For a long time, I noticed something strange about conversations on climate and nuclear energy. Even people who are deeply worried about global warming often hesitate when nuclear comes up. They lower their voice slightly. They qualify their support. They say things like, “I’m not against it, but…”
That hesitation is real. I’ve felt it myself.
Nuclear accidents leave a psychological mark that doesn’t fade easily. The word “waste” sounds permanent. Construction costs spiral into headlines. Even people who believe we need clean energy sometimes wish the solution felt safer, simpler, more emotionally comfortable.
But climate change has a way of narrowing what feels comfortable. Every year we delay cutting fossil fuel use makes the problem harder to solve.
Summers feel hotter. Electricity demand spikes during heatwaves. Grids strain in ways they didn’t a decade ago. At the same time, we are plugging more into the system, electric cars, heat pumps, factories trying to decarbonize, data centers that never sleep. We are building a world that runs more and more on electricity, not less.
That is where the tension becomes unavoidable.
Nuclear power is not renewable in the way solar and wind are. It does not feel light or decentralized. It is large, complex, and heavily regulated. Yet once operating, it produces enormous amounts of electricity with almost no direct carbon emissions. Globally, nuclear generates about 10% of all electricity and roughly a quarter of the world’s low-carbon power. If that disappears without something equally clean and equally reliable replacing it, fossil fuels usually fill the gap. That isn’t ideology. It’s how grids work.
Solar and wind are expanding rapidly, and they must continue to. Their growth has been one of the most encouraging climate developments of the past decade. But they are weather-dependent. When the sun sets or the wind slows, demand does not politely wait. Energy experts call the solution “firm power,” electricity you can count on at any time, even when the weather isn’t cooperating.
Right now, in many countries, fossil fuels provide that reliability.
That’s what makes the debate uncomfortable. If we phase out nuclear before we have fully built out storage or other stable low-carbon alternatives, gas and coal plants tend to stay online longer. They run more hours to cover the gaps. Emissions fall more slowly. The math tightens.
When I look at what countries are actually doing, I see this tension playing out in real time. China is building nuclear and solar simultaneously. India is expanding both as demand grows. France is renewing its nuclear fleet to preserve one of the lowest-carbon electricity systems in the world. Poland is constructing its first nuclear plant as it tries to move away from coal while keeping the lights on through long, cold winters.
None of these decisions look like celebration. They look like calculation.
I don’t see governments falling in love with nuclear. I see them accepting it, sometimes reluctantly, because climate risk is no longer abstract. Nuclear risk is serious, but it is regulated, engineered, and geographically contained. Climate risk is systemic and cumulative. It touches everything.
That doesn’t mean nuclear gets a free pass. Safety standards must remain uncompromising. Projects must be delivered more efficiently than they have been in the past. Waste solutions must be handled transparently and responsibly. Supporting nuclear while ignoring its weaknesses would be unserious.
But rejecting it outright while demanding rapid decarbonization feels equally inconsistent.
Reluctant acceptance may not be inspiring. It may never feel emotionally satisfying. Yet energy systems are built on physics, not preference. As electricity becomes the backbone of modern life, the real question is simple: are we willing to remove one of the few proven sources of large-scale, firm, low-carbon power while the climate clock is still ticking?
For me, that question doesn’t eliminate the hesitation. It just makes the answer clearer.