How Trump Became the Saboteur Inside the Welding Shop

Trump’s drift toward Putin isn’t chaotic—it’s a choreographed decoupling from Ukraine. The solution now lies in Europe’s hands, and it starts with fighter jets.

Imagine a welding shop. Not just any shop—but one cluttered with high-voltage tools, sparks flying, tanks of flammable gas stacked in every corner. You’re under pressure. A massive business order is on the line. Either you complete it, or you go bankrupt. The deadline is brutal, the margin for error is zero. Every day, you show up and grind—focused, exhausted, driven.

Now picture this: a 17-year-old kid, dumped in the middle of your shop. He’s not just in the way. He’s a narcissist—part evil, part confused, part manipulated, and a full-time liar. You didn’t ask for him. His father, who happens to supply the single most important component for your job, forced him on you. Said you had to watch over him. Said it’s non-negotiable.

So there he sits. Right in the center of your workspace. Not helping. Just watching. Distracting. And every so often, he reaches toward a valve he doesn’t understand or fiddles with a live wire. You don’t know whether he’s stupid, reckless, or playing a deeper game. What you do know is this: at any moment, he could set off a chain reaction and blow the whole operation sky-high.

You can’t throw him out. You can’t even yell at him without risking your supply line. All you can do is work—while he lurks in your blind spot, a potential disaster disguised as a dependent.

Can he actually blow up the shop?

Even he doesn’t know for sure. But someone’s been talking to him—every week, for hours on end. Whispering in his ear. Telling him exactly that: Yes, you can. That voice tells him he’s special. That the shop is a lie. That the chaos he could unleash is not only justified, but noble.

And slowly, something shifts.

This kid—narcissistic, volatile, hungry for validation—starts to admire the voice on the other end. He starts to mirror him. The way that caller sees people not as individuals but as tools. The way he treats trust like currency and power like a game. The kid sees himself in that darkness and likes the reflection.

It’s not just influence anymore. It’s mentorship.

Ever seen how the weakest kid in school changes when he starts shadowing the biggest bully? How his tone shifts, how he starts repeating things he doesn’t fully understand, acting bigger than he is, more reckless than he knows how to be?

I’ve seen it. You probably have too. And if you watch carefully, you’ll realize: that’s exactly what we’re witnessing now.

Just look at the arc of Donald Trump’s personality under Vladimir Putin’s careful, deliberate watch. The more he speaks with him—behind closed doors—the more his posture changes. His language. His instincts. His allegiance.

It didn’t happen overnight. It followed a pattern. A slow, strategic conditioning process—until the student began to echo the master.

He started here:

• “I’m not sure if Putin wants peace.”

• “Russia is in bad shape. They’re losing thousands of troops every day.”

• “Putin might be playing me.”

And he ended up here:

• “No more sanctions. I want to give peace a chance.”

• “Russia should be included in the G7 again.”

• “Putin only talks to me.”

• “Sanctions hurt the United States.”

That’s not a change in strategy. That’s a shift in identity.

Donald Trump isn’t drifting toward Vladimir Putin by accident. There are multiple layers of influence.

It’s now painfully clear who’s winning this phase.

Trump went from saying, “I’ll consider sanctions in two weeks,” to actively pressuring GOP senators not to bring a Russia sanctions bill to the floor—even though it had filibuster-proof support in the Senate. Then, at the G7 meeting, he made it official: no new sanctions on Russia.

And before the summit even began, the Trump administration privately told allies it would oppose lowering the oil price cap from $60 to $45. That position held firm throughout the G7.

I was deeply disappointed to see the G7 cave. This was the moment—the pivot point—where they could have moved forward without the United States. It could have been the first major policy shift where Europe took responsibility for shaping global affairs instead of waiting for American permission.

But just like grownups who balk when it’s time to actually shoulder the burden, the G7—and the EU—blinked. Somewhere, Putin and Trump probably exchanged a mental high-five: Told you they'd fold.

EU chief Ursula von der Leyen blamed rising oil prices for the hesitation. Honestly, I don’t know why she bothered. The excuse had bullshit written all over it. Europe had a chance to lead—and they squandered it.

Would it have been difficult to lower the price cap without U.S. backing? Of course. Would it have introduced legal, logistical, and enforcement headaches? Definitely. But leadership isn’t about convenience. They should have announced the new cap anyway—and worked backward to figure out how to implement it.

You don’t erect a ten-story building overnight. First, you dig. Then you lay the foundation. Then you figure the rest out. This was supposed to be that moment.

Still, I’m not ready to say it’s over. Not yet. The price cap fight isn’t dead—it’s just delayed. The EU needs to sit back down, run the numbers again, and keep pushing. Try again. And again. Until they get it right.

So what should Europe and Ukraine do about Donald Trump?

At this point, it’s no longer just about reacting to his statements—it’s about understanding the architecture of his drift toward Putin. Because this isn’t chaos. It’s choreography. Trump is moving through a set of deliberate stages, each one softening resistance to Russia and hardening his alignment with it.

I see three phases remaining in this trajectory—each one more dangerous than the last.

We are clearly in the Conditioning Phase.

The Trump administration hasn’t removed any sanctions outright—yet. But they’ve begun shifting the tone. Pro-Russia statements are trickling out. Officials now openly say that no new sanctions will be introduced. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth has confirmed that Ukraine aid will slow down. And the Director of National Intelligence has begun floating nuclear war warnings into the media stream.

This is how narrative groundwork is laid. They’re not pulling the plug yet—but they’re setting the stage. Slowly pulling oxygen from Ukraine while keeping Russia from taking further hits. No sharp moves. Just a controlled deceleration.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that triggers alarms. That’s the point.

If Ukraine, Europe, and the U.S. defense industrial base stay coordinated and hold firm during this conditioning phase, they can block Trump’s drift before it reaches the tipping point. But if they crack—if Europe stalls, if U.S. industry hesitates, if Ukraine falters—then Trump enters the Pre-Desperation Phase with momentum.

And once he’s there, it becomes far harder to stop what comes next.

What this means is simple: Russia cannot be defeated slowly anymore.
The time for gradual erosion is gone. Trump’s drift toward Putin is accelerating, and the window for a clean, decisive break is closing. That means Ukraine’s military trigger has to be sharp, sudden, and overwhelming—not drawn out over months.

To do that, you cut the time gap.

And the only way to cut the time gap is by quietly increasing Ukraine’s combat power, while holding back from any obvious escalation on the front. Let the war appear stagnant. Let the headlines say it’s meandering. Meanwhile, behind the scenes, you prepare for something sharp enough to break Russian lines in a matter of days.

Now, look at where Trump still holds leverage:

• Air defense

• U.S. Intelligence support

• Sanctions policy

Pulling U.S. intelligence assets from Ukraine would generate serious backlash—optically, legally, institutionally. It’s unlikely to happen during the pre-desperation phase.

But air defense is easier to sabotage. Quieter. Less visible. The Trump team is already signaling that they will not send additional Patriot systems. Even worse, there are growing indications they won’t even approve sales of interceptors to Ukraine.

That leaves Europe with a choice. A hard one—but a necessary one.

The path forward is to quietly build Ukraine’s airpower. More fighter jets. It’s the only way out of the box. Europe is already doing well on ground-based systems. Ammunition, armor, artillery—they’re holding the line. But none of that will bring the war to an end.

Only airpower can deliver that.

The strategy should now be: hold the line for three months.

Focus not on spending combat power—but on accumulating it. Let it build quietly. And when the time is right, launch a short, sharp, 100-hour counterattack that flips the field. If Ukraine and Europe can prepare for that moment—just that one moment—everything changes.

• The only real gap left is in fighter jets. That’s it. The rest of the pieces are already on the board. Europe has the jets. They can deliver them. They don’t need permission from anyone to do it.

Why keep asking for help from someone who’s already walking away?

Europe doesn’t need a partner who keeps one foot out the door. It needs altitude. It needs acceleration. And it already has the means to deliver both. The question now isn’t whether Europe can save Ukraine. The question is whether it’s ready to act like it doesn’t need permission anymore.

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