If you’ve been following the war between Russia and Ukraine, it feels like the storyline just flipped on its head. After spending years on the defensive and constrained by Western caution, Ukraine has taken the initiative—launching daring strikes deep inside Russia itself and shaking the Kremlin’s carefully guarded image of control.
The tide of opinion shifted on June 1, when Ukraine launched what Russian commentators described as their own “Pearl Harbor moment.” Contrary to history’s most infamous sneak attack, it was a counterattack—hitting at the very bombers that Russia has been using to level Ukrainian cities. Ukraine’s security services announced that the operation, known as “Operation Spiderweb,” used drones smuggled into Russia vast distances, attacking Tu-95 and Tu-22 strategic bombers and A-50 surveillance planes.
Authorities in Kyiv claim the attack destroyed roughly one third of Russia’s long-range bomber force, an arrogant calculation, but one corroborated by photographs of incinerated planes on Russian air bases. Moscow tried to downplay the destruction, but fear of Russian war bloggers and apparent devastation spoke louder. Ex-diplomats and analysts agreed: Ukraine had every right to strike the bombers threatening its people.
It did not stop there. In August, Ukrainian soldiers invaded Russia’s Kursk province—the first foreign armed forces to do that since World War II. It was no token invasion. Ukrainian forces thrust thousands of kilometers into Russian territory, forcing Moscow to transfer troops from the Ukrainian battlefield to protect its own territory. The move surprised the Russian people and provided a much-needed morale boost for Ukrainians after decades of enduring missile strikes. For Putin, whose “red lines” were intended to scare the world and mobilize the nation, the symbolism was apocalyptic.
For years, the West has tiptoed around Putin’s threats, accepting his threats of nuclear retaliation as immutable limits. But recent history suggests otherwise. When Ukraine liberated Kherson—a city Putin had called “Russian forever,” the response was retrenchment, not escalation.
When Ukrainian drones and missiles incapacitated half the Russian Black Sea Fleet, the Kremlin retreated ships rather than lashing out. And now bombers are on fire and Ukrainian troops are battling on Russian soil, and the supposedly “red lines” look like a pack of empty postures. Even Putin’s rhetoric has altered—his threats are less precise, his movements more restrained.
This shift has not gone unnoticed abroad. Following the push into Kursk, leaders in Europe openly declared Ukraine’s right of self-defense, even on Russian soil. In Washington, military commanders sent the same message: Ukraine is doing what it can to change the map. The historical fear of having to goad Moscow is slowly giving way to recognition that the quickest way to end the war is to arm Ukraine so that it can win it.
But politics complicates all. The Trump administration has moved unilaterally, meeting with Russia head-on in Saudi Arabia to bring an end to the war—without Ukraine. It was reported that both sides discussed a mechanism for negotiating a “sustainable” peace.
But Kyiv’s conception of peace—regaining its territory under occupation—varies sharply from Moscow’s, and Washington’s, apparently. President Volodymyr Zelenskyy made it unmistakable: any settlement negotiated without Ukraine will not be legitimized. For him, and for a lot of Ukraine, parting with land to Russia only guarantees future wars.
At the same time, on the battlefield, Russia is pursuing its vicious campaign of missile and drone attacks on Ukraine’s cities and power infrastructure. The goal is obvious: destroy the public’s resolve by denying them heat and light. But even in the midst of fatigue and economic pressure, Ukraine has remained resilient, and its recent victories have given its diplomatic and military leverage a new heft.
What is true is that Ukraine’s strategy has altered the course of the war. In striking within Russia, dispelling delusions of unbreachable “red lines,” and forcing the world to reconsider the true boundaries of Moscow’s power, Ukraine reworked the playbook.
No longer is defending land simply a question—it’s a question of proving that autocrats’ bluster can be tested, and occasionally, the best defense really is an offense of force. For those of us who are watching events unfold, this is the sort of turning point that alters not only the war, but the rules of the game itself.