The oligarch swap: how France and Slovakia hollowed out EU sanctions

The deal that shouldn’t have happened

On the afternoon of September 21, 2026, two unlikely partners — France and Slovakia — pulled off something that would have been unthinkable eighteen months earlier. They forced the European Union to remove two of Vladimir Putin’s closest associates from its sanctions blacklist. In return, Brussels agreed to extend the broader sanctions regime for thirty-six months instead of the originally proposed twelve.

The oligarchs are Alisher Usmanov and Mikhail Fridman. Both are what the EU’s own 2022 sanctions decision called members of Putin’s “inner circle.” The bargain they struck in Brussels has left Kyiv fuming and exposed a fault line in Western unity that Moscow will not ignore.

Who these men are — and why they matter

Fridman is the co-founder of Alfa-Group, Russia’s largest private conglomerate. Its subsidiaries provided insurance for vehicles used by Russian forces in Ukraine. They also serviced the Main Office of Special Programs, the secretive agency responsible for guarding Putin. Before Ukraine nationalized his bank in 2023, Fridman owned Sense Bank — formerly Alfa-Bank, one of Ukraine’s largest financial institutions.

Usmanov made his fortune in metals and mining after the Soviet collapse. The EU’s original sanctions listing described him bluntly: “one of Putin’s favorite oligarchs.” Both men sit at the intersection of Russian capital and Russian power. Their delisting is not a technical adjustment. It is a signal.

The Azerbaijani connection

Here is what made France’s sudden alliance with Slovakia so surprising. Paris did not join the delisting demand out of sympathy for Russian oligarchs or a sudden change of heart on Russia policy. According to EU diplomats, France entered the bargain because Azerbaijan — a key energy partner in the South Caucasus — was allegedly holding two French nationals as political prisoners. Baku, France told other EU countries, was the leverage behind the request.

This is the kind of bilateral quid pro quo that makes sanctions regimes brittle. France traded Ukrainian principles for two of its citizens. Slovakia, which has been pushing for oligarch delisting for months, got its prize. Moscow got something far more valuable: proof that the Western coalition over Russia is negotiable.

Ukraine’s fury

Ukraine’s response was immediate and scathing. Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha took to social media: “What has changed? Nothing. Delisting is unacceptable and would send the wrong signal to Moscow at a time when pressure needs to increase.”

Vladyslav Vlasiuk, Ukraine’s sanctions envoy, asked plainly: “How can anyone seriously discuss sanctions delisting while Russia’s war continues?” His follow-up was sharper: “Delisting without a fundamental change in conduct sends exactly the wrong signal: pressure is temporary, accountability is negotiable, and sanctions can simply be waited out.”

The new Ukrainian ambassador to the EU, Taras Kachka, warned: “Compromise only invites Moscow to raise the stakes.”

What this reveals about EU decision-making

The EU’s sanctions regime over Russia has always operated by consensus. Every extension, every addition, every delisting requires unanimity among twenty-seven member states. That system produced remarkable coherence through 2024 and most of 2025. It also produced a vulnerability: any single country can hold the entire regime hostage for bilateral gains.

Slovakia has been the persistent voice demanding delisting. Its government has argued that certain oligarchs do not deserve sanctions, a position that made sense in Bratislava’s domestic politics but looked like softness elsewhere. France’s decision to join Slovakia’s campaign came as a surprise to some EU capitals. Paris had been one of the more hawkish voices on Russia since the invasion began.

Now Paris has recast itself. The reason — Azerbaijan’s leverage over French citizens — is understandable in human terms. Two nationals held abroad is not an abstract diplomatic problem. But the precedent it sets is dangerous. If France can trade oligarch delisting for prisoner releases, what stops other members from making similar bargains? What stops Moscow from learning which EU capitals are most easily leveraged?

The 36-month extension: comfort or cover?

The partial concession to France and Slovakia was a longer sanctions timeline — thirty-six months instead of twelve. On its face, this looks like a win for the sanctions camp. Longer restrictions mean more years of economic pressure on Russia. It also means less frequent renegotiation, less opportunity for Moscow to exploit divisions.

But the extension came attached to a delisting that undermines the moral authority of the entire regime. Sanctions are not just economic instruments. They are signals — about who the EU considers complicit in Putin’s war, about what behavior crosses a line, about whether Western promises are binding. When two of Putin’s inner circle walk free while the sanctions clock ticks forward, the signal is muddled.

Ukrainian officials understand this intuitively. Their frustration is not about accounting. It is about trust. Every delisting erodes the credibility of the sanctions architecture. Every compromise teaches Moscow that patience pays.

What happens next

The ambassadors met for the third time in a single day to confirm the agreement. Ministers from the twenty-seven countries will vote to adopt it — a formality — ahead of the September 22 deadline. The sanctions will be extended. Two oligarchs will be delisted. Kyiv will protest. Moscow will note.

The real question is not what happened this week. It is what this week reveals about the durability of Western unity. France and Slovakia proved that any member state can extract concessions by holding the sanctions regime hostage. The mechanism is simple: delay renewal, demand delisting, extract bilateral gain. The precedent is harder to contain.

If other countries learn this playbook — if Poland or Hungary or even a future French government decides that oligarch delisting is the price for prisoner releases or energy deals or migration bargains — the sanctions regime becomes a menu rather than a wall. Moscow will study the menu. It will learn which items are available for trade and which are not.

Ukraine’s warning was precise: “Pressure is temporary, accountability is negotiable, and sanctions can simply be waited out.” The three-thousand-sanctions regime was never meant to be permanent. But its credibility depends on consistency. Once that consistency fractures, the regime’s power diminishes — not because the economics change, but because the signal does.

The EU extended its sanctions. It also opened a door. How wide that door becomes depends on whether twenty-seven capitals treat this week as an anomaly or a template.