I remember this end of April 1986. Just after the announcement of the explosion of reactor number 4, at Chernobyl. At home, we tuned into Radio Suisse Romande, just across the border, for “real” news—because the French government claimed that the radioactive cloud had stopped at the borders of France. It was still the Cold War, five years after the release of the apocalyptic film Malevil. 40 km from the Creys-Malville super reactor – it was sometimes said that we were “lucky” to be too close to survive its explosion. In the spring of 1986, it was no longer fiction.
However, two nights ago, when Russian tanks pounded a building less than 500 meters from the reactor of the Zaporijjia power station, the specter of nuclear power began to dance again on a Europe that had forgotten about it. The integrity of this nuclear power plant could appear as the last red line. The one that cannot be flouted because if it were, it would force NATO to act… Because then there would be nothing left to lose. At this point, we would have gone from threat to reality.
But this line is drawn after a series of others have been crossed. The attack on a sovereign country by its neighbour. The destruction of schools, hospitals, apartment buildings and water systems. The exodus of women and children. The use of cluster bombs and the use of thermobaric bombs. The trampling of international law and the law of war. The desire to make this territory a “march”, “a desert that we would call peace”, to paraphrase Tacitus. So many thresholds that Moscow has cheerfully crossed. Which raises crucial questions: Is there a limit to the Poutinesque slippage, can a nuclear power push back the limits of the admissible, if no one can stand in its way? In other words, are Western leaders, starting with Biden, wearing the slippers of Chamberlain (architect of Munich in 1938) or the boots of Roosevelt (who delayed but led the inevitable intervention in Europe in 1944)? Where is the famous red line, in this case?
The science of red lines tells a complex story. And even if this notion appears in a completely different context (that of the oil stripping of the vestiges of the Ottoman Empire by the big oil companies in 1928), it has become one of the discursive elements of world politics. She served during the Russian invasion of Crimea. It was drawn in 2012, in scarlet marker, by Netanyahu before the United Nations to draw the “tolerable” limit for the enrichment of uranium by Iran. It was brandished by Barack Obama in August 2012, during the use of chemical weapons by the Syrian regime, in vain: while the images of the victims of Ghouta, a year later, confirm the worst, and that reports establish the use of chlorine, sarin gas and agent 15, Barack Obama renounces to act. This inaction, however, carries over to the present day. To the point where Biden did not even try to pretend: he said, even before the invasion, that there would be no deployment of troops in Ukraine. Difficult to see, in this case, what could have prevented the unfolding of a scenario yet announced by the intelligence services and the American government.
Because the notion of red line belongs to the universe of deterrence. Political scientist Bruno Tertrais thus shows how a simple behavior of appeasement, of procrastination at a given moment, will influence the opponent’s decision-making in a subsequent situation. Like Hitler’s perception of the Franco-British ability to guarantee Poland’s security the year after Munich’s procrastination over Czechoslovakia. Like the feeling of Khrushchev who, after his meeting with Kennedy in Vienna on the question of Berlin, considers that he has a free hand to deploy missiles in Cuba. Red lines only work if whoever draws them makes sure they are respected. Or that he seems at least determined to pay the price.
Under Putin’s rule, Russia has changed, and Putin, by gradually strangling it, is reshaping it before our very eyes. But so did the United States: the Trump era confirmed the disengagement of the United States—announced by George W. Bush, pursued by Obama. And it is in this continuity that Biden fits in by articulating from the election a foreign policy anchored in internal politics. However, despite a burst of unity around the blue and yellow flag, this limits its room for manoeuvre, and the statement of a firm foreign policy is less credible. This was reflected in his State of the Union address.
In the front row, the European countries are not mistaken. Germany made an unprecedented doctrinal shift by agreeing to deliver arms to Ukraine. Switzerland abandoned its sacrosanct financial neutrality to sanction Russia. The Baltic States want to strengthen the NATO umbrella. Finland and Sweden are discussing a review of their neutrality position. Moldova and Georgia are applying for admission to the European Union. By the time you blink, defense budgets are increasing. Everywhere. And thousands of miles away, we know the value of decisions that are not. It is therefore no coincidence that the head of American diplomacy, Antony Blinken, is today trying to reassure the Asian partners of the United States. It is not insignificant that in Taiwan, certain newspapers headline “Today Ukraine, tomorrow Taiwan”.
However, history is not written in advance. The thrill that shook the world during the attack on the Zaporizhia power plant shows that in the absence of courage, perhaps only fear remains, to draw a line. And hold it.