Pablo Fuentes-Prior

**You need to watch Zelenskyy's interview with Steven Bartlett.** Sitting in front of the camera is an utterly exhausted, at times visibly broken man who has spent almost five years personally managing a war, making critical decisions day and night. From the very first minutes, you can see just how drained he is. When asked the routine question, "How are you?" he replies that he barely sleeps because he spends his nights in military group chats, moving the last remaining air defense systems from one region to another. Two stories are particularly heartbreaking. The first is about a missile that struck a children's playground within seconds, while parents watched from their apartment windows as their children were torn apart. The second is about presenting posthumous military awards to the families of fallen soldiers: "You present an award to a father, feel his strong hand, and then he quietly asks, 'Can we hug?' At that moment, I simply cease to exist inside. These people are gone. They will never be the same again." When the host tries to take him back into his past, showing old photographs from Kryvyi Rih, his student comedy performances, his voice acting as Paddington Bear, and scenes from *Servant of the People*, Zelenskyy looks at them with detachment, almost as though he is watching someone else's life. He also recalls February 2022 without any attempt to portray himself as a hero. He says that for the first 20 days, he simply ran from office to office on adrenaline, calling everyone he could and trying to organize deliveries of water and food to Kyiv. Fear and the full realization of what had happened only caught up with him three weeks later, when Bucha was liberated and mass graves containing hundreds of murdered civilians were discovered. Using Bucha as an example, he explains why advice from outsiders to simply negotiate a quick deal causes him such deep frustration: "Imagine that in the United States or Britain, a mass grave is discovered containing 500 tortured people with their hands tied. How could you simply forgive everything after that?" The rest of the conversation revolves around the deadlock in which Ukrainians, and indeed everyone involved, now find themselves. Zelenskyy explains the causes of the war in simple terms: Moscow is trying to forcibly rebuild the Soviet empire because Ukraine's integration into Europe would finally bury that project. But when the conversation turns to the present, there is unmistakable bitterness in his words. Almost one-fifth of Ukraine's territory is occupied. The east is under relentless bombardment. Cities are left without electricity. People are dying every single day. Meanwhile, every discussion about a ceasefire runs into the same demand: Kyiv must withdraw even farther from its fortified positions, without any guarantees that Russia will not launch another offensive a year later. Toward the end, the conversation turns to Trump and Ukrainian strikes on Russian oil facilities. Trump publicly reprimands Zelenskyy over attacks on Russian refineries because he fears rising diesel prices for American farmers ahead of the elections. And this is where you can see just how deeply that approach affects Zelenskyy. His country is burning. Moscow has rejected his proposal for a mutual halt to attacks on energy infrastructure. Patriot missiles paid for by Europe are being redirected by the Americans to the Middle East. And somehow, Zelenskyy is the one being blamed for fuel prices in the United States. The entire interview leaves you with a profoundly bleak feeling. Here is a man trapped between the daily deaths of people in his own country and the pragmatic bargaining of allies who have their own elections, their own interests, and their own political calculations. And yet, he can no longer step away from this responsibility. **Watch it.**

“Why do some British people dislike Donald Trump?” Nate White, an eloquent and witty English writer, gave this magnificent answer: Trump lacks certain qualities that the British traditionally value. He has no nobility, no charm, no composure, no gravitas, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour, and no grace — qualities with which, strangely enough, his predecessor, Mr Obama, was abundantly blessed. Although Trump may be ridiculous, he has never said anything ironic, amusing, or even remotely funny — not once, ever. I do not mean this rhetorically. I mean it literally: never. To the British, a lack of humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it is a fact. He does not even seem to understand what a joke is. To him, a joke is a crude remark, an illiterate insult, an act of casual cruelty. Trump is like a troll: he never laughs or enjoys himself; he merely squeals with delight or derision. And the most frightening thing is that he does not merely utter crude and stupid insults: he actually means them. His mind is nothing more than a robotic algorithm of petty prejudices and instinctive malice. There is no irony in him, no complexity, no subtlety, no depth. Everything is superficial. What we see is a man without an inner world, without a soul. In Britain, we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are courageous underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither courageous nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite. He is not even merely a spoiled rich boy or a greedy fat cat. He is more like a giant white slug, a privileged Jabba the Hutt. And, worse still, he is a bully. When he finds himself among other bullies, he suddenly becomes a whining lackey. He punches down — something a gentleman should never, could never, and must never do — and every blow he delivers is below the belt. He particularly enjoys attacking the vulnerable or the voiceless, and he kicks them when they are down. That is why the fact that a substantial minority — perhaps a third — of Americans watch what he does, listen to what he says, and then think, “Yes, he seems like my kind of guy,” is a source of bewilderment and profound distress to the British. After all, it is impossible to read a single tweet of his or hear him utter a sentence or two without staring into the abyss. He turns shallowness into an art form. He is the Picasso of pettiness, the Shakespeare of shit. His flaws are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on to infinity. There have always been stupid people in the world, and villains have never been in short supply either. But rarely has stupidity been so evil, or evil so stupid. He makes Nixon seem trustworthy and George W. Bush seem intelligent. If Frankenstein had decided to create a monster composed entirely of human flaws, he would have created Trump, and the remorseful Dr Frankenstein would have cried out in despair, “My God, what have I created?” If an idiot were a television show, Trump would be the entire set.