If you look at the news of recent weeks from Sydney, Kyiv and Moscow, one and the same silhouette keeps flashing like in a kaleidoscope — the United States. For Australia it is above all an ally and a source of pressure in the security sphere; for Ukraine — a vitally necessary patron and at the same time an inconvenient, capricious partner; for Russia — the main adversary, but also an important element of the familiar worldview, without which it is difficult to explain its own policy. At the intersection of these three perspectives lies a whole set of themes: Russia’s war against Ukraine and Washington’s role in seeking peace, the new configuration of American power under Trump, the Iran War of 2026 and the crisis of the international order, as well as U.S. pressure on allies in the Asia‑Pacific region and the fate of the global security architecture.
The first major knot is, of course, Russia’s war against Ukraine and Washington’s attempts to be simultaneously Kyiv’s arsenal and a controller of escalation. For Kyiv’s media and experts the U.S. is literally oxygen — without it the war would have been lost. The Ukrainian outlet European Pravda extensively quotes Donald Trump saying that Ukraine “wouldn’t last two days” without American weapons; in Kyiv such formulations are received simultaneously as an insult and as a sober acknowledgement of a reality in which the U.S. has become a critically important factor for the survival of the state and the army. The piece stresses that the U.S. president is effectively reminding Ukrainian society and elites of their dependence on American aid, which in Kyiv causes irritation and fear about any shifts in Washington’s mood, while also stimulating the search for more stable arrangements, including long‑term military and financial support packages. In Ukraine’s expert community this sounds like a constant refrain: the U.S. can dictate terms, but it has no right to strategic fatigue if it wants to preserve the remnants of the postwar world order.
Notably, Ukrainian public reaction to internal American decisions is becoming increasingly politicized. On the popular Ukrainian Reddit forum r/KafkaFPS, a discussion of the recent U.S. House vote approving a new aid package for Ukraine and expanding the president’s sanctioning powers vis‑à‑vis Russia is woven into an argument about whether Washington is “doing everything possible” to end the war or deliberately prolonging the conflict for its own interests. One commenter sarcastically notes that strengthening presidential sanction powers allows Trump to “blame” pressure on Russia on “arrogant Democrats and renegade Republicans” and distance himself from any hard line on the Kremlin while keeping the image of a “friend of Putin” for part of his audience. Other discussants accuse the American administration of first promising “unprecedented aid” that would “change the course of the war,” and then, upon seeing that Moscow would not come to the table, preferring to speak of stalled negotiations and a de facto freezing of the conflict. In these debates the U.S. appears not only as an arms donor but also as a political actor balancing between its electoral cycles and the fate of European security.
From Kyiv the view easily shifts to Moscow, where official and pro‑government rhetoric continues to portray the U.S. as the main architect of the protracted war. Russian analytic centers and quasi‑state journals sketch scenarios for Russia’s future under long‑term confrontation with Washington. In a recent issue of the journal Volnaya Ekonomika they discuss a variant in which Russia consolidates as a “military superpower” in a state of nuclear parity with the U.S., relying on a stratified but self‑sufficient economy and alternative global trade chains. Such analysis proceeds directly from the premise that confrontation with Washington is not an episode but a new normal for decades to come, and any talk of détente in the spirit of disarmament treaties has become a thing of the past.
Symbolic against this backdrop is the discussion of the imminent end of yet another U.S.‑Russian arms control agreement: materials from the expert resource Council on Foreign Relations stress that prospects for extension or replacement of the pact are effectively absent because trust has been destroyed both in Washington and in Moscow. Russian commentators use this as an argument in favor of ramping up missile and nuclear programs while accusing the U.S. of wanting to “free its hands” for global military pressure. American analysts, in turn, note that the window of opportunity for the classical architecture of disarmament is closing, to be replaced by a more fragmented and regionalized system of loosely connected agreements and informal “red lines.”
For Ukraine, the destruction of the U.S.‑Russian arms control system is yet another reason to demand security guarantees from the U.S. that go beyond the current war. Ukrainian discussions increasingly voice the idea that if bilateral U.S.‑Russia trust formulas no longer work, the only real shield for Kyiv is maximally institutionalized agreements with Washington — from defense pacts to joint programs in missile defense and drone technologies. Volodymyr Zelensky’s interviews with American media, where he emphasizes hope for a separate deal with the U.S. on drones, fit this logic: since the large strategic dialogue between the U.S. and Russia is broken, Ukraine is trying to slot into new “chains of deterrence” through direct partnership with Washington.
A different but closely related thread to the Ukrainian agenda has unfolded around the Iran War of 2026, triggered by U.S. and Israeli strikes on targets inside Iran. For Moscow this is a long‑awaited confirmation of its propaganda construct about America’s “chaotizing role”: Russian state media and loyal experts speak of a new “successful operation of imperialism,” citing critical Western publications such as analysis in The Guardian, and emphasizing that even within the U.S. polls show a rather negative attitude toward the military action. In the Russian‑language segment of the internet the argument often appears that Washington is opening yet another front of chaos to retain control over energy flows and at the same time weaken Iranian and Russian competitors.
In Australia the same war is perceived primarily through the lens of alliance obligations and the risk of being “dragged in” to another American campaign. In an ABC News piece on the sharp rise in threats to the international system and the increasing aggressiveness of the White House, Australia is described as a country that shares an interest in preserving international rule of law but is forced to wonder whether Washington is driving that order toward self‑destruction. The author emphasizes that against the backdrop of the Iran War and increasing U.S. confrontation with China, U.S. military facilities in northern Australia are being strengthened and the presence of American bombers is increasing; internal discourse increasingly asks where the line lies between reasonable alliance and loss of independent foreign policy.
Criticism of Australia’s participation in the Iranian conflict is growing both from the opposition and civil society. Greens leader Larissa Waters in her statements effectively calls support for the American operation another example of “Australia’s participation in endless U.S.‑led wars,” comparing the situation to Afghanistan and Iraq and warning that the consequences of the current campaign could be even more long‑term. An English‑language Wikipedia entry has already appeared on Australia’s role in the Iran War, documenting these domestic debates; for Russian and Ukrainian readers this may seem a peripheral detail, but for Australians the question of trust in Washington is simultaneously a question of sovereignty and of whether the U.S. can act within predictable rules.
It is around the theme of the international order and its “disassembly” under U.S. influence that the three countries converge, albeit along different trajectories. In Australia writers and strategists increasingly say that “strategic ambiguity” in relations with Beijing and Washington is coming to an end. An analysis in The Diplomat notes that Australia’s defense budget is rising but still far from the 3.5% of GDP the U.S. persistently seeks; at the same time cooperation under AUKUS deepens, including plans to purchase American nuclear submarines and develop joint undersea warfare technologies. The author points to the risk that Australia’s China policy will be shaped not so much by Canberra’s own interests as by Washington’s pressure — from demands to raise defense spending to expectations of a tougher line on Taiwan and the South China Sea.
Ukraine also sees the U.S. as both guarantor and architect of a new order. In Ukrainian debates Washington appears as the only force capable of preventing the Iran War from escalating into a global conflict and of averting the final breakdown of the structure of international law after Russia’s 2022 invasion. Yet the same hand that holds the balance can also break it: Ukrainian experts anxiously analyze signals that the White House may view the war in Ukraine, the conflict with Iran and confrontation with China as elements of one big “global deal,” where the fate of individual states can become a bargaining chip. Hence the nervous attention to any of Trump’s words about Russia, his meetings with Xi Jinping and statements about the need to “rethink alliance commitments,” which in Kyiv translate as potential readiness to sacrifice Ukrainian interests in exchange for illusory “stability” with Moscow or Beijing.
In Russia the theme of an American “threat to the international order” is used as internal cement. Reviews in the “Russia in Focus” project Russia Matters detail how the Kremlin leverages the Iran War and escalation in East Asia to justify the thesis of “world chaos generated by the U.S.” Russian officials insist that Moscow, on the contrary, stands for a “return to UN principles,” although the war against Ukraine directly violates those same principles — this dissonance is blurred by a constant emphasis on American operations in the Middle East. Such a narrative finds resonance in parts of the Global South, where memories of prior U.S. military campaigns are still fresh.
A separate thread concerns the “new American power” in the era of Trump’s return to the White House. Australian analysts in the same ABC News piece speak of a “disturbing transformation” of U.S. foreign policy, in which ostentatious disregard for international law is combined with concrete actions — from sanctions and tariffs to threats of military intervention in Latin America and the Arctic. Here the U.S. appears not as the bastion of the liberal order but as a major power ready to use its strength instrumentally, even at the cost of undermining the institutions it itself built after 1945.
In Russia a dual chorus is heard on this score. On the one hand, pro‑Kremlin commentators and part of the elite openly welcome the upheavals in transatlantic relations, the erosion of Europeans’ trust in Washington and talk of possible reductions in American guarantees to NATO. An analytical piece from the Council on Foreign Relations notes that Moscow “cautiously greets” the destabilization emanating from Trump, hoping for a weakening of Western unity on sanctions and support for Ukraine. On the other hand, even Russian experts admit that Trump’s unpredictability could bring new risks for the Kremlin — from uncontrolled spikes in escalation to a deal between Washington and Beijing that would reduce Russia to the role of a “junior partner” without a voice.
Ukrainian commentators, in both expert press and social media, see in Trump a source of constant strategic uncertainty. Discussing, for example, his statements that he will “make Putin end the war,” Ukrainian writers in Western and local media stress that behind these words may lie either a hard pressure line on Moscow or an attempt to “push” Kyiv into territorial concessions under the guise of a “peace plan.” Here the U.S. is perceived as a power able to impose its agenda on both warring sides, but not necessarily committed to an outcome fair to Ukraine.
Interestingly, at the level of public sentiment in Australia the image of the U.S. has also changed markedly. Sociological data in recent years record a significant rise in negative attitudes toward the United States, and local analysts link this not only to Trump but also to a sense that Australia is turning into a “floating U.S. aircraft carrier” on the southern flank of the Asian confrontation. Debates around the 2026 defense strategy, plans to raise the military budget to 3% of GDP and the accelerated development of long‑range strike systems are accompanied by questions: whose interests does this buildup primarily serve — Australia’s own or the ally across the ocean? Thus the U.S. becomes not only a security guarantor but also a factor of internal polarization.
Against this backdrop the Ukrainian perspective looks most paradoxical. Where Australians argue about excessive dependence on Washington, and Russians use the American “threat” to consolidate the regime, Ukrainian society is largely ready for a conscious dependence for the sake of survival and a chance to rebuild the country. In Ukrainian discussions, ranging from expert columns to Reddit threads, the U.S. is simultaneously criticized for slowness, mixed signals and attempts to reduce the war to a “managed conflict,” but it is immediately acknowledged that without American arms, sanctions and diplomatic pressure on Moscow there would have been neither containment of Russian offensives nor hope for postwar reconstruction. This mix of irritation and gratitude, fear and hope makes the Ukrainian discourse about the U.S. especially emotional and complex.
In the end, several common lines emerge through all these stories. First, in 2026 the U.S. is almost nowhere perceived in its former image as the “global policeman” or the unquestioned “leader of the free world.” In Australia and Ukraine it is seen primarily as a powerful but contradictory ally with its own limits of responsibility and fatigue. In Russia — as a necessary enemy that justifies domestic mobilization and external aggression, while at the same time remaining an indispensable “center of gravity” without which the whole familiar system of coordinates crumbles.
Second, the key international crises — Russia’s war against Ukraine, the conflict with Iran, the confrontation with China — are all viewed by the three countries through the question: how ready is the U.S. not only to act with force but to bear long‑term responsibility for the consequences. For Ukrainians this is a question of whether Washington will see its support for Kyiv through to the end; for Australians — whether America can sustain the burden of global leadership without irreparably destroying the system of alliances and institutions; for Russians — whether the U.S. can maintain sanctionary and military‑political pressure without causing a split within the West.
And third, there is a growing demand to redefine relations with Washington. Australia seeks a balance between alliance obligations and strategic autonomy; Ukraine aims to turn asymmetric dependence into a more formalized, predictable contractual framework; Russia is preparing for a long confrontation while simultaneously dreaming of some new format of “equal competition” in which the U.S. would remain a convenient, comprehensible opponent but not the only center of power.
In these divergent searches the main thing emerges: the world is no longer ready to live by the simple formula “America — the center, the rest — the periphery.” Yet no one can abandon the American dimension of international politics. That is why in Sydney, Kyiv and Moscow the U.S. remains the mirror in which each country tries to see both its future and its fears.
