplishes three things. First, it may allow the American administration to devote a bit of attention to Ukraine again. Second, it should gradually relax the global energy crunch, making tougher sanctions on Russian oil and gas possible. And third, it removes Russia’s windfall dividend from high oil prices, which amounted to $5bn-6bn a month—money that had let Mr Putin wage his war from a reasonably comfortable fiscal position.

Just as encouraging is a mood shift in Washington. Two Ukrainian narratives are beginning to take hold there: that Russia cannot be trusted and that Ukraine is a winner, not a loser. On June 18th, shortly after the deal was signed, Ukrainian drones struck an oil refinery on the south-eastern edge of Moscow, raising a huge dome of smoke above the Russian capital. Such exploits get noticed in America. In May Dan Driscoll, the army secretary, said that Ukrainian battlefield integration outstripped that of the American armed forces. Later Pete Hegseth, his boss, admitted that America had “learned so much” from Ukraine’s drone operations. Sources close to the White House detect a change in Mr Trump’s own attitude, suggesting the conflict had been “humanised” for him. “Trump got burnt by his Iran experience and now understands that without putting pressure on Putin he will not get what he wants,” says a former Ukrainian official.

None of this means peace is at hand. But it could reopen a window that swung closed this spring, this time with Ukraine in a stronger position. Early this year negotiators for America, Russia and Ukraine had tentatively agreed on a roadmap to a ceasefire in May. But the moment passed: the Iran war raised oil prices and threw Russia a financial lifeline, while Ukraine’s growing battlefield success made it look even harder to sell a disappointing deal to its voters. Now, The Economist understands, informal talks with Russia have resumed, and there are daily contacts between Ukraine and Mr Trump’s team. One idea under discussion is a ceasefire in two phases: first limiting hostilities to a 50-70km zone either side of the front line, then a broader agreement.

A senior Ukrainian official says that Russia is unlikely to move before October, when it might want to hand Mr Trump a pre-election boost—“and get something back in return”. More likely, the Russians will play for time until next spring, betting that a devastating winter missile and drone campaign against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure could force it to make concessions.

The obstacles to any peace deal remain formidable. Russia still insists on what it terms the “Anchorage formula”, a series of agreements supposedly sketched out with Mr Trump at the Russia-America summit in Alaska last summer. Back then Ukraine was weaker, and Russia was making slow if bloody gains in Ukraine’s south-east. The supposed agreements are secret and contested, but are said to consist of legal recognition of Russian occupation of the whole of Donbas and Crimea, alongside de facto recognition of the current lines in Zaporizhia and Kherson provinces. These terms are anathema to Ukraine.

Russia will also draw on the American president’s history of flip-flops, and the precedent he set by cancelling sanctions on Iran. It would be unwise to expect Mr Putin to give up on his war against Ukraine, or to think he will not use any new development, even a ceasefire, to further it. Then again, a new picture is taking shape, and it is mostly the Ukrainians who are drawing it. “Putin once tried to pretend the war was far away,” says Lana Zerkal, a Ukrainian diplomat. “He can’t do it when Russians can see the smoke with their own eyes.”