Troops before peace: Boris Johnson’s proposal and the price of signalling resolve

Tuesday 24 February 2026

Boris Johnson’s recent intervention in the Ukraine debate is deliberately provocative—by design. In a BBC interview reported widely over the past few days, he argued that the United Kingdom and European allies should deploy non-combat troops to “peaceful” areas of Ukraine now, rather than waiting for a ceasefire, to convince Vladimir Putin that the West’s commitments are real rather than rhetorical. 

The proposal lands in a political landscape that has shifted since 2022. London and Paris have already explored, at least in principle, the idea of a multinational force in Ukraine in the event of a peace deal, with parliamentary statements referring to a declaration of intent signed alongside President Macron and President Zelensky. Johnson’s novelty is the timing—and the implicit wager that pre-ceasefire deployment would deter rather than inflame.

To understand the ramifications, one must treat the phrase “peace enforcement” as more than a flourish. Peace enforcement is not peacekeeping. It presumes the credible possibility of coercion—of military action to compel compliance—rather than the quieter work of monitoring, separating forces and reporting violations. That single distinction changes almost everything.

The logistical reality—what “non-combat” does and does not mean

The attraction of “non-combat troops in peaceful areas” is obvious: it offers political symbolism without openly announcing a Western entry into active fighting. Yet from a military planner’s perspective, “non-combat” is a description of intent, not a guarantee of outcome.

Any troop presence—British or French—creates immediate requirements:

• Protected basing and layered air defence—because even areas distant from the front have been subject to long-range attacks during the war

• Secure lines of communication—ports, rail, road and air hubs capable of sustaining personnel, equipment and medical evacuation at scale

• Force protection rules, intelligence support and rapid reaction capacity—because the political catastrophe would not be the deployment itself but a small number of personnel being killed or captured without a credible response

• Legal status arrangements—jurisdiction, arrest powers, carriage of weapons, coordination with Ukrainian command structures and civil authorities

None of that is impossible. What it does mean is that the force would rapidly resemble a real operational deployment—complete with risks that cannot be wished away by labelling it “non-combat”. Johnson’s own argument—deploy now to “flip the switch” in Putin’s mind—depends upon those troops being seen as protected and backed. A thin tripwire is not a deterrent; it is a hostage.

There is also the mundane yet decisive question of scale. A token presence signals attention, not endurance. A meaningful presence—enough to reassure Ukraine, deter Russia and survive predictable frictions—demands rotation, reserves and long-term funding. That becomes a domestic political story almost immediately.

Domestic politics in Britain and France—deterrence abroad, accountability at home

In Britain the mere movement from “support Ukraine” to “send troops” transforms the argument. Parliament, the press and public opinion tend to tolerate equipment transfers more readily than deployment of personnel—because the latter creates direct national exposure to the war’s risks.

Johnson is no longer prime minister; he does not bear executive responsibility. That is precisely why his intervention matters: it pushes the Overton window (the range of government policies acceptable to a population at any particular time), forcing those in office to answer a question they would rather manage quietly. The Ministry of Defence position reported in recent coverage—that any British participation would come after hostilities end—illustrates the current official caution. 

For the government of the day, the dilemmas are stark:

• If ministers reject the idea, they risk being cast—by Johnson and like-minded voices—as timid in the face of Russian coercion.

• If they accept it, they inherit the consequences of any incident, accident, escalation or mission-creep.

France faces a parallel problem, with an added twist—Paris has long been more comfortable than London with strategic ambiguity, yet French domestic politics can be volatile when military ventures appear open-ended. A joint UK–France initiative would spread political risk—yet it would also entangle both governments in each other’s domestic storms.

And there is a subtler domestic question: is this a peace mission or a war mission? The public will ask, sooner than policymakers might like, what “success” looks like—especially if there is not yet a ceasefire, not yet an agreed line of control and not yet a settlement document to point to.

Geopolitics—deterrence, escalation and the NATO shadow

The geopolitical logic Johnson offers is simple: Putin pushes because he believes the West will flinch; therefore the West must stop flinching. But deterrence is a dialogue, not a monologue. Russia would interpret a pre-ceasefire troop deployment not as neutral “peace enforcement”, but as direct Western entry onto Ukrainian territory in uniform—under conditions of ongoing hostilities.

The central risk is not a planned clash; it is an incident that becomes politically inescapable:

• A missile or drone strike that kills allied personnel—whether deliberate, misdirected or plausibly deniable

• A cyberattack or sabotage operation against bases and logistics hubs

• A confrontation at a checkpoint, rail junction or port facility involving Russian agents, proxies or “volunteers”

Russian officials have repeatedly insisted that foreign troops in Ukraine would be legitimate targets; recent reporting about Johnson’s remarks again notes this longstanding Russian line. From Moscow’s perspective, the purpose would be to show that Western presence brings danger, not protection—testing whether London and Paris respond or retreat.

NATO meanwhile lurks in the background. Even if the force were explicitly non-NATO—“coalition of the willing”, bilateral, or EU-adjacent—the political meaning would be NATO-coloured, because Britain and France are leading NATO powers. A crisis involving British or French troops could create alliance expectations even without treaty obligations. That ambiguity might strengthen deterrence; it might also encourage Russian risk-taking to probe where the actual red lines lie.

There is also the American factor. Whatever Washington’s current posture, European troop deployment without American leadership would be a statement that Europe is willing to act even amid uncertainty about United States priorities. That might be strategically healthy for European autonomy; it might also expose a gap in capabilities—intelligence, air defence, strategic lift—that Europe still often relies upon the United States to provide.

The legal and diplomatic tangle—mandates, consent and the meaning of “peace enforcement”

A peace enforcement mission is easiest to legitimise under a United Nations Security Council mandate. In Ukraine, that route is politically obstructed—because Russia is a permanent member with a veto. In practice therefore legitimacy would rest on Ukrainian consent—Kyiv inviting foreign forces onto her territory—and on a coalition’s political cohesion.

Consent, however, is not the only legal question. What exactly would the force be authorised to do?

• Defend itself—certainly

• Defend specified sites—possibly

• Interdict Russian missiles, drones or aircraft—this would be a profound escalation, functionally an air war

• Engage Russian ground forces—this would be war by any honest description

The more muscular the “enforcement”, the more it resembles belligerency. The more minimal the mandate, the more it resembles symbolism. Johnson’s proposal tries to capture the benefits of both—credible deterrence without overt entry into war. The trouble is that adversaries, unlike domestic audiences, are not obliged to accept the intended label.

Diplomatically there is another complication—deploying troops before a ceasefire changes incentives at the negotiating table. It might stiffen Ukrainian resolve by demonstrating that Europe is prepared to put personnel on the line. It might also harden Russian positions by allowing Moscow to claim she is fighting not only Ukraine but Western forces directly. Whether that helps or harms the prospects of a cessation of hostilities depends upon one’s judgment of Putin’s risk calculus—and upon whether one believes Moscow fears Western unity more than she fears escalation.

The operational paradox—tripwire or shield?

The proposal’s deepest problem is structural. A small force is politically easier to deploy—but militarily easier to challenge. A large force is militarily more credible—but politically harder to deploy and sustain, and more likely to be seen as an escalation.

In other words the “Goldilocks” peace enforcement mission—big enough to deter, small enough to be politically painless—may not exist. A force that cannot credibly defend itself invites coercion. A force that can credibly defend itself may require capabilities that look, to Russia, like preparation for offensive action.

This is where London and Paris would have to be brutally honest about purpose. If the force is meant to be a shield, then it must be equipped and mandated as a shield. If it is meant to be a tripwire, then policymakers must accept that tripwires are gambles—designed to trigger a larger response if crossed.

Why Johnson says it now—and what the debate is really about

Johnson’s argument is at root about psychology—about demonstrating that European security is not merely a function of statements, summits and sanctions, but of physical presence. It is also about narrative—challenging the idea that Russia gets to decide when the West is allowed to act, by insisting that troop deployment should not be hostage to a ceasefire Russia can delay indefinitely.

Supporters will say this is what serious deterrence looks like in a world where authoritarian revisionism feeds on hesitation.

Critics will say it is a high-stakes escalation dressed as a peace initiative, likely to increase rather than reduce the risk of a wider war.

Both sides are touching the same truth—Europe is already in the war, politically and economically, and in many respects strategically. The question is whether putting troops in Ukraine before a cessation of hostilities would make Europe safer by strengthening deterrence—or less safe by creating irresistible opportunities for crisis.

One can summarise the choice in a single sentence—one that policymakers in London and Paris have tried to avoid, but that Johnson has forced into daylight: if Europe believes Ukraine’s security is Europe’s security, at what point does solidarity stop being measured in money and kit—and start being measured in bodies in uniform?