The more desperate Russia's military situation became, the more strident the nuclear threats grew.
In the shadow of a stalled invasion, Russia has reached for its most ancient and terrible instrument of statecraft — the nuclear threat — not as a plan of action, but as a language of last resort. Since February 2022, Moscow has invoked its 2020 nuclear doctrine to warn the West against intervention in Ukraine, a doctrine that permits nuclear use only under existential conditions that the Ukraine conflict, by any honest measure, does not meet. The threat reshapes the political landscape without requiring the weapon to be fired, yet it also reveals the limits of Russian conventional power. Humanity finds itself once again navigating the paradox at the heart of nuclear deterrence: the weapon that cannot be used must nonetheless be believed.
- Putin placed Russia's nuclear forces on 'special combat readiness' just three days into the invasion, instantly transforming a regional war into a global existential concern.
- Russia's own 2020 nuclear doctrine sets a high bar for use — state survival or destruction of nuclear command infrastructure — thresholds the Ukraine conflict does not come close to meeting.
- A tactical nuclear strike would be self-defeating: Russian troops are embedded across Ukrainian territory, and the land Putin seeks to absorb would be rendered uninhabitable.
- As Russian ground forces stalled through spring 2022, nuclear rhetoric intensified in direct proportion — figures like Medvedev amplifying warnings designed to keep NATO out of the fight.
- The strategy has partially worked as deterrence, but it signals desperation rather than strength, and Russian leadership knows a nuclear exchange would guarantee the destruction of Russia itself.
In the days before Russian forces crossed into Ukraine in February 2022, Moscow staged a large-scale military exercise simulating nuclear retaliation — a rehearsal that set the tone for everything that followed. When the invasion began, Putin warned NATO that interference would bring consequences unlike any in history. Three days later, he placed Russia's nuclear forces on special combat readiness. The threat of nuclear war had moved from the theoretical to the immediate.
To understand the rhetoric, one must look at Russia's 2020 nuclear doctrine — a formal policy document framing nuclear weapons as purely defensive, yet containing a more permissive clause: Russia reserves the right to use them if facing defeat in a conventional war. Western analysts call this 'escalate to deescalate.' The logic is to shock an opponent into backing down. Russian military experts dispute the label, but the language is there.
The doctrine, however, does not fit Ukraine. Nuclear use is permitted only if Russia's existence as a state is genuinely threatened — a threshold Ukraine's defensive war does not approach. Russia controls the escalation entirely and could end the conflict at will. Worse, Russian troops are spread across Ukrainian territory; any nuclear detonation would kill Russian soldiers, destroy Russian equipment, and poison land Putin hopes to absorb. The weapon would be strategically useless and self-defeating.
As the military campaign stalled in spring 2022, the nuclear rhetoric grew louder and more strident — a measure not of strength but of desperation. The threats have served their purpose: NATO has not directly entered the war. But Russian leaders understand the final calculus. Three NATO members possess nuclear weapons. A nuclear exchange would mean Russia's own destruction. The button cannot save Putin. The threats buy time, project strength, and deter intervention — but they are also a confession that the original strategy has failed, and that Russia is running out of road.
In the days before Russian forces crossed into Ukraine on February 24, 2022, Moscow conducted a large-scale military exercise. The drill simulated what would happen if Russia faced a nuclear attack—running through the mechanics of launching long-range conventional and nuclear strikes in response. It was a rehearsal of escalation, and it set the tone for what would follow.
When Putin's troops poured across the border, the Russian president issued a stark warning to NATO and the West: interfere, and you will face "consequences greater than any you have faced in history." Three days later, on February 27, Putin announced he had placed Russia's nuclear forces on "special combat readiness." The threat of nuclear war, once theoretical, had entered the conversation as something immediate and real.
But the credibility of that threat is another matter entirely. Yes, nuclear weapons could inflict catastrophic damage on Ukraine. Yet they would not necessarily win the war for Russia—and the risk of triggering a nuclear response from the West is substantial. To understand why Russia keeps raising the nuclear specter, you have to look at the doctrine it adopted in 2020.
In June of that year, the Russian presidency published a formal policy document called the Basic Principles of State Policy of the Russian Federation on Nuclear Deterrence. The document frames nuclear weapons as purely defensive tools, meant to deter aggression and protect Russian sovereignty. But buried in the language is something more permissive: Russia reserves the right to use nuclear weapons if it faces losing a conventional war—a strategy Western analysts have labeled "escalate to deescalate." The idea is simple: threaten or use a nuclear weapon to shock your opponent into backing down. Russian military experts have disputed this characterization, but the logic is there in the text.
The problem is that this doctrine does not fit the Ukraine situation. The 2020 policy allows nuclear use only in extreme circumstances: if Russia's very existence as a state is threatened, or if it faces attacks on critical military sites that would cripple its nuclear response capability. Ukraine is not attacking Russia. Ukraine is defending itself against Russian invasion. Russia controls the escalation ladder entirely and can end the war whenever it chooses. Moreover, there are no large concentrations of Ukrainian troops that would make even a small tactical nuclear weapon militarily useful. A nuclear strike would be strategically pointless.
There is another problem that rarely gets mentioned: Russian forces are spread across nearly every part of Ukraine. Any nuclear detonation on Ukrainian soil would kill not just Ukrainian civilians but also Russian soldiers and destroy Russian equipment and infrastructure. If Putin's goal is to eventually absorb Ukraine into the Russian sphere, nuclear weapons would make that impossible. The land would be poisoned, the population decimated, the reconstruction effort insurmountable.
As the Russian military campaign stalled in the spring of 2022, the nuclear rhetoric grew louder. Dmitry Medvedev, a former president and close Putin advisor, declared on March 26 that Russia was "ready to give a worthy response to any infringement on our country, on its independence." The message was aimed at the West, a warning against NATO involvement. The more desperate Russia's military situation became, the more strident the nuclear threats grew. In this sense, Russia's nuclear arsenal has worked as a deterrent—it has kept NATO from directly entering the conflict.
But Russian leaders understand the ultimate logic: there are three nuclear powers in NATO, and a nuclear exchange would mean the destruction of Russia itself. There is no scenario in which pressing the button saves Putin's position. The threats serve a purpose—they buy time, they discourage Western intervention, they project strength when the conventional war is not going as planned. But they are also a measure of desperation, a signal that the original strategy has failed and Russia is running out of conventional options. The nuclear threat is real enough to reshape global politics. Whether it would ever be used is a different question entirely.
Citações Notáveis
Consequences greater than any you have faced in history if NATO interferes— Vladimir Putin, February 2022
Ready to give a worthy response to any infringement on our country, on its independence— Dmitry Medvedev, March 26, 2022
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why would Russia even mention nuclear weapons if using them would be so catastrophic?
Because the mention itself is the weapon. Putin doesn't need to use them—he needs the West to believe he might. It keeps NATO out of the fight.
But doesn't that strategy fall apart if everyone knows he won't actually use them?
That's the trap. If he's bluffing, his bluff only works until someone calls it. But if he's not bluffing, the cost of being wrong is extinction.
So what changes if Russia actually did use a small nuclear weapon in Ukraine?
Everything collapses. NATO has three nuclear powers. The moment a nuclear weapon detonates, the calculus shifts from deterrence to response. Russia would be gambling that the West blinks first.
Would a tactical nuclear weapon even help Russia win the war?
No. Russian troops are everywhere in Ukraine. A nuclear strike kills as many Russians as Ukrainians. And it destroys the infrastructure Putin wants to control. It's militarily nonsensical.
Then why does Putin keep threatening it?
Because his conventional strategy is failing. The threats are what he has left. They're a way of saying: I'm still dangerous, don't push me further, give me an off-ramp.
Is there any scenario where Russia actually uses nuclear weapons?
Only if Putin believes he's about to lose everything and has nothing left to lose. That's the terrifying part—not that he's rational, but that desperation can override rationality.