ANALYSIS: A strike near Bushehr, and the world holds its breath

Yet Another Appeal in the Diplomatic Desert

Rafael Grossi, Director General of the International Atomic Energy Agency, responded swiftly. His message: immediately cease all attacks on the Bushehr site. A firm, unambiguous appeal, in line with the agency’s mandate. A call that also mirrors, word for word, the ones he issued regarding Zaporizhzhia in 2022, 2023, 2024, and 2025.

The problem is not that the IAEA remains silent. The problem is that no one listens to it when the bombs are falling. The agency has no coercive power. It has no protective force at its disposal. It can inspect, warn, and plead—but never compel. And in a conflict where the United States and Israel on one side, and Iran on the other, are directly at odds, the influence of a UN agency is like a feather in the face of a hurricane.

The Seven Pillars of Nuclear Safety That No One Follows

In 2022, following the first strikes on Zaporizhzhia, Grossi outlined seven fundamental principles for the protection of nuclear power plants in conflict zones. Among them: never attack a power plant or its associated infrastructure; never use a nuclear site as a military base; never cut off a reactor’s external power supply. Four years later, not a single one of these principles has been enshrined in binding international law.

The Geneva Convention prohibits attacks on “installations containing dangerous forces”—a category that theoretically includes nuclear power plants. But the application of this provision remains subject to interpretation by the belligerents. And belligerents, in times of war, always interpret the rules in a way that suits them.

Forty Years of Construction, Forty Years of Tensions

The history of Bushehr is the very history of Iran’s nuclear program, with its ambiguities, lies, and half-truths. The project began under the Shah in the 1970s, with the German firm Siemens. The 1979 Islamic Revolution brought it to a halt. The Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s damaged the site. Germany refused to resume work after the war. Russia took over in 1995.

It would take another sixteen years—marked by technical delays, U.S. diplomatic pressure, and international sanctions—before the reactor was finally connected to the grid in 2011. Every stage of this construction project was a diplomatic battleground. For Tehran, Bushehr has never been merely a source of electricity. It is tangible proof that Iran can master nuclear technology. It is the symbol of technological sovereignty wrested from the West against its will.

The Gordian knot: civilian or military?

Officially, Bushehr is a strictly civilian program. The fuel is supplied by Russia, and the spent fuel is returned to Russia—an arrangement designed precisely to prevent Iran from extracting plutonium for military purposes. The IAEA regularly inspects the site. No deviations have been reported.

But Bushehr exists within a broader ecosystem. The enrichment sites at Natanz and Fordow, the heavy-water reactor at Arak, the suspicious activities documented by the IAEA over the past two decades—all of this forms a network of which Bushehr is the acceptable showcase. Striking near Bushehr means striking the visible symbol of a program whose most alarming components are underground, scattered, and invisible. It means sending a message by destroying the facade rather than the bunker.

The “Everything Is a Target” Doctrine

Since the start of direct hostilities between Israel, the United States, and Iran, the escalation has followed a trajectory that is predictable in its logic and terrifying in its implications. First, conventional military sites. Then, air defense infrastructure. Next, command centers. Then, energy infrastructure. And now, the vicinity of a nuclear power plant.

This progression follows a doctrine that strategists call “target expansion.” When conventional military targets are exhausted or their destruction fails to produce the desired strategic effect, the logic of war pushes toward increasingly sensitive targets. Refineries. Ports. Power grids. And, at the far end of this spiral, nuclear facilities. Each threshold crossed makes the next one conceivable.

The Calculus Behind the Strike

Who carried out the strike? The United States, Israel, or both jointly? At the time of this writing, no official claim of responsibility has been made. But the strategic calculation is clear. Striking near Bushehr without hitting the reactor demonstrates capability while maintaining partial deniability. It’s a message to Tehran: we can reach your nuclear crown jewel, and we are choosing—for now—not to destroy it.

This type of strategic signal has a name in deterrence theory: a calibrated demonstration of capability. You don’t destroy the target. You prove that you can destroy it. The message is meant to be a deterrent. But in a real war, with multiple actors, command chains under pressure, and defense systems constantly under strain, “calibration” is a luxury that can vanish with the next strike.

If the reactor had been damaged

An operating VVER-1000 reactor contains hundreds of metric tons of nuclear fuel. In the event of a loss of cooling—the classic scenario for a major nuclear accident—the core temperature rises, the fuel melts, and fission products are released. If the containment vessel is compromised by a military strike, these fission products are released into the atmosphere.

Bouchehr is located on the coast of the Persian Gulf. Prevailing winds blow toward the southeast—toward the Gulf states. Qatar, Bahrain, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, and Saudi Arabia: all lie within a radius of a few hundred kilometers. A massive release of radioactive material would contaminate not only Iranian territory but potentially the world’s most strategic shipping lanes—the Strait of Hormuz, through which one-fifth of the world’s oil passes.

The unthinkable has a name: Chernobyl on the Gulf

The comparison with Chernobyl is imperfect but instructive. In 1986, the explosion of Reactor No. 4 at the Ukrainian plant contaminated an area of 150,000 km², rendered an entire region uninhabitable, and caused tens of thousands of cancer cases over several decades. And yet, Chernobyl was an accident—not an act of war.

A deliberate bombing of an operational reactor would have potentially worse consequences. The containment structure would be compromised upon impact. The emergency cooling systems would likely be destroyed. Emergency response teams would come under fire. No nuclear emergency protocol has ever been designed to function under bombardment. Fukushima showed that a tsunami could overwhelm the defenses of a modern power plant. What would a direct military strike do?

Written agreements for wars that no longer exist

Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions, adopted in 1977, stipulates in Article 56 that “engineering structures or installations containing dangerous forces, namely dams, dykes, and nuclear power plants, shall not be the object of attacks.” The wording is clear. Its application is much less so.

Neither the United States nor Israel is a signatory to Protocol I. Iran has signed it but not ratified it. The three main belligerents in this conflict are therefore not legally bound by the provision most directly applicable to the situation. This is no coincidence. It is the result of decades of deliberate legal strategy by powers that wanted to retain the freedom to strike such targets.

The Non-Proliferation Treaty Does Not Protect Reactors

The NPT—the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty—guarantees the right of every signatory state to develop civilian nuclear energy. But it contains no provision physically protecting civilian nuclear facilities in the event of armed conflict. The treaty assumes a world in which nuclear power plants are not targets of war. That assumption has just been shattered—for the second time in four years, following Zaporizhzhia.

And yet, the NPT remains the central pillar of the global nonproliferation architecture—a pillar that fails to protect the very facilities it is meant to legitimize. Iran can invoke the NPT to justify its right to civilian nuclear energy. But that same NPT is incapable of protecting Bushehr from a bomb. Rights without force are like a prayer without a deity.

Strike Back Without Triggering a Catastrophe

For Iran, the strike near Bushehr creates a strategic dilemma of formidable complexity. Failing to retaliate means accepting that the adversary can threaten the crown jewel of Iran’s civilian nuclear program with impunity. This is a sign of weakness that the regime cannot afford—neither toward its own people nor toward its regional allies.

To retaliate is to risk further escalation that could, this time, directly target the reactor. It is to enter a spiral in which every Iranian strike against American or Israeli interests could, in turn, provoke the attack that everyone fears. And yet, Tehran cannot stand idly by. The mullahs’ regime has built its legitimacy on resistance. Silence would be political death.

The Nuclear Weapon as the Ultimate Temptation

There is a cruel irony in this situation. By striking near Bushehr, Iran’s adversaries are precisely reinforcing the argument that Iranian hawks have been advancing for years: only nuclear weapons can protect Iran. If a civilian reactor can be threatened with destruction with impunity, what remains as a guarantee of security other than the bomb itself?

The IAEA’s most recent estimates indicate that Iran has enough highly enriched uranium to manufacture several nuclear weapons within a few weeks or months, should the political decision be made. The strike on Bushehr does not slow down this possibility. It may even accelerate it. Every bomb that falls near an Iranian reactor is yet another argument for those who support Iran’s nuclear program.

Saudi Arabia, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates: Neighbors at Risk

Look at a map. Bushehr is located 250 kilometers from Kuwait, 300 kilometers from Bahrain, and 350 kilometers from Qatar. The Gulf capitals—these metropolises of glass and steel built on oil and finance—lie within the potential fallout zone of a major nuclear accident in Bushehr.

These countries have no say in the conflict that threatens to contaminate their territory. They did not start this war. They have not chosen sides—or rather, they have tried not to choose, to maintain relations with all parties, and to protect their colossal economic interests. But radioactive fallout does not respect diplomatic neutrality.

The Strait of Hormuz: The Global Chokepoint

If Bushehr were to become a new Chernobyl, the Strait of Hormuz—that 33-kilometer-wide maritime corridor through which 20% of the world’s oil passes—would potentially be contaminated. The economic consequences are beyond imagination: closure of the strait, collapse of oil markets, a global energy crisis, and a worldwide recession. All this from a strike “nearby” a reactor.

The nuclear risk at Bushehr is not an Iranian problem. It is a global problem. Every country that imports oil from the Gulf—that is, almost all of them—has a stake in what is happening on this coast of the Persian Gulf. And most are completely unaware of it.

Rosatom: Between Contracts and Contradictions

Russia built Bushehr. Rosatom supplies the fuel. Hundreds of Russian engineers have lived and worked at the site for decades. And now, Moscow is evacuating. The question no one is officially asking but everyone is thinking: Did Russia know the strike was coming?

Russian-Iranian relations are a tangled web of cooperation and mistrust. Iran is supplying drones to Russia for its war in Ukraine. Russia supplies Iran with air defense systems. But Moscow also maintains channels of communication with Israel and the United States—channels that have never been completely severed, even at the height of tensions over Ukraine. The “preemptive” evacuation of the engineers raises a thorny question: preemptive against what, exactly?

The nuclear business knows no morality

Rosatom builds nuclear power plants all over the world: Turkey, Egypt, Bangladesh, India, Hungary. Each of these contracts represents billions of dollars and decades of geopolitical influence. If Bushehr were destroyed—or worse, if it became the site of an accident caused by an act of war—Rosatom’s entire business model would be called into question.

What country would sign a contract with a nuclear contractor whose previous client had its plant bombed? What government would explain to its people that it is installing a Russian reactor when the last Russian reactor in a conflict zone was abandoned by its own engineers? The evacuation of Bushehr is not merely a precautionary measure. It is potentially a fatal blow to the global civilian nuclear industry.

Chernobyl, Fukushima, Zaporizhzhia, Bushehr: A String of Disasters

1986: Chernobyl. 2011: Fukushima. 2022: Zaporizhzhia. 2026: Bushehr. Four decades, four power plants, four moments when humanity looked the possibility of a nuclear disaster straight in the eye. Twice by accident. Twice by acts of war. The trend is clear: nuclear risk is becoming militarized.

Cesium-137 has a half-life of 30 years. Strontium-90, 29 years. Iodine-131, which is more volatile, has a half-life of 8 days, but its initial dispersion is the most dangerous. These figures mean one simple thing: the consequences of a nuclear accident in Bushehr would be measured in generations, not in news cycles. Long after the 24-hour news channels have moved on to the next story, the Geiger counters will continue to click.

The Paradox of Attention

Zaporizhzhia has revealed a troubling phenomenon: the normalization of nuclear risk in times of war. The first strikes of 2022 sparked global panic. Four years later, the IAEA’s warnings are relegated to the bottom of the page. The world has grown accustomed to the idea that a nuclear reactor could be located in a combat zone. This habituation is perhaps the most dangerous threat of all.

For habituation creates a sense of permissibility. If four years of bombing in Zaporizhzhia have had no consequences for the warring parties, why should Bushehr be treated any differently? The answer should be obvious. But in a world where yesterday’s unthinkable becomes today’s news item, the obvious has lost its impact.

A Shield with Holes

Iran has S-300 air defense systems supplied by Russia, deployed primarily around its nuclear sites. These systems, which look impressive on paper, have shown their limitations when faced with American and Israeli electronic warfare and stealth capabilities. The strike near Bushehr confirms this: Iran’s defenses failed to prevent the attack.

Tehran had asked Moscow for S-400 systems, which are more modern and capable. Russia dragged its feet for years, anxious not to upset certain regional balances—particularly with Israel, whose air force regularly flies over Syria without any reaction from the Russian S-300 and S-400 systems deployed there. Iran’s air defense shield has a hole exactly the size of an F-35.

The Issue of Close-In Defense Systems

Protecting a nuclear site is not just a matter of missile batteries. It requires a layered defense: early detection, jamming, decoys, long-range interception, short-range interception, and passive protection. Iran possesses elements of each of these layers. But the integration of these systems—their ability to operate together, in real time, under the pressure of a coordinated attack—remains a major question mark.

U.S. and Israeli forces, on the other hand, have been waging network-centric warfare for three decades. Their capabilities for suppressing enemy air defenses are the most advanced in the world. This technological imbalance means one stark reality: if the political decision to destroy Bushehr were made, Iranian defenses could slow down the attack, but likely not prevent it.

The Social Contract on Nuclear Power Has Been Broken

Civil nuclear energy rests on an implicit contract between states, their populations, and the international community: in exchange for the risks inherent in this technology, governments guarantee that power plants will be protected, operated according to strict safety standards, and never used as weapons or targets of war. This contract has just been broken for the second time in four years.

If civilian nuclear power plants become legitimate targets—or even “acceptable collateral damage”—in 21st-century conflicts, then the entire promise of civilian nuclear power collapses. Who would agree to the construction of a reactor 50 kilometers from their home if that reactor could be bombed during the next regional conflict? The question is no longer theoretical. It is being asked, at this very moment, by every country considering developing or expanding its nuclear fleet.

The Paradox of the Energy Transition

The irony is twofold. On the one hand, the world needs more nuclear energy to meet its climate goals—this is the consensus emerging from recent COPs. On the other hand, 21st-century wars demonstrate that nuclear power plants are strategic vulnerabilities that international law is unable to protect. We cannot simultaneously promote nuclear expansion and accept that power plants are being bombed.

Countries considering building their first nuclear power plant—Saudi Arabia, Poland, Ghana, and the Philippines—are watching Bushehr with a level of attention that diplomatic statements do not reflect. If the Russian model of nuclear construction cannot guarantee the physical protection of its plants, what model can? And if no model can, the question arises: Does civil nuclear power have a future in a world where wars between major powers are once again becoming the norm?

A Saturday in April That Changed the Rules

April 4, 2026, is not the day a nuclear reactor was destroyed. It is the day the destruction of a nuclear reactor became conceivable as an act of war between major powers. It was the day the red line that everyone believed to be uncrossable turned out to be as thin as a pencil stroke on a military map.

The world got lucky that Saturday. A few hundred meters to spare. An intact reactor. No radioactive release. No cloud contaminating the Gulf. But luck is not a nuclear safety policy. And relying on luck when bombs fall near a reactor means gambling with the lives of millions of people on the accuracy of a guidance system.

What Must Change—and Probably Won’t

We need a binding international treaty prohibiting any attack on civilian nuclear facilities, with verification mechanisms and automatic sanctions. The United States, Israel, and Iran must ratify Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions. The UN Security Council should adopt a resolution establishing protection zones around every nuclear power plant in conflict zones.

None of this will happen. Not because it is technically impossible. Not because it is legally unfeasible. But because the powers that would have to agree to it are precisely those that want to retain the ability to strike these targets. International law advances only when it serves the interests of the powerful. And right now, it is in the interests of the powerful to be able to threaten their adversaries’ reactors.

There remains one truth that this Saturday in April has made impossible to ignore: we now live in a world where civilian nuclear reactors are targets of war. Not in theory. Not in a think tank scenario. In reality. On the map. Under the bombs. And no IAEA statement, no Security Council resolution, no call for restraint will change this reality as long as the bombs keep falling.

Cesium doesn’t negotiate. Strontium doesn’t sign an armistice. And the wind, when it blows from the north toward the Gulf, doesn’t ask anyone’s permission.

Signed, Jacques PJ Provost