In arranging an interview with a head of state, the journalist typically makes the first move, sending a request to the press office and hoping somebody responds. Once in a while, when a president really wants to talk, the invitation might go in the other direction. But rarely have the overtures been as persistent as the ones that reached me this spring from the allies of Alexander Lukashenko, the dictator of Belarus.
It was not immediately clear what the intermediaries wanted. I had never been to Belarus or written much about it, though my coverage of its neighbors, Russia and Ukraine, had given me a grasp of Lukashenko’s story. In Europe he holds the dubious honor of clinging to power longer than any other sitting leader by far, an astonishing 31 years without pause, which means most of the nine million people in his landlocked country have never known another ruler in their adult lives. His regime is also among the most repressive and isolated in the world, with terrible relations and almost no trade with four out of its five neighbors, and a near-total dependence on the fifth: Russia.
In the memorable words of one expert on the region’s politics, Belarus functions as a “Russian balcony” overlooking Europe, a quaint metaphor that elides the way Russia has used this vantage to lob bombs, position nukes, and launch invasions. Since 2022, Russia’s attempt to conquer Ukraine has relied on Belarus as a staging ground, a training base, and a source of supplies and ammunition. Lukashenko has avoided sending his own troops to fight in that war. But Ukraine, like most of Europe, still sees him as an accomplice to Vladimir Putin in the worst act of aggression the continent has seen in 80 years.
So it was not an obvious decision for me to take a call in May from an official with Lukashenko’s government, who seemed a little out of practice in dealing with the Western media. A few minutes into our conversation, the official asked how much it would cost to arrange an interview with TIME, and he sounded perplexed to learn that the process could not involve any kind of bribe. “Just checking,” he said, “so we avoid any misunderstandings later on.” After a few more calls and messages, we agreed on the terms of an interview; it would take place in Minsk, the capital of Belarus, with no questions or topics left off the table. Only later, after several conversations with U.S. and European diplomats, did Lukashenko’s motives come into focus.
Since the beginning of this year, the autocrat has pursued a confidential dialogue with the Trump administration, offering his services as a kind of Putin whisperer. He coached U.S. officials on how to keep talks with the Kremlin on track, and he gave them assurances that the Russians were ready to negotiate in good faith even as they continued their bombing raids against Ukraine. Using every available avenue to Washington, Lukashenko dangled the prospect of peace in a way designed to get the attention of President Donald Trump: “If we make this deal,” he told his U.S. interlocutors, “they will bring you the Nobel Peace Prize on a platter.”
The Americans played along. Within a month of Trump’s inauguration in January, U.S. officials made the first of at least five visits to Minsk to explore what Lukashenko could achieve. In the process, they eased the image of Belarus as a pariah state, won the release of several high-profile political prisoners, and opened a quiet backchannel to the Kremlin through Minsk.
In this context, Lukashenko’s desire for an interview with TIME made sense. What remained less clear to me was whether he is a peace broker acting on his own initiative, or a puppet in the hands of the Kremlin. The Americans also had their doubts. “We’re not naive,” says John Coale, a former attorney to Trump who has met with Lukashenko on behalf of the U.S. government several times this year. “He’s friends with Putin. They talk regularly,” Coale told me. “And he has offered to give Putin messages from us. That’s a channel, okay? That’s very valuable.”
The Americans have used that channel, he added, to push the idea of a summit between Putin and Trump. They hoped it would help break the impasse in the peace process by allowing Trump to reason with Putin face to face. As Coale put it, using a common nickname for Lukashenko, “A meeting has always been pushed to Luka to tell Putin.”
For much of the spring and summer, the effort sputtered and tensions rose. Direct lines of contact between the two powers devolved into a muddle of nuclear threats, insults and ultimatums. By August, Trump began to impose steep tariffs on any country that buys Russian oil, and he pledged to increase the economic pain until Moscow accepts a ceasefire in Ukraine. Putin refused. His military was ready to advance “across the entire front,” he said, until they achieve victory for Russia.
All the while, Lukashenko continued to deliver a very different message to the Americans: Putin wants peace, the dictator assured them, and he is ready to make concessions. These signals nurtured hopes within the White House that a diplomatic breakthrough would soon be possible, and they helped prepare the ground for the U.S. and Russia to announce on Aug. 6 that their leaders would soon meet in person.
The war’s conclusion after more than three and a half years may now rest with the world’s two nuclear superpowers. Preparations for the talks are now underway, and they will offer a fresh chance to call a ceasefire. They could also give Putin a chance to prolong the war, as he has in recent months, by dragging out talks and buying the Russian military time to continue the conquest of Ukrainian land and the murder of its people.
Having served his function as the go-between, Lukashenko seems ready to step aside. But his role in setting the stage for the summit reveals a lot about the perils of Trump’s latest diplomatic gambit. As Lukashenko explained when we finally met in Minsk, the whole thing could fall apart unless Trump behaves toward Putin with sufficient deference. “You’ve got to make it look good,” he told me. “In the name of peace, maybe you’ve got to be a little cunning and make some concessions. Even if you can’t make sense of Putin, treat him like a human being.” The story of the backchannel through Belarus, in other words, could become the preamble to Ukraine’s capitulation.
For an American traveler, the road to Belarus can be a pain. Sanctions from the U.S. and Europe have sealed the country off so tightly that Western airlines no longer fly there. The most direct route requires a flight to Lithuania, at the eastern edge of the NATO alliance, and then a long drive across that heavily guarded frontier into Belarus. Along the way, a traffic sign over the highway in Lithuania offers a warning to anyone heading east: “Minsk,” it says, “Occupied by the Kremlin.”
The first U.S. envoy to make this trip on behalf of the Trump administration was Christopher Smith, the State Department's deputy assistant secretary for Eastern Europe, who has overseen U.S. policy toward Belarus, Ukraine and other parts of the region since the summer of 2023. A career diplomat and fluent Russian speaker, Smith had never met with Lukashenko before his visit to Minsk early this year. Under the Biden Administration, he had implemented a U.S. policy toward Belarus that was often referred to as “maximum pressure.” It used sanctions to isolate Lukashenko’s economy and to punish him for siding with Russia in the war. By imposing such costs, the strategy sought to make him reconsider his alliance with Moscow.
It appeared to have the opposite effect. Cut off from commerce with the West, Belarus became ever more dependent on trade with Russia and, to a lesser extent, with China. The low point in Lukashenko’s standoff with the West came in the spring of 2023, when he asked the Kremlin to station nuclear missiles on the territory of Belarus. “I told my big brother, my friend,” Lukashenko recalls of that moment: “We need to return nuclear weapons to Belarus.” Putin obliged.
By the end of last year, Smith and his colleagues at the State Department began preparing for a major shift in U.S. policy. Trump had promised during his campaign to improve relations with Putin and quickly end the war in Ukraine. Smith wanted to see how Belarus could help advance both objectives, and he reached out to Minsk through its mission to the United Nations in New York. Lukashenko seized the opportunity. “It’s my credo, a principle of mine,” Lukashenko says. “You’ve got to talk to everybody if you want normal relations, and if you don’t talk, then little by little you’re moving toward war.”
In order to draw in the Americans, Lukashenko made an opening gesture of good faith on January 26. He released an American woman, Anastassia Nuhfer, who had been held prisoner in Belarus for nearly five years. Smith negotiated her release in Washington with the Belarusian ambassador to the U.N., Valentin Rybakov. The State Department then arranged for a team from the U.S. embassy in Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania, to pick Nuhfer up at the border with Belarus and bring her back to the United States.
The diplomatic victory, however modest, came in the first week of Trump’s second term, when the incoming administration was eager to find any signs of the winning streak he had promised the American people. Marco Rubio, then five days into his tenure as Secretary of State, ascribed the release of the prisoner to Trump’s leadership and, in a tweet, thanked Smith for facilitating it. In all caps, Rubio added, “PEACE THROUGH STRENGTH.”
About two weeks later, on February 12, Smith became the first senior official from the Trump administration to visit Minsk. Lukashenko greeted him at his palace near the city center, a gargantuan pile of marble and gold festooned with pictures from the life of the dictator: snapshots of his childhood and his days as the director of a Soviet collective farm, alongside portraits of him with world leaders like Bill Clinton, Vladimir Putin, Fidel Castro and Volodymyr Zelensky.
Over those first several hours of talks, the dictator laid down some ground rules for the resumption of the dialogue between the U.S. and Belarus. Referring to Smith, only half in jest, as an agent of the CIA, Lukashenko urged him never to try driving a wedge between Minsk and Moscow, because he would be wasting both of their time. “If you want to recruit me as your spy, don’t do it. It won’t work,” he recalls telling Smith. “They laughed about it for a long time, the Americans, their delegation. They said, ‘No, no, no. We don’t recruit presidents.’”
The second ground rule followed from the first. Lukashenko made clear that he would be coordinating with Putin at every step, and he would not make any decisions without the Kremlin’s approval. “We can talk about Russia, about Putin, about the war and so on, but fundamentally we do not make agreements with the Americans behind Russia’s back,” he says. “That’s a taboo.”
The Americans agreed, and a couple of months later, Lukashenko got another visit from a U.S. delegation. It was led by Coale, Trump’s former lawyer and a fixture of the Washington political scene; Coale has been married for 46 years to the news anchor Greta Van Susteren, formerly of Fox News. In 2021, soon after the insurrection at the Capitol, Trump hired Coale to file a class-action lawsuit against Facebook and other social media companies for their decisions to ban Trump from their platforms. The litigation has worked out well for Trump. Meta, the parent company of Facebook and Instagram, agreed in January to pay $25 million in a settlement.
During his visit to Minsk in April, Coale was treated to a long and extravagant lunch at the presidential palace, featuring potato pancakes with sour cream and other national specialties. Lukashenko, a professed teetotaler, raised a toast of vodka and urged his American guest to drink. That night, he sent Coale home with several more political prisoners, including another American citizen.
Once again, Rubio celebrated the release on social media: “No president has done so much, so quickly, to keep Americans safe abroad.” At the U.S. embassy in Vilnius, Coale appeared in a video with the released American, Youras Ziankovich, who wore an American flag draped over his shoulders and thanked Trump for winning his freedom.
“It’s baby steps,” Coale told me afterward. “We’re just trying to calm everybody down and keep communicating. That’s a Trump thing. He’ll communicate with anybody. And the more you communicate, the better it gets.”
Kremlinologists have often observed Putin’s habit of being late, as though his disdain for the people he meets can be measured by the amount of time he keeps them waiting. (Queen Elizabeth: about 15 minutes; Pope Francis: nearly an hour; U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry: three hours.) Lukashenko, by contrast, arrived a bit early to our interview, and he seemed somewhat nervous as he walked through the door, perspiring around the forehead and wringing his hands.
He extended the right one for me to shake, then let me in on a little secret. His intelligence service had prepared a file about me, and he had studied it before our interview. This was one of Lukashenko’s favorite methods of breaking the ice; he said the same thing to Smith when they first met in February.
The room set aside for our interview was a small library on the second floor of the palace, where his press team had set up spotlights to film our encounter. Otherwise, the space was dark. On a bookshelf stood the collected works of Alexander Dugin, the Russian imperialist thinker who is credited with building the ideological basis for the invasion of Ukraine. In another corner of the room, behind the bank of cameras, a large painting of Vladimir Lenin stood on an easel, and Lukashenko turned to it as we sat down.
It had graced the wall of his office back in the 1980s, he explained, when he served as a Communist Party functionary. In 1994, three years after the Soviet Union fell apart, he won the first presidential election ever held in Belarus—and the last one ever deemed free and fair by international observers. The ethos of his rule since then has been a kind of Soviet revivalism. The country still uses a lot of Soviet emblems and iconography. Its state security service is still known as the KGB, whose headquarters stands across from Dzerzhinsky Square, named after the sociopathic founder of the Soviet secret police.
“These days, of course, I’m far from being Soviet, but Soviet principles, the best ones, live inside me,” Lukashenko mused. “Why should I reject them? Just like the Americans do not reject their history, it’s the same with me. That’s why we have this friendship with Russia, the closest kind of cooperation.”
The contrast could not have been starker with the path Ukraine had chosen after the fall of the Soviet Union. For at least two decades, it has tried to break with its Soviet past, release itself from Russia’s grip and chart the course of a European democracy. That path had led Putin to order the invasion of Ukraine, killing hundreds of thousands of its citizens and occupying about a fifth of its territory. But Lukashenko, perversely enough, put the blame on the Ukrainians for starting the war. “Zelensky understood that he lives next to Russia, this sleeping bear,” he said. “Why did he go and wake it up?”
In his talks with the Americans, Lukashenko has pushed a similar line, arguing that Ukraine was at fault for causing all of the tensions between the U.S. and Russia. It would only be fair, he argued, for the peace talks between Trump and Putin to leave Zelensky on the sidelines, at least in their opening stage. “Putin wants to make a deal with you first and foremost,” Lukashenko said, habitually treating me as a stand-in for the United States. “Come to an agreement on the first day, and then invite Zelensky. That would look dignified.”
He felt the same way about the Europeans. “The question is with you, with America,” he told me. “Western Europe can get lost. Putin can disregard them. In this situation, if we reach a deal with the Americans, the Europeans won’t have any way out of it.” He raised the point again later in our interview. “Trump is right,” he said, “to make Europe bow.”
On this point, at least, Lukashenko’s position did not seem all that far from that of the White House. Trump’s special envoy to the peace talks in Ukraine, Keith Kellogg, has also argued that the Europeans should not have a seat at the table when the U.S. and Russia meet to agree an end to the war in Ukraine. At a gathering of diplomats and military officers from across the continent in February, he said there would be three parties to the peace talks: Russia and Ukraine, with the U.S. playing the role of a mediator.
American diplomats would “take into consideration” the interests of the Europeans in these talks, Kellogg told them, but they would not allow any other parties to complicate the peace process. “What we don’t want to do is get into a large group discussion,” he said. “We are trying to end this in a short period of time.”
The highpoint of Lukashenko’s outreach to the White House took place on June 20, when Kellogg led another delegation to Minsk. The retired U.S. Army general brought along his colleagues, Coale and Smith, who had already made the same journey. Unlike their earlier meetings with Lukashenko, this one appeared on state TV in Belarus, where the anchors touted it as a major diplomatic breakthrough.
The tone seemed cordial enough. “With all the gold here,” Kellogg said as they sat down in Lukashenko’s office, “this looks a lot like Mar-a-Lago.” But, once the cameras were off, the tone abruptly shifted, and Lukashenko castigated Coale, who was seated directly to his right, for not doing more to influence Trump’s views about Ukraine and Russia.“You drink coffee with him,” Lukashenko boomed. “You’re the one who can set him straight!”
According to one person familiar with their meeting, Kellogg also took a harder line than Lukashenko had come to expect from the Americans: “He basically said there’s no trust,” and Belarus needs to “do something very big” to demonstrate its good intentions.
Lukashenko did not disappoint. On their way out of Belarus, the American convoy stopped on a village road to rendezvous with a van driven by the KGB. In the back sat 14 prisoners, including one of the regime’s most valuable: Sergei Tikhanovsky, the opposition leader who had tried to run against Lukashenko in the presidential elections of 2020 and was imprisoned two days into his campaign. As the door of the van swung open, Coale says he was shocked to find the prisoners manacled and blindfolded, sitting with their heads between their knees. He recalls yelling at them: “You’re free! President Trump sent me to get you home!”
As the talks progressed throughout the spring, Lukashenko stayed in constant touch with Putin, passing along the latest requests and messages from the Americans. “I always did it faithfully,” he recalls. “They would sometimes ask me: Could you pass along this and that? And I would have a call with him every two or three days, sometimes the next day, and I would tell him.”
At the time, Trump was growing increasingly frustrated with Putin’s refusal to accept a ceasefire in Ukraine. His envoy to Russia, Steve Witkoff, visited Putin in March and, upon his return, publicly echoed many of Russia’s arguments about the war. He even suggested that the U.S. should allow Russia to keep all the land it has occupied. “The Russians are de facto in control of these territories,” Witkoff said in an interview with Tucker Carlson. “The question is: Will the world acknowledge that those are Russian territories?” After their meeting in Moscow, he added, “I don’t regard Putin as a bad guy.”
But Putin still refused to accept any of Trump’s offers of a ceasefire. Instead, Russian missiles and drones continued to target civilians across Ukraine, killing hundreds of people in their homes as they slept, including scores of women and children. “Not necessary, and very bad timing,” Trump wrote on social media after a particularly deadly wave of attacks against Kyiv in April. “Vladimir, STOP!” A few weeks later, Trump and many European leaders urged Putin to come to Istanbul, where Zelensky was waiting to meet him. It would have been their first direct talks since the start of the full-scale invasion.
As he considered whether or not to attend, Putin sought the advice of his closest ally, and Lukashenko urged him to stay away. “I told him, there’s nothing for you to do there,” he recalls. “It looked like a bunch of posturing,” as though Zelensky were taunting Putin in Istanbul, daring him to show up for a duel at high noon. “That’s not how it’s done in politics,” Lukashenko says.
The tone and format of the negotiations, at least in their initial phase, matter as much to the Russians as their substance, Lukashenko suggested. “You’ve got to do it carefully,” he told me. “Don’t dictate terms. Don’t bang your fist. Don’t insult Putin. Russia will not forgive him if he swallows such an insult.” Trump needs to understand, he continued, that Putin can tell him to “go to hell” if he feels disrespected. “He hasn’t done that yet,” Lukashenko said, “but he can do it.” The Americans, in other words, should be as concerned about protecting Putin’s fragile ego, his sense of pride and his approval ratings, as they are about protecting Ukrainian lives and territory.
Throughout the spring and summer, Lukashenko passed the same message to the Americans: “Putin is ready for peace negotiations. Just treat him with respect.” He repeated the same thing several times during the three hours we spent together. “Believe me,” Lukashenko said, “Putin wants peace. He really wants it.” Yet there has been nothing in Putin’s behavior to substantiate such a claim. Based on his actions, the opposite seemed to be true. Starting in the spring, Russia ramped up the intensity of its air raids against Ukraine, which reached a monthly record in July of 6,443 missiles and drones.
In the east of Ukraine, Russian forces meanwhile continued to make plodding but significant advances, while the authorities in Kyiv grew more eager for a ceasefire, as did their constituents. The latest Gallup poll, published on Aug. 7, found that support among Ukrainians for continuing to fight until victory has hit a new low. More than two thirds now favor a negotiated end to the war as soon as possible.
About a week after our interview in Minsk, Trump sent Witkoff to Moscow for another round of talks with Putin. This time, the envoy appeared to make progress. Putin handed him a set of demands for ending the war in Ukraine, and the two sides agreed to hold a presidential summit to discuss it as soon as possible. The intended format of the talks matched up with Lukashenko's vision. According to the Kremlin, they would like to begin with a meeting between Trump and Putin, one on one. “We propose, first of all, to focus on preparing a bilateral meeting,” said Putin’s foreign policy adviser, Yuri Ushakov.
That arrangement looked humiliating for the Ukrainians. A pillar of their foreign policy has long been the maxim: “Nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine.” Now, if the meeting between Putin and Trump goes ahead, Ukraine’s future could be decided over its head, without the participation of its leaders, who would be forced to acknowledge, at least implicitly, that the freedom and sovereignty for which their nation has been fighting must be subordinated to the will of larger powers.
Lukashenko does not see that as much of a problem. In his view, Ukraine already lost its sovereignty when it became dependent during the war on financial and military aid from the U.S. and Europe. If it’s not careful, he adds, it could lose Kyiv the same way it lost its eastern regions. “It has already lost control of its territories. As of today, it has lost them.”
He admitted, however, that Russia may not be in a position to seize much more. “Putin understands what that would cost,” Lukashenko says. “The price of that victory would be high.” Despite all his bluster, he seemed to acknowledge that Russia’s position has also grown precarious in recent months. Its revenues from the sale of oil and gas, the lifeblood of its economy, collapsed by 28% in July. This marked the third consecutive month of declines as global oil prices have fallen. Since the start of the war, Russia has spent around 70% of its national rainy day fund, leaving it vulnerable to economic shocks.
“It seems to me that this war, this special military operation, has not gone the way he thought,” Lukashenko says. Does that mean Putin looks back on it all with regret? “Yes, I think so. I’m sure that he regrets a lot of things, a lot.”
And what concessions would he make to bring the war to an end? What would prevent Putin from starting another war once he has time to reconstitute his armies and rebuild his economy?
Here Lukashenko grew more circumspect, as though such questions were not consequential enough to delay the peace process. For a start, he suggested, the Americans should formally recognize Russia’s claim to four regions of southern and eastern Ukraine, even though Russian forces are still far from conquering all of these regions. Trump should, in other words, do what his envoy Steve Witkoff seemed open to doing after his visit with Putin this spring. Such a move from the Americans, Lukashenko told me, would “probably” satisfy Putin’s imperial ambitions, and prevent him from trying to seize any more of Ukraine.
Probably. That was as much as he could promise. Lukashenko’s role, as he saw it, was to find a way for Trump and Putin to get together and end the war. The details would be for them to figure out. “Everything now is in Donald’s hands,” he told me. “And he can screw it all up because of that character of his.” All the deadlines and ultimatums that Trump had set for the peace deal, all the threats of tariffs and sanctions against Russia, “It's foolish. It’s all pure emotions,” Lukashenko continued. “And in politics, that’s not allowed.”
As we stood to say goodbye, the dictator finally explained why he had been so eager to speak with me. His effort with Putin to arrange a peace on favorable terms for the Russians had made so much headway with the Americans. It helped win so much extra time for the Russian military to continue its summer offensive in Ukraine. But now, at the crucial moment, Trump had begun to take a harder line, threatening to impose tariffs on any country that buys Russian oil, starting with India and moving on to China and Turkey. “I hope you will shake up public opinion in the United States of America,” Lukashenko told me. “It’ll all work out. Just give Trump a push.”
As it turned out, Trump did not need any prompting from the public to proceed toward a summit with Putin. He may not have needed any advice from Belarus either. No matter how much Lukashenko may have wanted to seem like an honest broker, the sum of his messaging to all of Trump’s envoys, and to me, amounted to a lot of hype about the dangers of playing tough with Putin. He wanted us all to believe that the U.S., in dealing with the Kremlin, should adopt a tone of deference. But Trump already tried that at the start of this year. It did not bring Ukraine any closer to peace.
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