President Trump’s recent pivot from the highly contentious Oval Office meeting in February with President Zelenskyy to apparently full-throated support for Ukraine—including the supply of long-range Tomahawk missiles, underscores a core principle of his “America First” doctrine: non-ideological flexibility in pursuit of U.S. national security objectives. While critics frame his shifts in policy as inconsistency, in reality he is simply exercising strategic adaptability. For Trump, “America First” is not a rigid ideology but a living framework; whatever has the best chance of serving U.S. interests at any given moment defines its direction.
Though Trump initially attempted to charm Putin into an early end to the war, he has since recognized and publicly admitted that his “relationship with Putin meant nothing.” This being said, Trump’s pivot should not be mistaken for genuine concern for Ukraine; though for the moment he considers working with Zelenskyy against Putin more efficacious, this is in no way a firm position. Should circumstances shift again, U.S. foreign policy will shift too. This is not flip-flopping but rather leadership rooted in realism and America’s interest.
That principle was on full display in Alaska and what came after. Trump’s decision to host Russian President Vladimir Putin in Anchorage on August 15 was symbolic and tactical. Alaska sits at the crossroads of Russian history and American sovereignty—once a Russian colony, later a Cold War frontier, and now a strategic Arctic outpost. It also sidestepped Putin’s International Criminal Court warrants, offering a neutral venue for diplomacy. Kremlin aide Yuri Ushakov called the choice “quite logical…where our interests intersect.” The summit itself produced little by way of agreements, but the symbolism mattered. Against the backdrop of failed ceasefire talks and pointed rebukes, Trump offered Putin one last chance at legitimacy on the world stage.
Putin seized the stage to advance a different theater: religion. In an unannounced move, he met with Archbishop Alexei of the Orthodox Church in America (OCA), exchanging icons of St. Herman of Alaska and laying flowers at Soviet graves. Archbishop Alexei went so far as to express that he would be “forever grateful” for Putin’s visit. Due to heavy backlash the Archbishop issued a statement: “I wish to express my sincere apology to those who have experienced pain, suffering, or confusion because of my actions in recent days.” But he never apologized for the meeting itself, which was not authorized by the OCA’s Holy Synod.
These gestures were not mere ceremony. Orthodoxy runs deep in Alaska’s identity. Russian missionaries baptized tens of thousands of Alaska Natives, with St. Innocent translating liturgy into Aleut. Today, more than 80 Orthodox parishes persist, blending Slavonic hymns with Aleut chants. Anchorage alone counts 50,000 Orthodox faithful—around 5% of the population.
For Moscow, this is fertile ground for soft power. Russia’s doctrine of “nuclear orthodoxy” fuses its arsenal with its faith, casting weapons as a divine shield. Putin has declared nuclear weapons and Orthodoxy together as “the bedrock of Russian statehood.” In Alaska—home to parishes born of Russian missionaries—the symbolism was unmistakable. Moreover, the Kremlin has been using religion as a tool of hybrid warfare in the Baltics, Moldova and Africa. It’s a global strategy.
Trump, however, did not leave the religious front uncontested. A month after Putin’s Alaskan display, Speaker Mike Johnson hosted Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew of Constantinople at the Capitol. On September 15, Trump himself met the patriarch, just after approving America’s first Ukraine aid package under the Prioritized Ukraine Requirements List (PURL)—a mechanism channeling NATO funds into U.S.-led arms deliveries. Bartholomew’s presence was no accident. He has been one of Kyiv’s strongest spiritual allies, granting independence (“autocephaly”) to the Orthodox Church of Ukraine from the Orthodox Church of Russia in 2019, an act that severed Moscow’s ecclesiastical grip. In countering Putin’s “nuclear orthodoxy,” Trump underscored a truth: religion remains a front line in geopolitics.
If Putin aimed for symbolism, his military followed with substance. Since the Anchorage summit, NORAD has reported a surge in air incursions into the Alaskan Air Defense Identification Zone (ADIZ)—a buffer extending 200 nautical miles from U.S. shores where aircraft must identify themselves. On September 24, two Tu-95 bombers escorted by Su-35 fighters prompted F-16 intercepts.
At sea, the Coast Guard has flagged an uptick in Russian and Chinese naval activity around Alaska’s maritime approaches, including passages in the U.S. EEZ (exclusive economic zone) and five Chinese-flagged “research vessels” beginning on August 16, 2025. Ostensibly civilian, these ships carry dual-use capabilities for mapping subsea terrain, stoking fears of espionage amid growing Sino-Russian ties. The U.S. response has been equally assertive. The surprise deployment of USS Gerald R. Ford aircraft carrier was part of NATO’s Neptune Strike 2025 exercises in the North Sea near Norway, but its proximity to Murmansk (within 200-300 nautical miles) drew speculation of strategic signaling against Russian submarine activity.
Trump’s tone shifted dramatically at the September 23 United Nations General Assembly. After offering Putin every diplomatic off-ramp, he flipped the script, even stating that Ukraine, “with the support of the European Union, is in a position to fight and win all of Ukraine back.” His patience had run out. By backing Ukraine’s full territorial integrity he affirmed that America First does not mean American retreat. This was not inconsistency. Trump had extended hospitality and patience for Putin, who responded by doubling down on war and tightening ties with China and North Korea.
The message for Europeans is clear. Trump’s pivot on Ukraine is defined not by chaos but careful calculation. He has shown both restraint and resolve: a willingness to host, to negotiate, and, when rebuffed, to escalate. European leaders should take note. America First is not a slogan of isolation but a doctrine of leverage—testing adversaries, preserving flexibility, and ensuring that American credibility remains unbroken. Trump’s policy toward Ukraine will evolve as circumstances demand, but never at the expense of U.S. national security and interest. In Alaska’s Orthodox churches, at the U.N. podium, and in the skies above the Arctic, his message is consistent: America First means whatever President Trump thinks is necessary to put American interests first.
