A grand illusion we just cannot afford

Scaling up from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, a single Trident submarine has the notional capacity to cause 20 million instantaneous deaths. Do we need this capability? Do we need a ‘sub-strategic’ capability. Do we need nuclear weapons of any kind? This is the first real opportunity to address that question since the post-Suez Defence Review in 1957.

The government says ‘yes’, but it is widely accepted that if Britain did not already possess nuclear weapons, we would not now develop them. In a recent article Sir Michael Quinlan, the establishment guru in this field, agreed that the strategic case for a nuclear capability ‘rests primarily on long-term uncertainties rather than near-term probabilities’. But he went on to say that scarcely anyone would claim that these highly unspecific arguments would now amount to an adequate case for shouldering the political and economic costs of creating a nuclear capability from scratch, if it did not already exist.

It would seem that the case for retaining our nuclear capability is not about national security, it is about sunk costs, ‘as we already have it, we might as well keep it’. The strategic justification is that it might ‘come-in-handy’ and, anyway, ‘better-safe-than-sorry’. This is somewhat slim for such an awesome capability; besides, the justification ignores the balance of costs and benefits.

The benefits claimed for nuclear weapons are ‘enhanced security’ and ‘political status’. The latter was important during the 1950s, when the emerging British capability justified our participation in arms control talks. We had, however, lost that place by the end of the 1960s, when the superpowers turned to bilateral negotiations on strategic systems.

In the 1980s, it was Germany that had Washington’s ear in Europe, and Japan had it in the Far East. In contrast Britain had difficulty in persuading Washington to help over the Falklands and was deliberately kept in the dark when the US decided to invade Grenada. In 1990, London and Paris lost out to Bonn over German reunification, and again in 1993-94 over the decision to extend NATO. Britain and France were nuclear powers, Germany was not.

So, political status does not necessarily depend on a nuclear capability and it is most unlikely that Britain, a founding member of all the best international clubs, would lose political status (or its permanent seat on the Security Council) if it renounced its nuclear capability. Washington would be irritated to lose a loyal vassal, but in other quarters, including most of the Western world, if Britain were no longer seen as America’s glove puppet, its political status would almost certainly rise.

During the Cold War our nuclear capability added nothing to alliance security and today its contribution to British security remains nebulous. Officialdom refuses to discuss the circumstances in which nuclear weapons might be used, claiming it is advantageous to keep one’s opponent guessing, and asserting (incorrectly) that uncertainty enhances deterrence. To talk of ‘deterrence’ in a geo-strategic vacuum is unhelpful, but it seems that the Ministry’s military planners no longer ‘test’ future scenarios. Indeed, it is hard to envisage a future contingency where we would use this disproportionate capability.

In sum, the benefits to Britain of its nuclear capability are meagre at best and mainly hypothetical. What then of costs? The financial burden is not really significant (about five per cent of the defence vote), but the need for technological support is largely responsible for Britain’s unhealthy political dependence on America.

But what about opportunity costs — the costs of policies and procurement foregone because of choosing to retain Britain’s nuclear capability? For example, the £1bn spent annually on Trident would yield a substantial operational dividend were it to be invested in our over-stretched and under-equipped land forces (ground with air support), which have borne the brunt of British military operations since the end of the Cold War. And if it were decided to replace Trident, that opportunity cost would steadily increase to £2bn a year during the 20 year procurement cycle.

The most important opportunity costs are, however, political — the different role the UK would play in the world as a non-nuclear and, more immediately, to the nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which is increasingly in jeopardy. Let me explain why.

At the heart of the NPT was a Grand Bargain. The non-nuclear signatories agreed to forgo the option of acquiring nuclear weapons, in exchange for (1) unimpeded access to nuclear energy for non-military purposes and (2) a promise by the five nuclear-weapon states on nuclear disarmament. As a consequence, the world at large would be able to enjoy the peaceful benefits of nuclear science, and the technologically advanced countries would have unrestricted commercial access to this lucrative market.

At the time of the treaty’s inception in 1968 and for the next twenty-five years, the NPT was immensely important and unexpectedly successful. This was largely due to the nature of the Cold War world with its two camps, client states and the superpowers’ common interest. However, embedded in the treaty were two problems.

One was ‘dual use’ — the fact that materials and technology required for legitimate peaceful purposes, can also be used (diverted) to produce nuclear weapons. The other problem was a commitment to ultimate nuclear disarmament. To obtain the agreement of the non-nuclear members of the Treaty negotiating committee, the two superpowers (and Britain) had to accept this proviso, which was embodied in Article VI of the treaty.

The NPT was inherently discriminatory, and would remain effective only as long as the non-nuclear states believed it was fair and that it served their long-term interests. Fairness is important because its correlate, resentment, is a powerful and destructive motivator.

Come the end of the Cold War, the nuclear-weapon states sought the indefinite extension of the NPT. There was significant opposition to this proposal from the non-nuclear states, but, in return for a range of inducements, the indefinite extension was agreed at the 1995 Treaty Review Conference, subject to a pledge that the five-yearly conferences would provide an engine for progress towards the goal of nuclear elimination.

That promise was explicitly reaffirmed in the final statement of the 2000 conference but, by then, the nuclear-weapons states were already walking back on their earlier promises. In 2001, the incoming Bush administration made clear its disdain for these and other arms control negotiations and, in 2005, the review conference could not even agree a final statement.

Meanwhile, the tacit pledge that the nuclear states would avoid the resort to nuclear weapons has been replaced by the increasing normalisation of such weapons. Washington talks about using them in response to biological and chemical attack and is developing small warheads that can be used more readily (‘useable nukes’). Britain and France talk in general terms of ‘sub-strategic’ systems. In other words, having achieved the indefinite extension of the NPT, the nuclear-weapon states are not observing their side of the bargain, and America (which determines the nuclear ‘weather’) has explicitly woven the nuclear option into its operational doctrine.

These double standards contribute to the post 9/11 image of the ‘West against the Rest’, and a cynical view is that the NPT (and the associated Nuclear Weapon Free Zones) is now a convenient instrument of US foreign policy. It ensures that US conventional forces will not be deterred or hampered by the threat of a nuclear response, and can be used to justify punitive action against any ‘rogue state’ that might be seeking such a capability.

This perception conflates dissatisfaction over the implementation of the NPT with the wider dissatisfactions arising from the rich/poor and North/South divides, from the socio-economic circumstances that have nourished fundamentalism, and from the polarising effect of Bush’s ‘war on terrorism’. These different dissatisfactions each have their own fault lines, but in all cases the NATO nuclear states find themselves on one side and the ‘dissatisfied’ on the other. The NPT is increasingly seen as part of a larger Western conspiracy: it is failing the crucial test of being seen as ‘fair’.

More importantly, increasing numbers of states are beginning to question whether the treaty still serves their long-term interests; the post-Gulf War dictum — that if you take on America, you need a nuclear capability — was seemingly borne out in 2003, when the US attacked Iraq, but not North Korea.

As a NATO nuclear-weapon state, Britain is in no position to affect the deteriorating trend.

But what if Britain renounced its capability? The demonstration that Britain took its obligations under Article VI of the NPT seriously would be a step in the direction of fairness and away from the double standards that undermine the treaty. Britain could address questions such as how the international system should react to the different categories of nuclear and potentially-nuclear states? On what criteria are some states allowed to produce their own enriched uranium and stockpiles of plutonium, while others are forbidden any kind of enrichment facility? Who is a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ state (and who decides)? Britain could help devise a political process and structure to accommodate threshold, virtual, declared and de facto nuclear states as well as the original ‘treaty’ states.

It is not suggested that Britain’s renouncement would affect the nuclear policies of the existing nuclear-weapon states. Nor is it likely to influence those non-nuclear states that are already determined for their own separate reasons to acquire such a capability. British renouncement could, however, be an important consideration in the calculations of the remaining threshold states and, where ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ was a significant factor in determining military requirements, it would provide an alternative policy option.

And, of course, the demonstration effect works both ways. Claiming that nuclear weapons are essential to our national security while sitting safely off Western Europe, Britain is a standing incitement to proliferation. With some 40 states already technologically capable of producing nuclear weapons, we need to ask: ‘which is the greater threat to Britain’s future well being?’ Is it unspecified dangers in the distant future, derived from ‘worst-case’ analyses of hypothetical scenarios in an unpredictable world? Or is it nuclear proliferation in the near future, leading to regional arms racing and a world of 40 or more nuclear states, with varying precautions against theft and misuse?

In terms of British policy, we face mutually exclusive choices. Either we concentrate our efforts on halting and reversing nuclear proliferation. Or we retain a nuclear capability as it might come in handy in the unforeseeable future. We cannot do both.

But what about the other nuclear states? A glance at the map will show that apart from France only Britain is in a position to renounce its nuclear capability without jeopardising its ‘supreme national interests’. Given our rationale of ‘sunk costs’, supreme national interests don’t really enter the picture. Nor do we have to consider France, which has a very different history and is hypersensitive about status. One of the attractions of the policy is that the decision to renounce nuclear weapons does not depend on negotiations and lies entirely with London.

By such action, Britain would demonstrate its belief that nuclear weapons are not essential to political status, nor are they considered necessary for our national security. We would be in a position to resist the ‘normalisation’ of nuclear ordnance, to reassert the ‘nuclear taboo’ and to argue publicly against the further development of nuclear weapons. We would be able to highlight the inevitability of nuclear arms racing and its pernicious effects on international relations, while stressing the serious danger of accidental and/or inadvertent war.

A British decision to renounce its nuclear weapons would restore the viability of the NPT and enable fundamentally new ways of thinking about the NPT, opening up unexplored avenues and opportunities for fresh initiatives and new alliances in a field that is characterised by patronising attitudes, entrenched positions, frustration, bad faith and distrust. Britain would automatically assume a crucial role in discussions and negotiations on what needs to be done and what (if any) decision-making structure would be required.

Such a policy would raise British political stature across the world, regain possession of Britain’s foreign policy and help to heal the breach between ‘the West and the Rest’; and enhancing Britain’s ground/air expeditionary capability.

A final point: there is no middle way. The choice for Britain is between renouncing its nuclear capability or continuing as a nuclear-weapon state. The issue is whether it possesses nuclear weapons of any kind, not the size and shape of its arsenal. The national and international benefits will only accrue if Britain abjures nuclear weapons completely.

It is time to cast aside the beguiling Cold War illusion of ‘deterrence’ as an all-purpose answer to unknown future threats. After fifty years of political indoctrination, Britain’s nuclear capability has acquired a totemic quality. It has become a national Ju Ju that in some unexplained way will shield us from danger in an unpredictable future. It is not a weapon — it is a security blanket.

Michael MccGwire is an Honorary Professor in the Department of International Politics, University of Wales, Aberystwyth.