The saddest joke in the world right now is not being told in a comedy club. It is being told in the quiet, carpeted hallways of Brussels, where men in expensive suits love to talk about rules. The joke is simple, and it is tragic: Ukraine believes that joining the European Union is the answer to its prayers. They think that getting a membership card to this club will bring them safety, peace, and a happy future. It is enough to make you laugh if it didn’t make you want to cry.

Let us look at the reality, shall we? The news tells us that negotiators agree that joining the bloc is critical to Kyiv’s future. Of course they agree. That is what negotiators do. They sit in rooms and agree that things are important. But let’s be honest about what the European Union actually is. It is not a superhero team. It is not a fortress with high walls and big guns ready to defend the innocent. It is a giant, slow-moving machine made of paper, meetings, and coffee breaks. It is a place where it takes five years to decide what color a tomato should be.

Ukraine is currently fighting a war for its very existence. They are dealing with bombs, tanks, and muddy trenches. And their big plan for safety is to join a group of countries that panic if the price of cheese goes up by ten cents? It is a mismatch of expectations that is almost painful to watch. The article notes that there are "obstacles." That is a very polite way of putting it. An obstacle is a rock in the road. This is not a rock. This is a mountain range of paperwork.

To join this club, a country has to prove it follows thousands of rules. Every law, every standard, every little detail must match the European way. Ukraine has to fix its courts, its banks, and its government while half the country is under fire. It is like asking someone to clean their room while the house is burning down. And the EU bureaucrats will stand there with a clipboard, checking off boxes, shaking their heads because the dust hasn't been swept properly.

But here is the part that really exposes the absurdity of it all. The summary mentions that compromises might "forever change how the union works." This is the code word for panic. The current members of the EU—the rich countries like France and Germany—are terrified. They know that if Ukraine joins, the whole system breaks. The EU spends most of its money on farmers and building up poorer areas. Ukraine has a lot of farmers and needs a lot of building. If they get in, the money runs out for everyone else. The pie isn't big enough.

So, what we are watching is a theater show. The EU leaders smile and shake hands with President Zelensky. They put flags on their lapels. They say, "Yes, you belong with us." They promise a future together. But behind closed doors, they are sweating. They are terrified of the cost. They are terrified that they might actually have to change how they do business. The EU loves the status quo. It loves when nothing changes. Bringing in a war-torn nation forces them to look in the mirror and realize they aren't built for crisis. They are built for trade deals and regulations.

The idea that the EU brings "peace" is also a lovely fairy tale. The EU was built so that France and Germany would stop fighting each other after World War II. It worked for that. But it has no army. It has no teeth. It has committees. If trouble comes, the EU forms a committee to write a strong letter of complaint. Ukraine thinks this membership is a shield. In reality, it is just a very expensive waiting room.

Both sides are trapped in this play. Ukraine has no other choice but to hope this works, because the alternative is being swallowed by the darkness to their east. The EU has no choice but to pretend the door is open, because if they close it, they look like monsters. So they will talk. They will hold summits. They will write reports about "progress." And years will pass. The machinery of Brussels will grind on, slow and indifferent, chewing up hope and spitting out regulations. It is not a rescue mission. It is just more paperwork at the end of the world.