A shopping center in the city of Kremenchuk, Ukraine after a Russian rocket strike on June 27, 2022, which killed 18 civilians. Wikimedia.
Few episodes better illustrate the strange politics of today’s Ukraine debate than Laura Loomer’s journey from one of the loudest voices of the anti-Ukraine movement to a self-described convert after witnessing the war first-hand. She even invited UK far-right activist Tommy Robinson to visit with her after he heavily criticised President Zelenskyy, but Robinson, a recent visitor to Moscow, declined the invitation outright. Her later interview with Zelenskyy further underscored the extent of her very public change of tack.
To be clear, the debate itself has long been shaped by different understandings of the conflict. For many, Ukraine is first and foremost the victim of Russian aggression. Others place greater emphasis on the perils of NATO enlargement, Western over-involvement in post-Soviet politics and the disputed legacy of the 2014 Maidan revolution. Critics of Western policy argue that Maidan amounted to a Western-supported overthrow of a democratically elected President Viktor Yanukovych, while most Western governments and many scholars instead describe it as a popular uprising after Yanukovych abandoned closer ties with the European Union and subsequently bottled it by fleeing the country. Those competing versions continue to shape how many people understand both the origins of the war and the policies that followed.
Loomer’s conversion coincided with an improvement in Ukraine’s overall diplomatic position in Washington. What initially appeared to be an isolated change of heart has instead become part of a wider shift in Western political attitudes towards Kyiv. Later commentary has suggested that Loomer’s conversion matters more as a reflection of a broader realignment within parts of the MAGA coalition as President Trump’s own approach to Ukraine has evolved. That evolution has reflected not only growing frustration with Russia’s refusal to engage seriously with ceasefire proposals, but also Ukraine’s increasingly successful effort to present itself as a strategic partner—particularly through its experience in drone warfare and intelligence cooperation—rather than simply a taker of Western assistance.
President Zelenskyy’s meeting with Andy Burnham, the new UK Prime Minister, at Portsmouth Naval Base reinforced the UK’s commitment to Ukraine. By making Zelenskyy the first foreign leader he hosted after entering Downing Street, Burnham signalled that support for Kyiv would remain a central pillar of UK foreign policy.
Looking back, early 2025 now appears to have marked the low point in relations between Kyiv and the Trump administration. Military aid and intelligence sharing were briefly paused. The Oval Office meeting with President Zelenskyy ended acrimoniously. Since then, there have been undeniable glimmers that the administration has moved towards a more supportive, though still carefully conditional, policy on Ukraine.
One of the clearest examples was the resumption of military assistance in March 2025. The Trump administration immediately restored the aid and intelligence cooperation that had been suspended, marking perhaps the first major reversal of the earlier pressure campaign against Kyiv.
Washington also adopted a noticeably tougher public tone towards Putin. As Russia continued to reject ceasefire proposals and intensify its attacks, President Trump became more critical of Vladimir Putin, albeit with a measured reluctance. Public statements shifted from applying pressure on Ukraine to expressing frustration that Russia was not negotiating in good faith. While many analysts regarded this as significant, others dismissed it as symbolic rather than meaningful, arguing that Trump remained fundamentally sympathetic to Putin.
Russia has nevertheless demonstrated a canny ability to keep up military operations despite the impact of sanctions. This has come at a significant cost. As many know, the country has suffered heavy casualties while steadily depleting military equipment in what has become a prolonged war of attrition. Even so, Russia’s ability to absorb these losses, expand defence production and adapt on the battlefield has repeatedly confounded predictions of a rapid collapse. Continued drone attacks on Moscow, renewed pressure on Crimea and strikes on logistics and distribution centres have not fundamentally altered Moscow’s belief that time may strengthen its position in future negotiations. Ukraine has nevertheless continued to demonstrate its own growing long-range strike capability, claiming fresh drone attacks on two Russian oil refineries in an effort to disrupt fuel supplies and impose economic costs well beyond the immediate battlefield.
NATO’s efforts to expand Ukraine’s access to Patriot air-defence systems showed that Western military support continued despite ongoing debate over burden-sharing and concerns about US stockpiles. Yet the issue has become increasingly complex. While President Trump has repeatedly acknowledged Ukraine’s urgent need for additional Patriot interceptors and has at times signalled stronger support, Washington has also stressed the limits of American stockpiles, while later comments have cast further doubt on earlier suggestions that Ukraine might eventually produce Patriot interceptors under licence. As a result, US policy remains supportive in principle but more uncertain in practice. Meanwhile, Russia intensified its long-range strike campaign, combining ballistic missiles, cruise missiles and large-scale drone attacks designed to overwhelm Ukrainian air defences, making the availability of Patriot systems more strategically important than ever.
That urgency was reinforced by another major Russian missile strike that killed at least 21 people, after which Ukrainian officials renewed appeals for additional Patriot interceptors, arguing that dwindling stocks were limiting their ability to defend cities against increasingly complex attacks.
“US intelligence is involved in Ukrainian targeting of Russian forces, and the Trump administration assumes that Russia is involved in similar activity on behalf of Iran,” wrote Melvin Goodman in these pages. Concerns over those competing American military commitments—including escalating tensions with Iran, wider instability in the Middle East and the depletion of missile stockpiles during the regional crises—have raised further questions not just about the intelligence but about the sustainability of US weapons supplies to Ukraine. Hence Trump reportedly lashing out at Hegseth because he thought the munitions issue ‘had been fixed.’
Senior administration figures, including Marco Rubio, have coupled calls for negotiations with warnings that additional pressure could be imposed on Russia if Moscow continued to reject ceasefire initiatives. This also represents a notable shift from the earlier period, when public pressure had been directed primarily at Ukraine. (Rubio was in the room.) Taken together, developments over recent months suggest a gradual recalibration if not a wholesale reversal. Even if the administration places great store in the prospect of a negotiated peace, it still expects Europe to shoulder a larger share of Ukraine’s defence and remains cautious about long-term US commitments.
Loomer’s experience reflected a broader shift occurring alongside these policy developments. As attitudes towards Ukraine evolved within parts of the American right, her public change of position became a visible example of a wider realignment.
The death of Lindsey Graham in July left a noticeable gap among Republican national security hawks. As one of the party’s most consistent advocates of military support for Ukraine—and an influential link to President Trump—his absence removed a prominent pro-Ukraine voice within the Republican coalition. Yet his absence has not fundamentally altered American foreign policy.
Loomer’s journey matters because it illustrates a wider phenomenon. Ukraine has increasingly recognised that bringing sceptical politicians, journalists and political influencers to witness the war directly is in itself a form of strategic communication. The objective is not necessarily to persuade every visitor, but to replace abstract online narratives with lived experience.
Perhaps we have not yet sufficiently grasped that modern political identities are shaped far more by mediated rather than lived experience. Every day, we watch endless algorithms reward outrage and group loyalty, while face-to-face interaction inevitably introduces empathy and contradiction.
None of this minimizes the reality that Russia remains a formidable military and political actor. Nor does it sort out one of the conflict’s most enduring disagreements. As already suggested, critics argue that decades of NATO enlargement heightened Russian security fears and helped create the conditions for war, while supporters maintain that sovereign states are entitled to choose their own alliances and that, whatever Moscow’s concerns, they cannot justify the invasion of Ukraine. Yet recognising Russia’s resilience is entirely compatible with acknowledging that Ukraine is the victim of Russian aggression. As with Iran, to understand the conflict accurately, we need to hold several realities in view at the same time. Especially where any prospect of a ceasefire is concerned.
The trouble is, the Ukraine debate often unfolds at a distance, through social media, partisan news ecosystems, manufactured outrage and political branding. Loomer’s experience suggests that nearness itself can become political dynamite. Direct exposure to the consequences of war can so easily unsettle any of the assumptions that are formed when the conflict remains abstract.
That does not mean every visitor leaves with the same impression or reaches the same political conclusions. I am sure some will leave even more convinced of Ukraine’s cause while others may emerge with renewed scepticism about Western policy, corruption or the prospects for military victory. Nevertheless, Loomer’s visit illustrates a bigger point. The war in Ukraine has become a conflict fought not only with missiles and drones but with competing narratives, online communities and algorithmically reinforced identities. First-hand experience cannot eliminate political disagreement, but it can make over-simplistic certainties much harder to sustain. Whatever conclusions people ultimately reach, seeing the consequences of the war directly often pushes the debate beyond the wretched algorithm.
