Wither the bomb — as a legal problem. Ever since its inception as a weapon of war, atomic, and subsequently nuclear weaponry, have become the totemic reminders that sovereignty lie in their acquisition. Not having them poses insecurity; acquiring them grants the illusion of safety while pushing the globe towards greater prospects of immolation.
The Nuclear Weapons Non-Proliferation Treaty, which came into force in 1970, was the juggling result of this dilemma. The question that dogs the entire treaty is that of power: where does it lie? Non-nuclear powers are discouraged from acquiring a nuclear weapons potential, though not a civilian potential — indeed, they are encouraged to receive technology for peaceful purposes “on a non-discriminatory basis” at a cheap price.
Nuclear weapons powers, however, are merely required to pay lip service to such misty-eyed visions of a world without nuclear weapons, while happily engaging in that euphemistic word termed “modernisation”. Article Six, a vague provision at best, makes the five nuclear states “undertake to pursue negotiations in good faith on effective means relating to cessation of the nuclear arms race at an early date.” Disarmament, in the scheme of things, becomes utopia.
In other words, the NPT is a club of skewed membership with poor credentials, despite the note from the United Nations Office for Disarmament Affairs calling it significant for having more signatories than “any other arms limitation and disarmament agreement”.[1]Analysts like Fred Kaplan argue that the NPT did prevent the nuclear club from swelling — a prediction of 25-30 countries having such weapons is deemed a more terrifying prospect than having the addition of four or so more powers.[2] Of course, the underlying rationale of the NPT was precisely that: keeping the club exclusive.