Volodymyr Valchuk, a Ukrainian-American respiratory therapist living in San Rafael, California, had braced himself with low expectations for the high-stakes summit between President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin. But after witnessing the two world leaders meet in person for the first time in six years, Valchuk admits he was left completely stunned.
“I’m speechless. I have nothing to say. I really didn’t expect much, but this is even worse than I thought,” said Valchuk, 46, who moved to the U.S. from Ukraine in 1996 to attend college and became an American citizen in 2004. “That’s what I’m feeling right now.”
The Anchorage, Alaska, meeting between Trump and Putin aimed to address the ongoing war in Ukraine, a conflict that has already dragged on for over three years and claimed thousands of lives. But for Valchuk, the summit did little to inspire hope.
“At least they could’ve given us a little idea what Putin said the agreement was,” he said. “Trump mentioned he’ll talk to NATO and (Ukrainian President Volodymyr) Zelenskyy, but I really don’t know what that means. Yeah, I’m disappointed. Very disappointed.”
Valchuk’s frustration reflects the uncertainty felt by millions who have ties to Ukraine. “I just hope it’s not going to cost Ukraine some of its land and more lives,” he said. “I hope.”
While Valchuk watches events unfold from across the Atlantic, two Ukrainian-born teenagers living in the U.S. are trying to keep the conversation about their homeland alive through art. Taisiia Grygorova, 19, and Sofiia Kopytko, 18, are performing this summer on the East Coast in a play titled Voices from Ukraine: Stories of War and Hope. For them, the summit’s outcome hardly matters—the war simply can’t end soon enough.
For Grygorova, who hails from Kharkiv near the Ukrainian-Russian border, the reality of life under constant attack is inescapable. “Despite the rocket attacks, drones, air raids, and explosions, my thoughts are always with the people suffering through the continuous combat,” she said.
Studying journalism at Warsaw International University, Grygorova makes frequent trips back to Kharkiv to visit her parents and four younger siblings, even though danger follows her every step. “And every time I go there, I prepare myself: ‘Taia, you’re going for two weeks, and it’s a 100% chance that you will get under a rocket attack at least four times during this time, but you’ll be fine. Your younger brothers and sisters live in this nightmare every day, you can handle two weeks.’”
The threats aren’t abstract—they are brutally personal. Grygorova’s youngest brother, a six-year-old, is supposed to start school this year. But the prospect of bombings casts a shadow over what should be a normal childhood. “There is always a possibility that one of those bombs flying over the city will hit a school where kids are studying,” she said. “My brother is going to study underground, with no sunlight, no chance to play outside, run freely on a football pitch, or hear the birds singing.”
Her mother keeps the family’s most important documents near the front door, a stark reminder that at any moment, they may have to leave their home forever. “That’s how the war looks for me and my family,” Grygorova said.
Kopytko, from Chernihiv, echoes the stark realities of living in a war zone. For her, the conflict is not just about territory or military strategy—it’s about people. Doctors working in critical conditions, families trapped in occupied territories, and civilians facing random air strikes all share the same precarious fate.
“Human lives are not statistics, but the most valuable thing that each of us has, and we must protect it,” Kopytko said. “After all, you never know what tomorrow holds and whether it will come at all.”
Both teenagers share a deep yearning for peace. Grygorova hopes for a future where she can visit her family without fear, where her city can rebuild, and where she can contribute to the restoration of her homeland. “I hope that when the war is over, I’ll be able to help in rebuilding my country, where I want my future kids to grow up,” she said.
Kopytko keeps her hopes simple. “That there will be no more news of death and destruction, just simple happiness,” she said. “Of course, I can talk about building a career and a family, but for me, these are the components of the happiness I strive for. First and foremost, free people in a free country. In a free Ukraine.”
The contrast between political theater and personal reality could not be starker. While global leaders convene in faraway rooms, the people most affected by the conflict are living in constant uncertainty. Valchuk, Grygorova, and Kopytko represent a spectrum of experiences, yet they all share a single wish: an end to the war.
For Valchuk, the Anchorage summit only underscored the ambiguity that often accompanies diplomatic negotiations. “We didn’t get a deal. We didn’t get clarity. We didn’t get hope,” he said. “It’s hard not to feel powerless.”
For Grygorova and Kopytko, however, their response is active engagement rather than passive observation. Through performance, advocacy, and storytelling, they are turning their experiences into a platform to keep the world aware of Ukraine’s struggle. Their play travels across the East Coast, bringing audiences face-to-face with the human cost of war—an experience far removed from policy briefings and press conferences.
And yet, despite the chaos and the heartbreak, hope persists. Grygorova dreams of a day when children in Kharkiv can play outside without fear, when families can live in peace, and when the country can heal. Kopytko envisions a Ukraine where freedom is restored and people can pursue simple joys without the shadow of conflict.
Valchuk, for his part, holds on to cautious optimism. “I just hope that this war doesn’t cost us more land, more lives,” he said. His words echo the sentiments of countless Ukrainian-Americans and Ukrainians worldwide—an anxious watchfulness mixed with a stubborn hope that peace can prevail.
While the Trump-Putin summit may not have offered immediate solutions, the voices of those directly impacted remind the world of what’s truly at stake. This is more than a geopolitical chess game. It’s a struggle for everyday survival, for family, for childhood, and for the future of a nation.
In the end, the message from Ukraine is clear: no matter the outcome in Alaska or Washington, the real desire is universal, simple, and urgent. Stop the war. Protect human life. Rebuild and restore what has been lost.
For Valchuk, Grygorova, and Kopytko, this is not just news—it is life, hope, and resilience in the face of unimaginable uncertainty. And as the world watches, they continue to remind us of the human faces behind every headline, the stories of survival, and the unwavering wish for a free and peaceful Ukraine.
Login