The first tanker carrying Russian diesel to the United States since 2022 is expected to arrive in New York within the next few weeks, but its 40,000-ton cargo amounts to less than two hours of American consumption. The shipment will barely register at the pump—and it answers the wrong question, since what drove American diesel past $6 a gallon was never a shortage of Russian supply, but historic bottlenecks from the war in the Middle East.
Recall what happened between May and July of this year, when Ukraine launched one of the most destructive phases of its energy war against Moscow, sending waves of drones attacking massive Russian refineries at Kirishi, Ryazan, Moscow, Nizhny Novgorod, and Omsk one after another. If Russian refining capacity governed American fuel costs, prices at U.S. truck stops should have exploded. Instead, American diesel fell by $1.06 a gallon.
With the midterms days away and September’s consumer price index showing fuel oil up a staggering 74% on the year, President Donald Trump has cast Kyiv as the architect of American inflation. “What’s happened in Russia with Ukraine has been really the biggest problem for diesel,” he said in the Oval Office on September 30 before naming Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy the culprit, telling reporters that Zelenskyy “wants to make problems for our farmers, our ranchers, with diesel fuel.”
The charge is politically convenient but economically backward. Until this month’s waiver, Russian fuel had been barred from American ports since 2022, meaning Ukrainian strikes have reached U.S. pumps only through the gradual tightening of global supply. The real shockwave runs through the Strait of Hormuz, where Tehran can choke off a fifth of the world’s seaborne crude overnight. Diesel was $3.48 a gallon in January and still under $4 the week American and Israeli bombs fell on Iran. When Tehran closed the Strait, the price jumped 96 cents in a single week.
From that moment, the U.S. price line has moved in lockstep with the Iran war—cresting at the April ceasefire, dipping only after the June truce, climbing after the pause in hostilities collapsed in July. By September, the tanker war had driven diesel to a record $6.53.
Ukraine’s unceasing drone campaign has at most modestly nudged up the global floor, while the Iran war has steered every spike and plunge.
By authorizing the sale of Russian diesel, Washington provided Moscow the relief that sanctions are meant to withhold. And when Zelenskyy refused to halt strikes on Russian refineries, Americans throttled the Starlink defenses only they can supply.
Now, Ukraine and its European backers are left with a narrowing set of options. Pulled with discipline, however, the levers they hold can still keep Russian President Vladimir Putin’s war on a tightening clock.
A cure that feeds the disease
After an Oct. 9 phone call with Putin, President Trump directed the Treasury to reopen American ports to Russian diesel through April 2027. On paper, the deal promises 4.8 million tons of fuel. In reality, the promise amounts to roughly 10 days of U.S. demand, and analysts doubt that Moscow can ship even that much after months of Ukrainian strikes on the refineries that would fill the tankers.
Carnegie’s Sergey Vakulenko calls the arrangement “largely for show,” yet for a Kremlin watching its September oil and gas tax revenues plunge 22% year-over-year, the spectacle is the prize. What former U.S. Ambassador Michael McFaul condemned as “absolutely deplorable,” and Zelenskyy called “a gift to Putin,” was followed a week later by a concession of far greater strategic weight. Two days before the Russia provisions of the Graham sanctions act were scheduled to bite, an executive order waived them. In a single stroke, the White House neutralized both the 100 and 500% tariffs and stripped out the clause locking existing sanctions in place.
While Moscow collected waivers, Kyiv got the vise. Washington announced an “energy ceasefire” the Kremlin never bothered to acknowledge. After Zelenskyy held his fire for three days, Russia pounded Ukrainian energy infrastructure 76 times in the week that followed. By the Ukrainian president’s account—one Secretary of State Marco Rubio denies—the American satellite alerts that warn Ukraine when a Russian missile is in the air went dark for a period of time. Procurement contracts required for the transfer of an allied-funded batch of Patriot interceptors reportedly sat unsigned on the desk of U.S. Secretary of War, Pete Hegseth.
Meanwhile, the speed of Starshield datalinks, the military-grade Starlink network that Ukraine’s drone units rely on, was throttled. Starshield datalinks need to operate at speeds up to 550 km/h (342 mph) to effectively intercept Russian jet-powered Shahed and Geran drones.
The 160 km/h (100 mph) cap was apparently instituted—simply insufficient to protect Ukrainian civilians from Russian ballistic missiles.
Trump and Elon Musk finger-pointed at each other for the restriction. Trump has reportedly since called Musk to lift the cap. U.S. officials say service is running more normally. Kyiv says the limit remained in place into this weekend, with President Zelenskyy tweeting on October 24 that service has now been restored.
The Trump Administration should also allow Ukraine to use the system in Russia, targeting ballistic missile launchers. Take out the archer, not the arrows.
What Ukraine can still do
Washington’s squeeze rests on the premise that Kyiv is losing and must be forced to settle, but the front-line situation does not support that notion. Russian forces have made virtually no net territorial gains in 2026 despite suffering more than 40,000 casualties a month since July. At this year’s rate of advance, we estimate that Moscow would need 60 years to capture the rest of Donetsk Oblast.
In fact, the momentum has tilted the other way, with Ukrainian counteroffensives, such as the exceptionally innovative Operation Vivaldi. For months, Kyiv’s forces have killed or seriously wounded more Russian soldiers than the Kremlin can recruit. Closing that gap would require a mass mobilization Putin has been afraid to order, wary of unrest in a country reeling from the fuel shortages created by Ukraine’s refinery strikes. The myth of an inevitable Russian victory amounts to a Kremlin sales pitch aimed at Washington, and the very energy campaign the White House wants to shut down is what keeps Putin boxed in.
Nor can the White House physically switch that campaign off. For all the damage the administration’s freeze inflicted on Ukraine’s air shield, enough Ukrainian drones and missiles were able to reach their targets. Washington’s leverage is entirely defensive, whereas Ukraine’s offensive reach is built at home and in Europe. The 1,000-strong armada that struck St. Petersburg in mid-October was built around FP-1 drones, 90% of which are Ukrainian-made, flying into Russian airspace where Starlink does not function, and Starshield caps do not apply. The E.U.’s Kaja Kallas has rightly defended Ukraine’s actions as legitimate self-defense.
By Putin’s estimate, the wider Ukrainian campaign has cost Russia about 1% of GDP, more than a year of Russian growth, as the central bank’s fight against punishing inflation pushed interest rates to their highest level since the early 2000s. The true toll is almost certainly worse. As we have previously argued, even after Moscow blacked out mandatory economic data, the IMF continues to recycle unverified Kremlin figures to dub Russia the world’s fourth-largest economy at peak output, despite ranking just 51st in GDP per capita.
In 2022, hundreds of billions of dollars abandoned the Russian economy after our team helped spur the withdrawal of more than 1,000 major corporations following the invasion. Firms that curtailed operations outperformed those that did not, in terms of market performance.
Even where Kyiv chooses to look beyond oil, its domestic weapons require no American permission and offend no American farmer. Homegrown Long Neptune missiles have already crippled four of the Black Sea Fleet’s Kalibr missile carriers and recently destroyed four Russian Su-34 bombers, proving that Ukraine can systematically hunt the launchers, airfields, and factories that fire on its cities. The same freedom of action applies to striking Russian data centers, an asymmetric campaign that an analyst at the Royal United Services Institute judges lopsidedly in Kyiv’s favor because Ukraine’s critical data is already safely hosted abroad.
Holding an offensive campaign that Washington wants to stop but cannot physically block changes the terms of diplomacy. Toward the White House, Kyiv should act as a customer rather than a supplicant. Any pause in energy strikes should be treated strictly as an opportunity to make a deal—offered only in exchange for verified Russian reciprocity and binding, written guarantees from Washington on Patriot interceptors, satellite-based missile launch warnings, and uncapped Starshield access, a bargain of the kind legislators like Senator Roger Wicker and organizations like the Foundation for Defense of Democracies have urged.
What Europe must now do
Kyiv’s balancing act rests on a hard truth in Brussels. Europe can replace most of America’s financial support and much of its weaponry within two years, but it cannot replace Patriot-class interceptors, space-based ballistic-missile warning, or Starlink-scale connectivity this winter. The vulnerability is partly of Europe’s own making after three decades of over-reliance on American dominance, and it now collides with an American arsenal running dry.
The on-again, off-again war with Iran that drove U.S. diesel to $6.53 is also the conflict that emptied the Pentagon’s magazines. According to an analysis by the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), the Gulf conflict consumed roughly two-thirds of America’s Patriot inventory and more than a third of its THAAD interceptors, leaving a rebuild measured in years at the exact moment Ukraine’s Patriot stockpiles are reportedly exhausted. Europe’s scramble to build sovereign air defenses—four SAMP/T NG batteries currently on order, a 10-nation FREYJA program aiming for a first intercept in mid-2027, and the diplomatic courtship of Japan, the sole non-American producer of PAC-3 interceptors—is real and necessary, but slow. Every euro spent on European interceptors is one less dollar earned in Washington, and one fewer armament President Trump can delay.
A similar bottleneck applies to space. While Europe’s radar and optical satellites could potentially replace American targeting imagery within weeks, OneWeb and the E.U.’s GovSatcom offer only a partial hedge against a Starlink slowdown. And a European satellite constellation capable of warning of a ballistic launch probably will not exist before the 2030s.
Because Europe cannot buy its way out of those technical bottlenecks overnight, it must lean aggressively into the financial and maritime levers it controls today. The E.U.’s €90 billion loan covers 2026 and much of 2027, and when the remaining €70 billion gap comes to a head at the December European Council, moving the €202 billion in frozen Russian assets out of Belgium offers the clearest route around Belgium’s objections. Better still, a full ban on shipping services for Russian crude, along with expanding the shadow-fleet boardings that European navies have already begun, could squeeze Moscow’s war chest at almost no cost to European taxpayers.
Ukraine’s most decisive advantage, though, is found on the factory floor. Domestic drone production has surged 370% this year, and the Ukrainian-made Flamingo cruise missile costs just under $600,000, less than a fifth of an American Tomahawk’s $3.5 million price tag. By guaranteeing a loan to the Flamingo’s manufacturer, Denmark has laid out a blueprint for surviving an erratic Washington: European capital behind Ukrainian weapons.
The lesson of the lever
A bitter paradox governs the current battlefield. The offensive campaign squeezing Moscow is the one Washington objects to, while the defenses faltering over Ukrainian cities are the ones only the U.S. can supply. By blaming Kyiv for an energy shock originating in the Persian Gulf, the White House has struck a bargain that lowers no prices at home, replenishes the aggressor’s coffers abroad, and teaches the Kremlin that American sanctions expire if Putin simply waits them out. Such a posture delivers neither peace nor strength.
Ukraine is akin to the Biblical hero David, who, through cunning, triumphed over the lumbering giant Goliath. Moscow's “card hand” is neither the colossus Trump believes it to be nor the colossus its propaganda advertises. Russia is not remotely an economic superpower. Beneath its vast map lies a concentrated population—over 80% of the population lives in the 20% not plagued by extreme cold, permafrost, and poor soil—and a brittle economy dependent on raw materials the world can increasingly buy elsewhere, backed by a military with a long history of failing to subdue smaller, more determined foes, from Japan in 1905 and Poland in 1920 to Finland in 1940 and the Afghan mujahideen in the 1980s. Sheer land mass has never guaranteed victory when the smaller side is fighting for its existence.
The silver lining is that Washington’s attempted coercion is forging the European autonomy it assumed would never materialize. If European leaders withstand Russian pressure over the next 18 months and resist the political disarray stoked by Kremlin disinformation, the continent will emerge a far more formidable power—proving the quip circulating in allied capitals that Europe has found no better unifier since Charlemagne than Donald Trump. Europe, Ukraine, and the world now know what an American guarantee is worth when the guarantor changes its mind, and Washington is about to learn that leverage, like interceptors, is a stock that depletes with every use.
As Mark Twain advised, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight; it’s the size of the fight in the dog.”