At the presidential palace in Minsk, Europe’s longest-serving leader smiled broadly as he accepted a small metal box from a visiting US delegation.
Inside lay a pair of embossed White House cufflinks – a personal gift from Donald Trump to Alexander Lukashenko, who revelled in the attention after years as a western pariah.
Since Trump took office, Lukashenko, an authoritarian strongman who has ruled Belarus since 1994, has been edging out of the diplomatic freeze, cautiously probing for space beyond Moscow, which sees Belarus as both its closest ally and a vital buffer.
Sensing a political opening with the new Trump administration, Lukashenko has regularly met US officials and even held a call with the US president, who has floated the idea of a direct meeting. Some in Washington see Lukashenko as a potential interlocutor with Vladimir Putin on ending the war in Ukraine. Keith Kellogg, Trump’s envoy to Ukraine, has privately said he places a high value on Lukashenko’s insights into the Russian leader, according to a source familiar with the talks.
European diplomatic sources have meanwhile said there are tentative discussions in Brussels over whether the EU’s policy of isolating Belarus remains effective, and if offering Lukashenko a way out of Moscow’s shadow should be considered. Belarus has also signalled openness to talks, the two sources said.
“People who hadn’t dared say the word ‘president’ since 2020 now want to talk,” Lukashenko boasted to a domestic audience in early July. “They are discussing global issues with your president – that already counts for something. It shows they respect his opinion.”
For much of his three decades in power, Lukashenko – often described as Europe’s last dictator – built his survival on the art of hedging between Moscow and the west.
He relied on generous subsidised Russian oil and gas to keep Belarus’s state-run economy afloat, while leaving the door ajar to Brussels whenever Moscow pressed too hard, occasionally dangling promises of democratic reform that never materialised.
“There is a persistent myth that Lukashenko is happy to be a vassal to Moscow. In reality, his room for manoeuvre has yo-yoed over the years, but he has never ceased looking for ways to broaden his options,” the European official said.
It was the rigged presidential election of 2020 and the brutal crackdown that followed that severed Minsk’s relations with Europe and the US – and left Lukashenko dependent on Moscow for his survival.
“Lukashenko is an addict: his drug is power. Like any addict, he’ll do and sell anything for one last dose,” said Sergei Sparysh, a 39-year-old activist who was recently released from a Belarusian jail as part of Lukashenko’s attempt to curry favour with the west. “To stay in power, he sold Belarus to Russia.”
Russia stepped in with loans, discounted energy and security guarantees to shore up his position at his most vulnerable moment, and when Putin launched his full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the embrace grew tighter still.
Belarus served as a staging ground and logistical hub for Russian troops, its territory providing the launchpad for assaults on Ukraine from the north, only 90 miles from Kyiv. Since the full-scale invasion, Minsk and Moscow have signed a sweeping security pact, and Lukashenko – after years of resistance – agreed to host Russian nuclear weapons on Belarusian soil.
Still, Lukashenko pushed against Putin’s pressure to commit his own troops to the war, knowing that such a move would be deeply unpopular not only among the public but also within his own armed forces.
Belarus’s economic reliance on Moscow, however, only deepened as western sanctions turned the country into a vital conduit for Moscow, generating a temporary boom in exports and state revenues.
Belarusian factories also ramped up production, supplying Russia with clothes and essential components for the war. But the yields did not last. As Russia’s economy slowed under the weight of sanctions and war spending, Belarus was dragged down alongside it.
On a Guardian trip to Minsk this month, with its squeaky-clean streets and a skyline of Soviet monuments dotted with casinos catering to Russian visitors, the city carried a heavy atmosphere. Few residents dared speak openly about the economic slowdown. “We have become too close to Russia; we don’t have any other alternative any more,” said Natalya, who asked for her last name to be omitted.
Shortages of everyday staples, including potatoes, have become emblematic of the strain, prompting the government to reintroduce Soviet-style price caps. Mass emigration has deepened the labour shortage, leading Lukashenko to offer 150,000 Pakistani workers to fill the gap.
The fragility of the economy was further highlighted this month when Poland temporarily closed its border, cutting off a profitable supply route to China.
Lukashenko has been unusually candid about the extent of the problems. “We need to pull through,” he told officials in a televised meeting. “We have to move, we have to trade, we have to sort out industry.”
In the face of mounting economic pressure, Lukashenko has returned to what one European official described as “the good old tightrope” of manoeuvring between Putin and the west.
In an apparent showcase of his willingness to engage, he this month invited US military officers to observe the Zapad-2025 war exercises – the first such participation since Russia invaded Ukraine – and publicly claimed that Belarusian forces had helped intercept Russian drones heading for Poland. During a Guardian visit to Zapad-2025 this month, which has raised western fears that the drills could provide cover for a new Russian military build-up, Belarusian officials stressed a simple message: they had nothing to hide.
“It is hard to imagine the kind of openness that we are showing and ensuring at the exercise,” defence minister Viktor Khrenin said.
A central question is how much room Moscow will allow its closest ally to pursue a tentative opening to the west – and whether he can act independently from Russia at all.
Yauheni Preiherman, founder of the Minsk Dialogue Council on International Relations, a thinktank that works with the Belarusian foreign ministry, said: “It’s not about how far the Russians will ‘allow’ us to go. It’s about how smart we can be in working with the reality and gradually expanding our room for manoeuvre.
“Nobody here is crazy enough to try to be another Ukraine – everyone understands the risks. But there is a determination, sometimes unspoken, to seize any circumstances that would let us reopen that space and work more independently.”
Central to Lukashenko’s bargaining has been the release of dozens of political prisoners – a move critics describe as a cynical ploy, given that repression at home has shown no sign of easing.
For the Belarusian strongman, analysts and insiders argue, the recent diplomatic outreach is a logical move given his obsession with preserving sovereignty alongside his need to retain Russian support.
Artyom Shraibman, a non-resident scholar at the Carnegie Russia Eurasia Centre, said: “Dictators don’t like being dependent on friends. He has always had an instinct to distance himself from Moscow.”
The recent push is also reinforced by a fear of missing out. While any peace deal between Russia and Ukraine still appears distant, there is concern in Minsk that Belarus would be left out of future sanctions relief demanded by Moscow, said Preiherman.
Lukashenko’s outreach so far has yielded modest gains.
After the release of the political prisoners earlier this month, the US announced partial relief on Belavia, Belarus’s national airline, marking the first easing of restrictions in years.
“Sanctions were lifted, albeit only for one company, but an important one,” said Shraibman. “The symbolism matters more: it sets a precedent and opens a bargaining season. And Lukashenko has things to trade.”
More than 1,000 political prisoners remain behind bars, according to human rights groups, and Lukashenko’s regime has jailed new ones in recent weeks.
Washington, for its part, sees additional benefits in engagement. “Americans think it’s helpful as an additional channel with Putin,” said Preiherman, describing him as “the best Kremlinologist in the world”.
“He is one of the only people who has dealt with Moscow for 30 years.”
But Shraibman cautioned against viewing Lukashenko as an independent arbiter, saying it was “crystal clear that his loyalties remained with Moscow.”
Lukashenko now appears to be placing his bets on the Trump administration, believing that rapprochement with Washington will push Europe into falling in line. “He dismisses Europe’s subjectivity and believes Trump can order them around,’ said Shraibman.
Few think there is much appetite in Europe to offer Lukashenko sanctions relief unless far-reaching concessions are made.
But in Brussels, there appears to be quiet soul-searching over whether the EU’s hawkish stance on Belarus – it has long ruled out contact with Lukashenko’s regime – has reached the limits of its usefulness, according to people familiar with the discussions.
“Maximum pressure has not worked,” one EU diplomat said. “After five years of isolation, we have not achieved our stated goals. Belarus is closer to Russia, and repression has not stopped.”
What should replace the current policy remains unclear, the diplomat added, given Lukashenko’s refusal to compromise or break with Moscow.
“Rapprochement with Lukashenko has its limits – he knows how to play this game inside out.”
