Russia’s Nuclear Posture: Shifting from Deterrence to Coercion?

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In late 2022, as war raged in Ukraine, Russian President Vladimir Putin warned the world he would use “all weapon systems” to defend Russia’s territory – pointedly adding, “This is not a bluff”[1]. Overnight, Cold War nightmares of nuclear conflict felt suddenly real again. For the first time in decades, a nuclear-armed power was openly brandishing atomic threats amid a regional war, raising the question: Has Russia’s nuclear posture shifted from a tool of deterrence to one of coercion? This deep dive will explore how Moscow’s approach to nuclear weapons has evolved from the Soviet era to today, how its recent sabre-rattling over Ukraine blurs the line between legitimate deterrence and dangerous coercion, and how NATO and the United States compare in their own nuclear signaling. We will also examine how far Russia might go – analyzing when the Kremlin’s fiery nuclear rhetoric is likely a bluff, and under what circumstances it might actually resort to the unthinkable.

From Deterrence to Coercion: What’s the Difference?​

Nuclear deterrence is traditionally about prevention: “If you attack me or my allies, I will retaliate with nuclear weapons, so don’t even think about it.” It’s essentially a defensive threat meant to dissuade aggression and avoid war. During the Cold War, both the United States and the Soviet Union adhered to this grim logic of mutually assured destruction (MAD), understanding that a nuclear exchange would annihilate both sides. Direct nuclear threats became rare after the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis underscored how perilous such brinkmanship was[2]. In fact, until recently, it was almost unheard-of for world leaders to explicitly threaten nuclear strikes in modern conflicts.

Nuclear coercion, on the other hand, is about compellence: using nuclear threats proactively to pressure others into doing (or not doing) something. It goes beyond passive deterrence. Coercion is the equivalent of nuclear blackmail – “If you don’t yield to my demands, I might use nukes.” This crosses a psychological and strategic line. It turns nuclear weapons into tools for intimidation and territorial gain, not just survival. One analysis bluntly explains Russia’s emerging doctrine as “not about winning a nuclear war outright. It’s about coercion: using one or a few nuclear blows as the ultimate ‘attention getter’ to compel peace on Russia’s terms.”[4] In other words, threaten a limited nuclear strike to scare your opponent into backing down.

For decades, global norms have frowned on nuclear coercion. Even nuclear-armed rivals generally treat atomic weapons as last-resort deterrents, not bargaining chips for conquest. This is why Putin’s recent rhetoric – threatening nuclear strikes as a form of coercion – alarms so many observers. It represents a potential shift from the established nuclear playbook[5]. When does “legitimate” deterrence turn into outright coercion? The answer often lies in the intent behind the threat. Deterrence says “don’t attack me, or else.” Coercion says “give me what I want, or else.” As we’ll see, Russia’s behavior in the Ukraine war is testing that boundary in unprecedented ways.

 

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A Brief History of Moscow’s Nuclear Sabre-Rattling​

To understand the shift, we must start at the beginning. Russia’s nuclear posture has its roots in Soviet doctrine. In the early Cold War, the Soviet Union initially lagged behind the U.S. in nuclear capability, so it spoke of nukes cautiously. But by the mid-1950s, as Moscow’s arsenal grew, leaders like Nikita Khrushchev weren’t shy about making veiled nuclear threats. A famous example came during the 1956 Suez Crisis: Britain, France, and Israel invaded Egypt, and the Soviet leader sent letters to the British and French hinting at Soviet missiles raining down on London and Paris if they didn’t withdraw[6][7]. This “crude atomic blackmail” had little impact on that conflict’s outcome, but it showed the Soviets’ willingness to brandish their new bomb for coercive effect[8]. Khrushchev walked away convinced that nuclear threats could be effective[9].

After the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962 nearly brought apocalypse, both East and West grew more cautious. Through the later Cold War, the Soviet Union publicly adopted a stance of deterrence and even at one point declared a policy of “no first use” of nuclear weapons (a pledge made in 1982). The goal was to project a responsible image and avoid spiraling every crisis into a nuclear showdown. In truth, however, both NATO and the Warsaw Pact quietly prepared for the worst. In the 1960s-80s, NATO’s strategy, facing superior Soviet conventional forces in Europe, included plans for possible limited nuclear strikes to halt a massive invasion – essentially its own form of “escalate to de-escalate” thinking. The idea was that if Soviet armies punched through, the West might fire a small nuclear weapon as a shock tactic to force a pause in the war[10]. Thankfully, those scenarios stayed hypothetical, and the nuclear taboo – the unwritten global rule that nukes must never be used – held firm.

The post-Cold War era brought dramatic changes. The Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, leaving Russia with a far weaker military facing a seemingly triumphant NATO. Throughout the 1990s, Russia’s conventional forces were in disarray, so the Kremlin leaned more on its nuclear arsenal as the ultimate guarantor of security. In fact, Moscow soon abandoned the Soviet Union’s no-first-use pledge. In 2000, under President Putin’s first term, Russia’s official military doctrine explicitly dropped the “no first use” policy and stated that if Russia were losing a major war, it “reserved the option” to use nuclear weapons to end the conflict on favorable terms[11]. In plain language: nuclear first strikes were back on the table if needed to stave off defeat. This was a pivotal shift from seeing nukes as purely last-ditch defensive tools to viewing them as a potential battlefield lever.

Over the next two decades, Russian doctrine continued to evolve (or some might say zigzag) on the question of how readily to consider nuclear use. Here are a few key moments in Russia’s nuclear posture timeline:

 

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• 1999: In a major war game (“Zapad-99”), Russian forces simulated firing nuclear “warning shots” to stop a NATO onslaught, previewing the “escalate to de-escalate” concept[12]. This reflected mounting Russian anxiety about NATO’s strength.
• 2000: Russia’s new military doctrine formally abandons the Soviet no-first-use pledge. It allows nuclear strikes “if a war cannot be won conventionally,” including first use to “end [a conflict] on favorable terms” for Russia[13]. The message: in a dire conflict, Russia might use a nuke to avoid defeat.
• 2010: An updated doctrine appears to raise the nuclear threshold. It says nuclear weapons would be considered only when “the very existence of the state is threatened.” This phrasing suggested a more defensive tone – implying Russia wouldn’t resort to nukes unless facing true national annihilation[14]. Many observers read this as Russia limiting its reliance on nuclear options (a partial retreat from the early 2000s stance).
• 2014: Russia reconfirms the 2010 stance (nukes for existential threats only) – notably, this comes just after Russia’s annexation of Crimea. At that time, Putin also revealed he had been “ready” to put nuclear forces on alert during the Crimea crisis if things went south[15]. Even as doctrine stayed defensive on paper, the Crimea episode showed Putin was willing to brandish the nuclear sabre to deter any Western attempt to undo Moscow’s landgrab. Indeed, during the Crimea operation a prominent state TV host, Dmitry Kiselyov, bragged that “Russia is the only country in the world capable of turning the United States into radioactive ash”[16] – a chilling propaganda flourish aimed squarely at Washington.
• 2020: A new “Basic Principles” policy document on nuclear deterrence mostly reaffirmed that nuclear weapons are a last resort, but it kept things strategically ambiguous[17]. Importantly, it did not address Russia’s large tactical nuclear arsenal at all, leaving open the question of using smaller nukes in a regional war. Western analysts noted that Russia’s underlying strategy still seemed to allow for a limited nuclear strike if the regime’s survival was on the line[18]. Putin and other officials continued to insist publicly that “nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought,” yet simultaneously they began to talk more openly about nuclear options in certain scenarios – a dual message that kept outsiders guessing[19].
• 2022: Russia invades Ukraine in February, and nuclear threats explode into the open. In the first days of the war, Putin implied that anyone who interfered would face horrors “never seen in your entire history” – a thinly veiled nuclear warning[20]. He then dramatically put Russia’s nuclear forces on a heightened alert status (“special combat readiness”) on Feb 27, 2022[21]. This shocked even veteran observers; explicit nuclear threats had been largely taboo for decades, and now a major power was breaking that taboo as a part of its war strategy[22][23]. Over the ensuing months, as Russia’s campaign stumbled, top officials in Moscow – from Putin on down – continuously reminded the world of Russia’s nuclear might. In September 2022, as Putin prepared to annex four occupied Ukrainian regions into Russia, he gave a menacing speech vowing to use “all means at our disposal” to defend these newly claimed territories and snarled, “This is not a bluff.”[24][25] It was nuclear deterrence turned on its head: Russia was using nuclear threats to shield an act of aggression (seizing land by force) and to coerce Ukraine and the West into backing off. This confrontational posture is something the world hadn’t seen from the Kremlin since perhaps the darkest days of the Cold War.
• Late 2024: Putin proposed – and soon adopted – doctrine amendments lowering the nuclear threshold yet again[26]. The new language says Russia “reserves the right” to use nuclear weapons not only if the state’s existence is at stake, but even in response to a major conventional attack that threatens Russia’s sovereignty or territorial integrity[27]. In practice, this blurs the line: if Moscow deems any significant conventional military loss as a threat to “territorial integrity,” it could justify a nuclear response even if Russia itself isn’t about to be wiped off the map. Many read this as essentially reviving the “escalate to de-escalate” idea in official policy[28]. Notably, Putin tied this change to the war in Ukraine and confrontation with NATO – for example, warning that conventional attacks on Russia (or possibly even on Russia’s ally Belarus) could be seen as a joint NATO attack deserving nuclear retaliation[29]. It was a direct signal to the West: do not assume Russia will keep nuclear weapons holstered if pushed hard.

In sum, the arc of Russia’s posture has swung from the more cautious deterrence of late-Soviet times to a more assertive stance where nuclear weapons are openly mentioned as usable tools of war. By 2023, Russia’s officials and propagandists were casually discussing nuclear strikes on European capitals on state TV, something unthinkable a generation ago. The frequency and casualness of this talk is “unprecedented in modern times,” coming from a major power and UN Security Council member[30]. Moscow insists it’s only defending itself, but the timing and context of these threats – coinciding with offensive operations in Ukraine – make it hard to deny the coercive undercurrent.

 

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Nuclear Threats in the Ukraine War – Bluff or Real?​

Russia’s war on Ukraine has been the most stark showcase of this deterrence-to-coercion shift. Practically from day one of the invasion, Putin & Co. have wielded nuclear rhetoric like a crowbar, trying to pry away Western support for Kyiv. The pattern has been consistent: whenever Russia faces setbacks or wants to warn off deeper Western involvement, someone in Moscow rattles the nuclear sabre. The big question is, how serious are these threats? Are they mostly bluffs aimed at scaring the West, or could Russia actually use a nuclear weapon if cornered in Ukraine?

So far, evidence suggests a lot of bluff – but a bluff backed by a non-zero chance of real action. Putin’s nuclear warnings have achieved one key aim: they’ve made NATO and U.S. leaders extremely cautious about direct intervention. Western governments have plainly stated they do not want a direct war with Russia (a fellow nuclear superpower). In that sense, Russia’s nukes have deterred NATO from any ideas of forcibly halting the invasion. Some analysts go further and argue that Putin’s “nuclear blackmail” has partially succeeded in tempering how the West aids Ukraine[31]. Indeed, in 2022 several NATO countries hesitated to provide Ukraine with certain heavy weapons (like long-range missiles or advanced tanks) for fear of crossing Russian “red lines” and provoking escalation. Over time, many of those weapons were eventually delivered as urgency grew and Russia’s red lines proved elastic. But early on, Moscow’s menacing talk of World War III certainly chilled the room in Western capitals. It’s a classic coercive tactic: use fear to limit your opponent’s options without ever firing a shot.

From Ukraine’s perspective, however, the bluff has been called – repeatedly. Ukrainian forces, despite Moscow’s atomic posturing, have liberated large swathes of territory that Putin claims as “historic Russia.” They even struck targets inside Russia itself in 2023-24 (with drones and sabotage), actions that Moscow once implied would be intolerable. And what happened? No nuclear response. In fact, when Ukrainian drones hit Moscow or when a Ukrainian-backed force raided Belgorod inside Russia, Putin did not reach for the nuclear button – he largely shrugged it off or downplayed the incidents[32]. This suggests that Russia’s leadership is extremely reluctant to actually cross the nuclear threshold, except perhaps in the most dire scenario. The Kremlin appears to calculate that using a nuclear weapon would bring enormous downsides with little practical upside on the battlefield[33]. Western officials have repeatedly and privately warned Moscow that any nuclear use – even a small “tactical” nuke – would trigger “catastrophic consequences”[34]. While they haven’t publicly detailed the response, the implication is a devastating conventional counterstrike (and total political isolation of Russia). In other words, NATO has tried to reinforce deterrence by communicating that even limited nuclear use won’t help Russia win – it will only make things worse for Moscow[35].

So far, that message seems to have held. After a particularly tense bout of nuclear threats in autumn 2022, Putin himself dialed it back, admitting “we see no need for that… no point in that, neither political nor military” (referring to using nukes against Ukraine)[36]. In essence, the taboo held: faced with unified global backlash – even China and India signaled their disapproval of Russia’s nuclear sabre-rattling – Putin stepped back from the brink[37]. The episode was a potent reminder that nuclear weapons are ultimately political weapons: their greatest power lies in the threat of use. Once you actually use them, all bets are off.

When might Russia’s bluff ever turn real? Most experts believe the Kremlin would contemplate actual nuclear use only in an extreme scenario: for instance, if Putin felt the survival of his regime or the Russian state were truly at risk. Short of NATO directly attacking Russia, it’s hard to see a scenario that meets that threshold. Even a scenario of Ukrainian forces overrunning Crimea (which Moscow considers core territory) is not guaranteed to trigger nuclear use – it would certainly provoke fierce reactions, but nuclear deployment would risk everything for Russia without necessarily saving the military situation. Intelligence agencies in the U.S. and Europe have assessed that Russia moving to use a nuclear weapon is unlikely unless Putin sees no other way to avert an imminent, catastrophic defeat[38]. And crucially, such preparations would likely be detected – satellites and sensors would notice warheads being taken out of storage or unusual movements of nuclear units[39]. Thus far, no such telltale signs have been observed, despite all the bluster.

In practical terms, if Russia did decide to “go nuclear” in Ukraine, it might start with a single low-yield strike as a demonstration – perhaps on a remote military target or even detonated over the Black Sea – to shock everyone into compliance[40]. This is the classic “escalate to de-escalate” scenario: use one nuke to terrify the enemy into suing for peace on your terms[41]. The bomb would be deliberately limited in scale (and likely not on a major city) to signal: “We don’t want total war, but we’re willing to use nukes, so back off now.” The risk, of course, is that even one nuclear blast could spiral out of control – NATO might retaliate militarily, or the U.S. could respond in kind. Russian planners theorize that the West might balk at escalating after a single strike, but that’s an extremely dangerous gamble[42]. It’s worth noting that Western response to any nuclear use by Russia would almost certainly be non-nuclear at first (to avoid immediate all-out war), but it would still be devastating – e.g. conventional strikes that could cripple Russia’s Black Sea Fleet or destroy key Russian military assets, and total diplomatic isolation of Moscow[43]. In short, using a nuclear weapon, far from securing victory, could seal Russia’s defeat (and likely Putin’s own downfall).

For that reason, most analysts – and indeed Russian military insiders – consider nuclear use a last resort, only to be considered if Russia is literally losing a war of national survival[44]. Putin’s nuclear threats toward NATO and Ukraine, then, are best understood as political theatre with serious stakes. They are aimed at deterring the West from further involvement (i.e. a coercive deterrence), rather than signals of a concrete war plan. As one expert put it, Moscow benefits by keeping the world guessing – hinting it might go nuclear so that its adversaries are extra cautious, “while hopefully never actually doing so.”[45] This strategy of calculated ambiguity has indeed kept NATO from intervening directly, and it instills a constant background fear globally. But it’s a tightrope act: push the bluff too often or too far, and it could either backfire or lose its potency. By now, many observers note that the West has become somewhat desensitized to Moscow’s nuclear threats – after dozens of ominous statements that led to nothing, the bluff has been called enough times that NATO has gradually ramped up military aid to Ukraine despite Kremlin warnings. Ukraine’s own people and army, facing existential stakes, have shown they won’t be cowed by talk of Armageddon. In other words, nuclear coercion has its limits.

 

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Does the West Play the Same Game? NATO and U.S. vs Russia​

All this raises an important point: while Russia’s nuclear rhetoric has grown more aggressive, how have the United States and NATO behaved? Do Western powers also engage in nuclear coercion, or is their posture purely deterrent? It’s a crucial comparison, because in a nuclear standoff, perceptions matter – each side often accuses the other of being provocative.

By and large, NATO and the U.S. have stuck to traditional deterrence and avoided mirror-imaging Russia’s threats. Western leaders have consistently framed their nuclear weapons as defensive in nature. In fact, in response to Putin’s antics, NATO countries have taken pains to reassert the old doctrine that nuclear arms are only to “deter aggression and prevent war,” not to wage war[46]. Just days after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, U.S. President Joe Biden and other NATO heads jointly declared that their nuclear weapons “serve defensive purposes” and they pointedly condemned Russia’s “irresponsible rhetoric concerning potential nuclear use.”[47] Unlike their Kremlin counterparts, Western officials “take pains to avoid loose talk about nukes”, as one analysis noted, highlighting the contrast in communication styles[48]. Simply put, you do not see U.S., British, or French leaders on television threatening to turn Moscow into radioactive ash or boasting about nuking adversaries. This restraint is quite deliberate – the West wants to uphold the nuclear taboo, not erode it.

Indeed, NATO’s official policy, reiterated in 2022, is that “a nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought.” Western nuclear arsenals (the U.S., UK, and France are the NATO nuclear powers) are maintained as a deterrent shield – a last resort to protect NATO territory or retaliate if an ally is nuked – not as tools to grab land or bully non-nuclear nations. Notably, since the Ukraine war began, no NATO country has issued any nuclear threat or even floated the possibility of nuclear use[49]. The alliance has instead strengthened its conventional defenses and kept its nuclear forces at routine readiness, emphasizing that its posture is solely to deter Russia from expanding the war further. NATO’s logic is straightforward: as long as Russia knows NATO could respond massively to any nuclear aggression (thus ensuring Russia gains nothing from using the bomb), Russia will be deterred from actually pulling the trigger. This is classic deterrence signaling, not coercion. It says: “We don’t seek a conflict, but if you use nukes or attack us, there will be devastating consequences.” It does not say: “We will nuke you unless you do X.”

Historically, it is true that the West engaged in some nuclear coercive strategies during the Cold War – for example, the U.S. during the Korean War and Taiwan Strait Crisis made implicit nuclear threats to pressure China[50], and NATO’s aforementioned readiness to use tactical nukes in a European war was a form of attempted coercion to offset Soviet conventional might. However, in the 21st century, such behavior has largely faded. The United States has never adopted a “no first use” policy formally, but in practice U.S. doctrine speaks of nuclear use only in “extreme circumstances” (like to defend vital interests or allies if attacked). American leaders do not brandish their nukes for diplomatic gain – if anything, U.S. political culture strongly stigmatizes nuclear warfighting talk. Even during intense conflicts like the 1991 Gulf War or the 2003 Iraq War, the U.S. refrained from overt nuclear threats (though it quietly reminded adversaries like Saddam Hussein that America could respond overwhelmingly to any use of weapons of mass destruction – a subtle deterrent warning). In the current Ukraine crisis, Washington has been careful to keep rhetoric calm: President Biden and others mostly focus on supporting Ukraine with conventional arms and state clearly they do not seek regime change in Moscow or direct confrontation. This measured approach is meant to avoid giving the Kremlin any excuse to escalate – essentially denying Russian propaganda any claim that NATO is threatening Russia with nukes.

It’s worth noting that Western nuclear policy has its own complexities. Some critics argue that by having nuclear weapons at all and by conducting regular nuclear exercises, NATO inherently deters by fear, which is a hair’s breadth from coercion. For instance, U.S. nuclear-capable bombers occasionally fly missions in Europe as a show of strength to Russia. NATO also hosts American tactical nuclear bombs in countries like Germany and Italy as part of its nuclear sharing arrangement – a legacy of the Cold War intended to deter a Soviet/Russian attack on NATO soil. Moscow often points to these facts to claim NATO, too, uses nuclear intimidation. However, the key difference is in explicitness and intent. NATO does not issue ultimatums or threats of nuclear first strikes to compel behavior. Its nuclear forces are purposefully in the background, a silent guarantee rather than a daily bludgeon. In public messaging, the West continuously reaffirms that nuclear weapons are purely backstop options (“ultimate insurance” in dire scenarios) rather than usable war-fighting instruments[51].

The contrast is stark when you juxtapose recent statements. While Putin and former Russian President Dmitry Medvedev have openly mused about nuking adversaries – Medvedev at one point threatened Western Europe with strikes, and Putin ominously cited the U.S. atomic bombing of Japan as “precedent” while vowing to use all means to defend Russia’s land[52] – Western leaders have responded by rejecting such rhetoric. In mid-2022, even China’s President Xi Jinping (normally aligned with Russia on many issues) joined an international chorus saying the world must “jointly oppose the use of, or threats to use, nuclear weapons.”[53] Similarly, the G20 (which includes NATO members and partners like India) stated that nuclear threats and use are “inadmissible”[54]. These global reactions underscore that Russia’s nuclear coercion is widely seen as beyond the pale. The West portrays its own nuclear stance as one of reluctant deterrence – a necessary evil to prevent war, not a tool to bully others. NATO officials have repeatedly highlighted that any Russian nuclear use would be met with a strong (unspecified) response, reinforcing deterrence, but they have stopped short of mirroring Moscow’s fire-and-brimstone language[55].

In summary, the U.S. and NATO do not engage in nuclear coercion in the overt way Russia has been doing recently. Their strategy remains focused on deterrence – ensuring Russia knows it cannot win a nuclear exchange, thereby dissuading it from ever trying. If anything, Western leaders have had to carefully calibrate aid to Ukraine around Russia’s nuclear threats, a fact that Putin exploits. But far from issuing counter-nuclear threats, NATO’s approach has been to double down on conventional support for Ukraine (tanks, air defenses, etc.) while quietly communicating to Moscow that nukes must remain off the table. This restraint is both a moral stance and a calculated move to avoid uncontrolled escalation. As one NATO analysis put it, Russia’s nuclear threats in Ukraine were meant to compel – but they have not changed NATO’s own nuclear policy beyond reaffirming that the alliance will not be intimidated.[56]

 

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When Does Deterrence Become Coercion?​

The case of Russia today is a study in that very question. Deterrence becomes coercion when the purpose of a nuclear threat shifts from protecting the status quo to violently altering it. In a defensive scenario – say, Russia’s existence were truly at stake – few would fault a leader for threatening nuclear retaliation to deter annihilation. That was essentially the Cold War balance: both superpowers issued nuclear threats in response to potential aggression (reciprocal deterrence), not to seize new territory. But when Putin rattles the nuclear sabre to freeze Western support for Ukraine or to shield newly conquered lands (like Crimea or Donbas) from counter-attack, he is using deterrence in the pursuit of aggression. That crosses into coercion because the threat is aimed at enabling wrongdoing (territorial expansion) by intimidating others into acquiescence. As one commentator quipped, “Russia is holding the world hostage with its nuclear arsenal while it breaks international law.”

We see this clearly in how the Kremlin frames its threats. Russian officials claim they’re “defending Russian territory”, including regions of Ukraine that Russia unilaterally declared as its own. By that logic, any attempt by Ukraine to take back its land is an “attack on Russia” that could warrant a nuclear response. This stretches the notion of “legitimate deterrence” to absurd lengths – essentially arguing that nuclear weapons can be used to defend illegal annexations. It’s a precedent the world is loath to accept, because if rewarded, it would mean any nuclear-armed aggressor could conquer neighbors and then scream “nuclear red line!” to hold onto the spoils. Western leaders have explicitly rejected this gambit, stating that they will not recognize Russia’s annexations and will not stop helping Ukraine due to nuclear blackmail[57]. In fact, Ukraine’s continued battlefield successes in 2022-2023, achieved under the shadow of those threats, have been a direct rebuke to Russia’s coercion – proof that nuclear-backed bullying can fail if met with resolve.

However, it’s important to acknowledge that the line can sometimes blur. During the Cold War, NATO’s threat to use nuclear weapons first (if overwhelmed by Soviet forces) was also a kind of coercion, though defensive in intent. Likewise, the existence of nuclear weapons always carries an implicit threat. Deterrence and coercion are two sides of the same coin; the difference is in how and why the threat is issued. Most nuclear powers today try to stay on the deterrence side of that coin – using their arsenals as silent sentinels rather than loud aggressors. Russia under Putin has, in the eyes of many, flipped the coin. The “special military operation” in Ukraine, paired with almost routine nuclear threats on Russian state media, has made analysts coin phrases like “nuclear blackmail” and “atomic coercion” to describe Moscow’s strategy[58]. Even some of Russia’s friends have been uncomfortable: China’s calls against nuclear threats hint that Beijing sees Putin’s sabre-rattling as destabilizing (and perhaps as giving the West a moral high ground).

At what point would Russia’s threats be considered more than bluff and truly signal intent to use nuclear weapons? Watch for actions, not just words. If Russia started deploying nuclear warheads out of storage, dispersing its strategic forces to the field, or evacuating key government personnel, those would be ominous signs that it is “heightening readiness” beyond normal posturing[59]. Thus far, despite periodic announcements (for instance, Russia talked about moving some tactical nukes to Belarus in 2023), we haven’t seen concrete steps like mating warheads to delivery systems in a way that suggests imminent use – and the U.S./NATO intelligence community is closely monitoring for exactly such moves[60]. In other words, Russia’s actions to date (military exercises, alert level changes, rhetoric) have all been consistent with deterrence signals or political coercion, not actual war preparations. Even the high-alert order in February 2022 was partly theatrical (designed to jolt the West); it did not result in a change in Russia’s nuclear force posture that couldn’t be quickly reversed.

That said, the world must take nuclear threats seriously even if they are likely bluffs. Misinterpretation or miscalculation is a constant danger. The more frequently nuclear threats are flung about, the greater the risk of an accident or a fatal misstep. It’s a frightening paradox: to deter Russia’s coercion, the West must show it isn’t cowed – yet it must also avoid cornering Moscow so completely that Putin feels he has nothing to lose by actually pressing the button. That is why NATO’s response has been a calibrated one: firm deterrence (promising severe reprisals) combined with reassurance (no intent to destroy Russia as a state). Deterrence and coercion in nuclear strategy are ultimately psychological games. Putin is playing one based on fear; NATO is playing one based on resolve. The hope is that this tense dance keeps either side from making an irreversible, catastrophic move.

 

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Conclusion: A New Era of Nuclear Brinkmanship?​

Russia’s recent nuclear posture – infused with bluster and brinkmanship – suggests we may be entering a new and more volatile chapter in nuclear politics. The Kremlin’s willingness to blur the line between deterrence and coercion is something the world hasn’t seen from a major nuclear power in many decades. By using atomic threats to advance aggression, Moscow is testing whether the nuclear taboo can hold under stress. So far, the results are mixed. On one hand, Russia’s threats have not won it the war; Ukraine, with international help, has pushed back effectively, and NATO has remained united, if cautious. The West did not capitulate to Putin’s nuclear blackmail – arms still flow to Kyiv, and NATO still stands firm that it will defend all its members. On the other hand, Putin’s sabre-rattling has injected fear and slowed some decisions. Talk of World War III has, at times, scared populations and influenced political debates in Europe and America about how far to go in aiding Ukraine. Even if ultimately deemed a bluff, the coercive cloud of potential nuclear use hangs over every calculation in this war.

Going forward, a critical concern is that norms may erode. If Russia succeeds in any way by wielding nuclear threats – even just by prolonging its invasion and deterring direct intervention – other countries might take note. Already, commentators warn that accepting Russia’s nuclear coercion could embolden other would-be aggressors to acquire their own nukes or to use similar blackmail tactics[61]. The credibility of global non-proliferation efforts and security guarantees is at stake. Conversely, if Russia’s bluff is decisively called and it gains nothing from its threats, that would reinforce the message that nuclear coercion doesn’t pay – that nuclear weapons are only useful to prevent war, not to wage it.

For the United States and NATO, the challenge is to continue navigating this high-wire act: support Ukraine and uphold international law without triggering the very catastrophe we all seek to avoid. Thus far, Western powers have responded with a mix of strength and restraint, bolstering their defenses and aid while avoiding direct military clash with Russia. They have also pursued diplomatic efforts (from backchannel messages to public statements) to make clear to the Kremlin that any nuclear use would cross a red line resulting in severe, if not regime-ending, consequences[62]. The goal is to deter Russia from the ultimate folly while not inflaming the situation further. It’s a delicate balance indeed, one that requires cool heads and steady nerves reminiscent of the Cold War’s tensest moments.

In the end, Russia’s nuclear posture under Putin reflects a duality: deterrence for survival, but coercion for ambition. When Russia feels threatened, it invokes nuclear deterrence (as any nuclear power would). But when Russia itself is the threat – as in Ukraine – it has shown a troubling readiness to brandish nukes as a means of coercion, to ward off interference in its expansionism. The international community’s task is to ensure that this gambit fails, for the sake of future peace. The line between deterrence and coercion must be policed by global norms and resolve; nuclear weapons must not become routine tools of intimidation.

As we watch this situation unfold, we are reminded of a sobering truth: nuclear weapons cast a long shadow. Under that shadow, peace and terror coexist. Russia’s recent behavior has darkened the shadow, but also reawakened the world to the importance of nuclear restraint. The hope is that, through firm deterrence and diplomatic pressure, Moscow’s leaders will remember what their predecessors came to learn – that nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought, and that rattling the atomic sabre too loudly is a game that could end in unspeakable tragedy for all. For now, the Kremlin’s threats remain words, not deeds. The world’s fervent wish is that they stay that way, and that cooler strategy prevails over coercive brinkmanship.

 

[teekay99]

Putin and other officials continued to insist publicly that “nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought,” yet simultaneously they began to talk more openly about nuclear options in certain scenarios – a dual message that kept outsiders guessing[19].

Authoritarians have tended to consider democracy decadent and weak. I suspect Putin is not an exception to this observation. If this is true, I would like to propose an alternate understanding of "nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought" that might exist in Putin's mind and that of the Russian military leadership: "the west cannot win a nuclear war, therefore the west must never fight one." Perhaps NATO's reluctance to engage in nuclear "reminders" in the fashion of Putin only reinforces this alternate line of thinking within the minds of Russian military leadership.

I do not offer this as justification for nuclear coercion by any party. I merely offer this as a possible explanation for Putin's actions or what he really means when he says "nuclear war cannot be won and must never be fought".