On the surface, this was a routine diplomatic ceremony—an almost dull occasion, the kind that barely registers beyond an agency ticker no one pays attention to. Yet, there is much more beneath it.
The President of North Macedonia announced that she had received the credentials of a newly appointed ambassador—the Ambassador of the Russian Federation. At first glance, nothing unusual. North Macedonia maintains diplomatic relations with Moscow; the rotation of diplomatic representatives is, in itself, a routine matter—one of the many formal duties of a head of state. Dull and monotonous.
But this is where the “dull and monotonous” part of the story ends. There is nothing “normal” about this moment.
The president’s statement, posted on social media, reads:
Today I received the credentials of the newly appointed Ambassador of the Russian Federation, Dmitry Konstantinovich Zykov.
I expressed confidence that the diplomatic activities of the Ambassador will be aimed at professionally representing the interests of the Russian Federation and the Russian people, within the framework of international law.
For Ambassador Zykov, representing his country on Macedonian soil is a high mission.
I wish that the arrival of the great Christian holiday—Easter—will mark the end of wars and the beginning of a new era of peace and prosperity.
Can you feel the dissonance?
What begins as standard protocol quickly transforms into something more—something political, line by line.
Line by line, the statement moves away from protocol and into political messaging. It constructs a version of reality in which Russia is simply another diplomatic partner, operating “within international law,” represented through “professional” channels, and welcomed with ceremonial goodwill—accompanied by cordial smiles and handshakes.
But Russia is not operating within international law. It is violating it—daily, systematically, and with impunity. To invoke international law in this context is not diplomacy. It is distortion. A lie.
The problem is not the ceremony itself. Accepting credentials is part of the job. No one is suggesting the abolition of diplomatic protocol. The problem is the choice to strip that protocol of context—and to present it publicly as if context does not matter. A president of a NATO member state had options. This could have remained a minimal, closed-door formality. No messaging. No symbolism. No normalization.

Amb. Zykov and President of North Macedonia, Siljanovska Davkova (photo source: FB page of the President of North Macedonia)
Instead, what we see is the opposite: visibility, tone, and imagery carefully aligned to project calm, civility—and equivalence. Smiles. Handshakes. Polite language. Seasonal wishes for peace. All of it communicates one thing: This is normal.
It is not.
The final line is the most revealing. A call for “an end to wars” without naming the aggressor manufactures moral symmetry—collapsing the distinction between victim and perpetrator, and reducing war to a vague misfortune rather than a deliberate act of aggression. Wishing for peace while standing beside the representative of a regime that wages war is not diplomacy. It is avoidance. And at a certain point, avoidance becomes acceptance—and approval.
This is how responsibility dissolves. This is how truth is blurred. And this is how normalization works. A textbook case of narrative laundering—where the language of diplomacy is used to sanitize aggression.
Diplomacy does not require moral blindness. It does not require pretending that reality is negotiable. When protocol erases context, it ceases to be diplomacy and becomes a political instrument—one that serves the interests of the aggressor by softening perception and diluting accountability.
The language matters. Words like “professional representation” and “international law” are not neutral when they are used to describe actors who systematically violate both. They create a false equilibrium—a carefully constructed illusion that everything is still within the bounds of normal international conduct.
Not naming the aggressor is not caution. It is a choice. And choices have consequences.
For Ukrainians, this language erases reality and diminishes suffering. For the public, it obscures responsibility. For democratic societies, it corrodes core principles—law, rights, accountability—until they become optional.
Perhaps that, too, is part of the message.
The president, a professor of law, understands the weight of words. This is unlikely to be a lapse. She knows—as we all should—that peace without truth is not peace. It is surrender to propaganda. Diplomacy that forgets reality does not preserve peace. It legitimizes those who destroy it.

