Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons in 1994. Now it’s asking why

Under heavy gray skies and a thin blanket of snow, gray and green Cold War relics recall Ukraine’s Soviet past.

Missiles, launchers and transporters stand as monuments to an era when Ukraine played a key role in the Soviet Union’s nuclear weapons program — its last line of defense.

Beneath the silo’s partially raised concrete and steel lid, peeks a large intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM).

But the missile is a replica, cracked and moldy. This silo has been filled with rubble for about 30 years.

The sprawling base near the central Ukrainian city of Parvomysk has long since been turned into a museum.

As a newly independent Ukraine emerged from Moscow’s shadow in the early 1990s, Kyiv turned its back on nuclear weapons.

But nearly three years after Russia’s full-scale invasion and without a clear agreement among allies on how to guarantee Ukraine’s security when the war ends, many now think that was a mistake.

Thirty years ago, on 5 December 1994, at a ceremony in Budapest, Ukraine joined Belarus and Kazakhstan in giving up their nuclear weapons in return for security guarantees from the United States, UK, France, China and Russia.

Strictly speaking, the missiles belonged to the Soviet Union, not its newly independent former republics.

But one-third of the USSR’s nuclear stockpile is located on Ukrainian soil, and the handover of weapons is considered a significant moment, deserving of international recognition.

“(We) pledges on security assurances to these three nations … underscore our commitment to the independence, sovereignty and territorial integrity of these states,” US President Bill Clinton said in Budapest.

As a young graduate of the Military Academy in Kharkiv, Oleksandr Sushchenko arrived in Pervomaiske two years later, just as the demobilization process was underway.

He saw the missiles being taken away and the silos exploding.

Now he is back on base as one of the curators of the museum.

Looking back after a decade of misery caused by a Russia that the international community seemed unable or unwilling to stop, they draw the inevitable conclusion.

“Looking at what’s happening now in Ukraine, it’s my personal opinion that the total destruction of all nuclear weapons is wrong,” he says.

“But it was a political matter. The top leadership took the decision and we implemented the orders.

At the time, it all seemed to make perfect sense. No one thought that Russia would attack Ukraine in 20 years.

“We were naïve, but we believed,” says Serhiy Komisarenko, who was serving as Ukraine’s ambassador to London in 1994.

“When Britain and the United States and then France joined,” he says, “we thought that was enough, you know. And Russia too.”

For a poor country, the idea of ​​maintaining a devastatingly expensive nuclear arsenal, borne out of decades of Soviet rule, made little sense.

“Why use money to make or keep nuclear weapons,” says Komisarenko, “when you can use it for industry, for prosperity?”

But the anniversary of the fateful 1994 accord is now being used by Ukraine to make a point.

Appearing at a NATO foreign ministers’ meeting in Brussels this week, Ukraine’s Foreign Minister Andriy Sybiha brandished a green folder containing a copy of the Budapest Memorandum.

“This document fails to secure Ukrainian and transatlantic security,” he said. “We must avoid repeating such mistakes.”

A statement from his ministry called the memorandum a “monument of foresight in strategic security decision-making”.

The question now, for Ukraine and its allies, is to find another way to guarantee the country’s security.

For President Volodymyr Zelensky, the answer has long been clear.

“We have better security guarantees (with) NATO,” he repeated on Sunday.

“For us, NATO and the EU are non-negotiable.”

Despite Zelensky’s often impassioned insistence that only membership of the Western bloc ensures Ukraine’s survival against its larger, more aggressive neighbour, it is clear that NATO members are divided on the issue.

In the face of objections from several members, the alliance has so far not set a timetable, saying only that Ukraine’s path to eventual membership is “irreversible”.

In the meantime, all talk among Ukraine’s allies is “peace through strength.” To ensure that Ukraine is as strong as possible ahead of possible peace talks under Donald Trump’s watch next year.

“The stronger our military support for Ukraine is now, the stronger their hand at the negotiating table,” NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte said on Tuesday.

Unsure what Donald Trump’s approach to Ukraine will be, major providers of military aid, including the US and Germany, have been sending large new shipments of cargo to Ukraine before he takes office.

Looking ahead, some in Ukraine are suggesting that a country serious about defending itself cannot rule out a return to nuclear weapons, especially as its key ally, the United States, may prove unreliable in the near future.

Last month, officials denied reports that a paper circulated in the Defense Ministry suggested a simple nuclear device could be developed in months.

It’s not clear on the agenda now, but former Deputy Defense Minister Alina Frolova says the leak may not have been accidental.

“This is certainly an option under discussion in Ukraine among experts,” he says.

“If we see that we don’t have any support and we’re losing this war and we have to protect our people … I believe this can be an option.”

It’s hard to see nuclear weapons returning to the snowy wastes outside of Pervomais’k anytime soon.

Only one of the base’s 30m-deep command silos remains intact, which was preserved when it was completed in 1979.

It is a heavily fortified structure built to withstand a nuclear attack, with heavy steel doors and underground tunnels connecting it to the rest of the base.

In a small, cramped control room at the bottom, accessible by an even more cramped elevator, coded orders to launch intercontinental ballistic missiles are received, interpreted and acted upon.

Former missile technician Oleksandr Sushchenko shows how two operators turn a key and press a button (gray, not red) before playing a Hollywood-style video simulation of a massive, global nuclear exchange.

It is faintly humorous, but deeply serious.

Getting rid of the big ICBMs, Oleksandr says, clearly makes sense. By the mid-1990s, America was no longer the enemy.

But Ukraine’s nuclear arsenal consisted of various tactical weapons with ranges of 100 to 1,000 km.

“As it turned out, the enemy was much closer,” says Oleksandr.

“We could have kept a few dozen tactical warheads. It will ensure the security of our country.