“A just and lasting peace for Kyiv.” This is the formula that the Italian government has been repeating for months, in line with the official position of the European Union and NATO: no imposed surrender, no solution that rewards Russian aggression, but an agreement that guarantees sovereignty, security and stability for Ukraine.

Clear words. Shareable. Necessary.

But foreign policy does not live by utterances: it lives by consistency. And here a rift opens up that deserves to be analysed.

The Italian Foreign Minister sits, albeit as an ‘observer’, in a body called the ‘Board of Peace’, an assembly whose protagonists include Viktor Orbán and in which Trump – who sees peace in Ukraine more as an annoying disturbance in his elective affinities with the Kremlin rather than as a goal to be achieved – has expressly invited Putin and Lukashenko (he then wonders why the Vatican has returned the invitation to participate in such a sham). Yet today, on public occasions, symbols and messages – from the ‘MAGA‘ cap casually displayed to the ritual photos – convey an image of political familiarity that clashes with the official narrative on the defence of Ukraine. At the same time, the Prime Minister ends up inOrbán’s election ads.

It is legitimate, in a democracy, to have alliances and ideological affinities. But when it comes to war in the heart of Europe and the defence of the Union’s eastern borders, the issue is not symbolic: it is strategic.

The uncomfortable proximity to Orban

Orbán is today, in fact, a thorn in the side not only of the European Union, but of the whole of Europe, and not only on the Ukrainian dossier. He has slowed down or obstructed aid packages, questioned sanctions, opened privileged channels with Moscow, assuming a posture that was at first ambiguous and today is swaggeringly obstructive, blatantly siding with the Kremlin and, with Trump’s support, hostile to Europe. On more than one occasion, Budapest has been perceived as the weak link in the European front, the one most inclined to force internal unity at a time when unity would be decisive.

In this context, the question is not polemical but political: how credible is a government that speaks of a ‘just and lasting peace’ for Kyiv while it maintains privileged relations with the European leader most critical – if not hostile – to the strategy of support for Ukraine?

Because a just peace, in the diplomatic lexicon, means a peace that does not legitimise invasion, that does not freeze occupation as a fait accompli, that does not open the way to new destabilisations. A lasting peace means that the security of Ukraine – and therefore of Europe – is guaranteed by a solid balance, not by a fragile compromise imposed by Western weariness.

If, however, on a political level, one legitimises those who systematically undermine the common European front, the message that arrives outside the EU borders is ambiguous. In Kyiv, as in Moscow.

International credibility is not only measured in votes in the European Council or official communiqués. It is also measured in images, in alliances, in shared platforms. Sitting on a ‘Board of Peace’ together with those who have repeatedly curbed support for Kyiv risks conveying the idea of a double posture: Atlanticist in Brussels, indulgent elsewhere.

There is then a further level. Orbán not only represents an alternative line on war: he embodies a vision of Europe that openly challenges the rule of law, the separation of powers, and media freedom. A vision that, internally in Hungary, has produced constant tensions with the European institutions. Politically supporting that leadership – even if only symbolically – while claiming to defend the ‘free world’ against Russian aggression, creates an obvious friction.

Defending Ukraine means defending a principle: that borders cannot be changed with tanks. But it also means defending a political model based on pluralism, common rules and multilateral cooperation. One cannot invoke the former and relativise the latter.

And it is here that the image emerges of an executive that risks appearing as a ‘Penelope government’.

By day, he weaves the web of the ‘willing’, the Kyiv friends, the pro-European standing, the family photos at the summits that count. By night, however, that web seems to unravel: between endorsements of Orbán, extreme indulgence towards the Trumpian front, harmony with that political archipelago that looks at the European project with suspicion – when not hostility.

It is not a question of rhetoric, but of strategic perception. In a historical phase in which Europe is called upon to redefine its geopolitical role, ambiguities weigh heavily. Every oscillation is read, analysed, capitalised upon. Moscow observes the cracks in the European front; Washington measures the reliability of the allies; Kyiv assesses who is really willing to support it to the end.

Of course, diplomacy is also made up of difficult interlocutions

No one is asking for theatrical ruptures or permanent excommunications. But there is a difference between dialogue and legitimisation, between keeping channels open and building political shores.

If Italy wants to be – as it claims – a central player in the process that will one day lead to peace for Kyiv, it must show that its line is consistent and straightforward. That there is not one foreign policy ‘for the partners’ and one ‘for the political family’. That words spent in defence of Ukraine are not watered down by strategic ambiguities.

Because just and lasting peace is not a slogan

It is an objective that requires credibility, clarity and a location without grey areas. In a war-torn Europe, it is not enough to weave the web in the morning if you unravel it by nightfall. Even the companies one chooses tell, with more force than any declaration, which side one is on.