‘I think when it comes to nuclear, we are really in a good place.’ With these words, NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte described the state of the Alliance’s nuclear strategy at the pre-Summit press conference in Ankara on 6 July 2026. The phrase was intended to project stability, confidence, and reassurance. Yet, to anyone familiar with the history of the nuclear age, it reveals something far more disturbing: the dangerous normalization of the belief that more nuclear weapons, more deployments, and greater confrontation can somehow produce greater security.
This is precisely where the greatest paradox of contemporary European security policy (if there is any) lies. A continent devastated by two world wars, a continent that built its post-war institutions precisely to overcome the cycle of military rivalry, is once again embracing a logic in which military power, deterrence, and strategic confrontation are becoming the foundations of political order. Particularly alarming is the fact that the nuclear dimension of this transformation has scarcely become the subject of any meaningful debate.
Europe is gradually turning into a space where nuclear powers are moving ever closer to one another. The accession of Finland and Sweden to NATO has significantly altered the strategic geography of Northern Europe. Finland, a country that for decades based its security policy on military neutrality and careful balancing vis-à-vis the Soviet Union, has, following its NATO membership, amended its legal framework to allow for the potential deployment of nuclear capabilities on its territory. At the same time, the Baltic region is becoming one of the most heavily militarized areas in Europe.
At the centre of this new geopolitical anxiety lies Kaliningrad, the Russian exclave situated between Poland and Lithuania and surrounded by NATO member states. For Moscow, it is a crucial strategic bastion; for NATO, it is frequently portrayed as a potential launch point for Russian aggression. Precisely because of its geographical isolation and military significance, Kaliningrad has become the symbol of Europe’s most dangerous zone of confrontation. In this place, a miscalculation, an accident, or a deliberate provocation could trigger a crisis with unforeseeable consequences.
In the run-up to the Ankara Summit, numerous political and intelligence assessments and media speculations circulated, revealing precisely this atmosphere of fear and mutual distrust. One suggested that Russia might attempt to stage a limited incident in the Baltic region or near Poland to ‘test’ NATO, i.e. the Alliance’s political willingness to invoke Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty.
At the same time, an opposite set of speculations also emerged: that heightened tensions surrounding Kaliningrad could themselves become a pretext for false-flag operations, that is, incidents whose true origin would remain unclear but which could generate political pressure for further escalation. In such a scenario, fears of Russian aggression could be used to justify an expanded American military and nuclear presence across Europe.
Such scenarios are far from being facts. Yet their very circulation in the public sphere illustrates how dangerous the prevailing logic of confrontation has become. In an era of hybrid warfare, cyber operations, disinformation campaigns, and information warfare, the boundary between objective threats and socially constructed perceptions of insecurity becomes increasingly blurred, creating fertile ground for the political manipulation of fear and the manufacture of consent for further militarisation.
This exposes the fundamental flaws of nuclear deterrence itself. Deterrence assumes rational decision-makers, perfect information, and the ability to control crises. Yet the history of the Cold War demonstrates precisely the opposite. Humanity avoided nuclear catastrophe not because the system was inherently safe, but because, at several critical moments, individual decision-makers refused to act according to the logic of worst-case scenarios. Nuclear peace has never been the product of perfect control. It has been the repeated avoidance of disaster.
Even more troubling is the fact that this logic is no longer confined to Europe. What might be described as a ‘global NATO‘ (although it exists neither formally nor institutionally) is expanding through the so-called nuclear sharing with countries such as Japan, South Korea, etc. Across the Indo-Pacific, just as in Europe, military budgets are rising, new strategic arrangements are being forged, and greater space is being created for an expanded American military (including nuclear) presence. Japan, the only country ever to experience atomic bombing against civilian populations, is steadily moving toward the normalization of military power. South Korea increasingly debates whether to develop its own nuclear capability or rely more heavily on the American nuclear umbrella. Australia, through new security arrangements, has become an integral part of a broader strategy aimed at containing China. In this way, the Orwellian logic of ‘peace through strength’ is being replicated from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean.
The war against Iran in 2025/2026 has produced yet another dangerous consequence that few in the West appear willing to acknowledge. The military campaign was justified as a necessary measure to prevent Iran from acquiring nuclear weapons, yet its political effect may prove exactly the opposite. For many around the world, the lesson is straightforward: states without nuclear weapons remain vulnerable to external military intervention, whereas those possessing a nuclear arsenal enjoy a significant degree of immunity from direct attack. The logic is harsh, but understandable: had Iran already been a nuclear power, the likelihood of such an attack would almost certainly have been much lower. Rather than strengthening the regime of nuclear non-proliferation and ultimately nuclear abolition, this war may encourage other states to conclude that the only genuine guarantee of survival lies in possessing nuclear weapons themselves, even if under someone else’s flag.
This brings us to the central question: does the world become safer simply because it contains more nuclear flashpoints? Or does it become more vulnerable because more actors, more weapons systems, and more lines of confrontation inevitably create more opportunities for miscalculation? The answers, of course, are self-evident.
Under the banner of deterrence and protection, NATO’s European pillar risks becoming trapped in a condition of permanent confrontation. Instead of developing an autonomous European security architecture founded upon cooperation, diplomacy, arms control, and risk reduction, Europe is increasingly becoming a theatre in which the major powers test one another’s resolve.
After the Ankara Summit, therefore, the real question is not whether Europe is ‘in a good place.’ The real question is whether Europe is genuinely becoming safer or merely better armed for a future in which no one will be secure. The most dangerous illusion of the nuclear age is the belief that catastrophe can be controlled simply because it has not occurred for a long time. Genuine security begins precisely where dependence on permanent preparation for war comes to an end.
