Let’s not walk blindly into another war under the illusion of peace. As someone who commanded a British armoured reconnaissance squadron of 120 men along the UN-controlled ‘Green Line’ in Cyprus in 1989, I’ve seen what peacekeeping really looks like. Our patch covered 13 kilometres of tense, disputed terrain west of Nicosia, separating Greek and Turkish Cypriot forces. It was a mission marked by political complexity, petty grievances, and the constant threat of minor incidents spiralling into major problems.
Today, as talk gathers momentum of a possible European peacekeeping force for Ukraine, I feel compelled to offer a word of caution drawn from lived experience. Because while politicians may be seduced by the optics of British boots on Ukrainian soil as part of a noble ‘coalition of the willing’, the reality is far murkier — and far more dangerous.
This idea, floated initially by Sir Keir Starmer and now tentatively endorsed by Paris and Berlin, is premised on an important condition: that peace exists to be kept. That condition, I would argue, is nowhere near being met. You can’t keep peace where there is no peace. And crucially, any peacekeeping force must have the agreement of both warring parties. At present, I see no sign that Vladimir Putin is ready to accept such a deployment — nor that Ukraine, understandably, is ready to stop fighting.
In Cyprus, we were tasked with preventing small disputes from becoming flashpoints. Much of our work was tedious and, in truth, felt trivial: dealing with complaints about farmers planting tomatoes too close to the demarcation line, soldiers straying a few metres into no-man’s land, or flags hoisted just high enough to provoke the other side. Petty? Absolutely. But peacekeeping depends on managing the minutiae — and having two broadly compliant actors who at least pretend to respect the ceasefire.
Transplant that experience to Ukraine and the scale of the challenge increases exponentially. This is not Cyprus. The geography is vast, the front line dynamic, and the level of military technology — drones, long-range artillery, electronic warfare — vastly more advanced. You don’t just place a few hundred peacekeepers in white helmets along a fence and call it stability.
Let’s suppose, hypothetically, that a ceasefire is agreed and a mission is authorised. The next question is: where would peacekeepers go? Along the current line of contact? That would effectively freeze the conflict and legitimise Russian occupation of Ukrainian territory — not a position Kyiv would stomach. Along the international border? That would require Russian consent and withdrawal — both improbable without a clear military defeat.
And then there’s the issue of numbers. The 60,000 figure that’s been floated is staggering. Even 20,000 would make this Europe’s largest peacekeeping operation in decades. The logistics alone — billeting, supply chains, command structures — would be immense. Would this be under a NATO flag? The EU? The UN? Or would it be a new force altogether? And crucially: what rules of engagement would peacekeepers operate under? What happens when they are challenged, attacked, or used as political pawns?
If we send British troops into this environment, they will not be peacekeeping in the traditional sense. They will be placed in harm’s way — in a theatre with unresolved grievances, asymmetric threats, and no clear mandate. Worse still, they risk becoming hostages to fortune — symbolic targets for whichever actor seeks to undermine the fragile ceasefire or reignite the war.
Let me be blunt: this is not Bosnia in the 1990s, where NATO forces arrived after a Dayton Agreement to separate sides that were exhausted and willing to be separated. Nor is it Cyprus, where the conflict had simmered into a long, low-level standoff and both sides knew the cost of escalation.
Ukraine is different. There is no sign that Russia is ready to stop. There is no evidence that Ukraine is willing to give up its fight for sovereign territory. And there is, frankly, little clarity about who gets to enforce what — and on whose behalf — once peacekeepers arrive.
None of this is to say that the idea of European peacekeeping is inherently flawed. But it must be rooted in reality, not romantic notions of post-war stability. If — and only if — a genuine ceasefire is agreed, a mandate secured, and both Russia and Ukraine accept foreign troops on their territory, then yes, Britain should play its part.
But until then, we must remember what peacekeeping truly entails. It’s not glory. It’s not flags and medals. It’s long days of tension, small provocations, and endless negotiation. And sometimes, tragically, it’s fatal.
So to those rushing to paint British peacekeepers in Ukraine as a badge of honour: be careful what you wish for. I’ve worn the blue beret. I’ve seen what it asks of our troops. Let’s not walk blindly into another war under the illusion of peace.