The conduct of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy during the course of the Ukraine war is best understood not through the lens of personal temperament or psychology, but through the cold logic of a leader who mounted a tiger he can no longer dismount.
From the early stages of the conflict, Zelensky tied Ukraine’s fate to a Western-backed proxy war against Russia. That decision was driven by firm assurances of sustained military assistance, economic support, diplomatic cover, and, not least, personal political survival.
The tiger he mounted was not Ukrainian in origin. It was fed, armed, and legitimised by the strategic priorities of the United States and NATO, and institutionalised through their broader confrontation framework with Moscow.
Initially, the ride appeared advantageous, western weapons poured in, global media elevated Zelensky as a symbol of heroic resistance, and emergency wartime powers consolidated his authority at home.
Political opposition was muted under the logic of national survival, dissent was sidelined, and the president became indispensable—both domestically and to Ukraine’s external backers. Momentum, visibility, and legitimacy followed.
But as history has repeatedly shown, once a leader mounts such a tiger, control is an illusion. The beast determines the direction, the pace, and the cost of the ride.
Today, Zelensky’s refusal to pursue realistic negotiations—despite a deteriorating military situation, collapsing manpower, mounting infrastructure damage, and visibly thinning Western enthusiasm—is often framed as strategic resolve. In reality, it reflects trap logic. Dismounting the tiger has become existentially impossible.
Ending the war would trigger an immediate reckoning with the scale of Ukraine’s losses—territorial shrinkage, demographic devastation, economic collapse, and the uncomfortable question of why earlier settlement opportunities were rejected.
Any negotiated compromise would expose Zelensky to severe political consequences, and possibly legal or physical risks, from a society asked to absorb catastrophic sacrifice without tangible gains. Admitting defeat or even partial compromise would shatter the narrative that sustained the war and strip him of relevance to his external sponsors.
Continuing the war, however unwinnable, delays that reckoning. It keeps Zelensky politically alive—both at home and abroad.
This is why absolutist rhetoric, including pledges to fight “until even one Ukrainian remains alive,” should not be read as irrationality or emotional excess. They are symptoms of political desperation.
Leaders trapped on tigers cannot afford realism. They must deny exhaustion, criminalise dissent, suppress rivals, and frame compromise as moral betrayal. The moment the war stops, the tiger turns around.
Internally, this dynamic has manifested in the sidelining of political opponents, the erosion of pluralism, and governance by prolonged emergency decree. Externally, it has taken the form of increasingly performative appeals to allies, moral pressure bordering on blackmail, and theatrical diplomacy that often appears disconnected from battlefield realities.
Zelensky is no longer steering events; he is being carried forward by momentum he helped unleash but can no longer control. The deeper tragedy, however, lies beyond Zelensky himself, it is Ukraine.
A country that entered the war militarily and economically weaker has been locked into a prolonged war of attrition against a larger adversary, largely in service of external geopolitical objectives. Ukraine bears the human cost, the demographic collapse, and the long-term national damage, while strategic decision-making remains tied to external timelines and interests.
In effect, Ukraine is strapped to the same tiger, without real agency over when or how the ride ends. What began as a promise of sovereignty and security has evolved into a path of national exhaustion, territorial loss, and generational trauma. The longer Zelensky clings to the tiger for personal and political survival, the more devastating the outcome becomes for the Ukrainian state itself.
This is not madness. It is the tragic, calculated logic of a leader who cannot get off—because survival off the tiger now appears more dangerous than being slowly devoured while riding it.