The missile crisis of October 1962 was probably the moment when the world came closest to a nuclear conflagration between the two superpowers of the time, the US and the USSR. For 13 days, the entire planet held its breath as the Kremlin determined to place nuclear missiles in Cuba, after the Pentagon had done the same in Italy and Turkey, and Washington sought ways to topple Castro. Kennedy reacted with the famous naval blockade, and, finally, the two superpowers avoided the precipice with an agreement that was quite unfavourable to Khrushchev, at least in its public aspect.
Today, we are witnessing a new and tense missile standoff between the White House and its allies on the one hand, and the Kremlin and its allies on the other. The crisis revolves around the possibility of allowing Ukraine to use a certain type of valuable Western missiles, with a range of up to 250 kilometers, to strike deep into Russian territory. This week, Putin warned that he would interpret such permission as NATO entering a war against Russia, for which he would take appropriate reprisals, without specifying them. Meanwhile, the Kremlin sees increasing support from Iran, precisely with deliveries of ballistic missiles.
How serious is this crisis? How serious is it compared to the one in 1962? Attempts to respond are still being made.
It is certainly serious. Putin’s words, with the nuclear arsenal behind him and the certainty that a defeat is synonymous with a dark end for himself, cannot be underestimated. Granting this permission would not be an escalation – it is Russia that is escalating – but it would be a step of some significance, more than delivering tanks for use in Ukraine or distributing less powerful weapons to strike in areas close to the border. One hypothesis that shows the delicacy of the matter is to think about what would happen if one of these weapons were used in an attack that caused civilian deaths in Russia.
At the same time, observing the conflict since the beginning of the invasion in February 2022, we can see that Putin has repeatedly drawn apocalyptic red lines that he has never kept. He did so from the speech announcing the attack, in which he promised unimaginable consequences for those who stood in his way. Today, dozens of countries are doing the same by arming Ukraine and no consequences have been seen. The motive for both is crystal clear: trying to inhibit by instilling fear; refraining from retaliation that he is not in a position to assume because of what would come next. Despite not having carried out his threats, the tactic worked: Western countries overemphasized each step of support for Ukraine, giving a great advantage to Russia.
On the other hand, the fundamental meaning of this war cannot be forgotten: a completely illegal aggression against which a country is trying to defend itself, despite its fatigue, with a very broad consensus among its citizens. An attack on the freedom of a country to decide its own path, on the prospect of a prosperous democracy taking root in the region and which, by its very existence, exposes the rottenness of the Kremlin regime.
And for those who, with good intentions but perhaps naïve – or perhaps self-serving – call for peace negotiations, it is worth remembering a few things. As long as Putin believes he can improve his position, he will not negotiate. The Ukrainians, on the other hand, believe, with good reason, that even making a deal today at the cost of serious concessions would not achieve a definitive peace; it would only give Putin time to breathe before starting again. They think that only inflicting unbearable pain will stop Putin from attacking, today and tomorrow. Taking the war to Russia is a way not only to strike at the rear from which Ukraine is being attacked, but also to sow doubts in Russian society about Putin’s narrative.
All these arguments add up to the aforementioned high improbability of Putin taking direct retaliation, due to the simple fact of Russia’s absolute inferiority to NATO. It is worth remembering this asymmetry, for which a minimal effort by the Alliance requires an immense response to be on par with it.
The decision is complex and depends on non-public factors – for example, what targets are within the range of these types of missiles, what specific results could be achieved with them, how many of these missiles are available for use – about which this column does not have sufficient detailed and reliable information and therefore does not consider it serious to comment. But it does comment on the general need to increase the support effort for Ukraine. We Europeans, in particular, must bear in mind that in four months Trump may be in the White House.
As for comparing the severity of this crisis with that of 1962, the answer is less easy than it might seem. It is less frightening because it is not a direct tension between superpowers. It is neither direct nor between superpowers, because Russia is not one and everyone knows it. The great pulse of our time is between the United States and China. Moscow depends on Beijing, and Beijing does not want it to lose – because that would be a victory for its adversary – but it does not want a nuclear conflagration either. However, it would be irresponsible to underestimate the threats: because, unlike then, there is a conflict underway with enormous potential for escalation and because the wounded and cornered beasts are dangerous.
The comparison with 1962 serves to bring up other reflections. Among them, the fundamental importance of fluid communication and transparency measures between the US and China – ideally taking the form of arms control treaties – like the bridges that were built between Washington and Moscow after that episode; the importance of keeping the ranks of democracies closed in critical times (which does not mean uncritical adhesions, but rather a sense of common interests and values); or the importance of not slacking off, but not overreacting either: Kennedy was suggested to give tougher responses than he ended up giving.
