United States, who slipped into a coma in early 2018 and regained consciousness in 2025, one of your first questions might well be: Whatever happened with North Korea? When you last remembered, it felt like the United States was teetering on the edge of nuclear war with the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK). What became of the threats, the missile tests, the bluster from Washington and Pyongyang alike?
In early 2018, tensions were sky-high. You had been told that the North Korean regime was irrational and reckless—run by a dictator obsessed with nuclear weapons and willing to risk global annihilation. North Korea’s sixth nuclear test in September 2017—claiming to be a thermonuclear device—was its most powerful yet. The regime had also successfully test-launched intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) that could theoretically reach the continental United States. Intelligence analysts and military planners were on edge. Politicians and pundits warned of imminent catastrophe.
President Donald Trump had declared in early 2017 that North Korea’s pursuit of nuclear weapons “won’t happen.” He promised any threats would be met with “fire and fury like the world has never seen.” His national security adviser publicly warned that a North Korea with nuclear-tipped ICBMs was “intolerable.”
A limited military strike—often euphemistically described as a “bloody nose”—was reportedly under serious consideration in Washington. The hope was that a sharp but contained attack might compel Kim Jong-un to abandon his weapons program. But critics warned that any strike could quickly escalate into full-scale war, possibly costing hundreds of thousands of lives in South Korea alone.
Then the world changed, but not the way anyone expected.
Fast forward to 2025: no war has broken out. The Korean Peninsula has not turned into a radioactive wasteland. And yet, peace remains elusive.
Despite what some may have hoped in 2018, the crisis was not “solved.” Pyongyang did not denuclearize. In fact, the North Korean nuclear arsenal has grown significantly, both in number and sophistication. Its missile program has expanded to include hypersonic glide vehicles, submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs), and the solid-fueled Hwasong-19, reportedly capable of carrying multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles (MIRVs) to any location in the continental United States.
In 2022, North Korea enshrined in law the right to launch pre-emptive nuclear strikes under certain conditions—codifying a threat it had long made informally. More recently, Pyongyang has declared the South Korean population not as “fellow Koreans” but as enemies, officially abandoning its decades-long call for peaceful reunification. As of 2025, the two Koreas are arguably further apart—politically, diplomatically, and ideologically—than at any point since the armistice in 1953.
Worse still, North Korea is now supporting Russia’s war of aggression in Ukraine, reportedly supplying both munitions and troops. In return, analysts believe Pyongyang is receiving Russian technical assistance to enhance its missile guidance systems and submarine capabilities—a worrisome development for U.S. and allied military planners.
Despite this escalating danger, the North Korea issue seems to have vanished from the forefront of American political discourse. Why?
Two major explanations stand out.
First, governments—especially in democratic societies—have an outsized ability to set the national conversation. In matters of foreign policy, which most voters follow only loosely, this agenda-setting power is particularly strong. When administrations choose to emphasize an issue, it tends to dominate news cycles and public concern. When they ignore it, interest often fades.
This was evident even during the Trump presidency. In 2017, Trump ramped up fear around North Korea to position himself as a strongman leader willing to stand up to rogue states. Then, after his surprise 2018 summit with Kim Jong-un in Singapore, Trump abruptly pivoted. Declaring “There is no longer a Nuclear Threat from North Korea,” he tried to rebrand himself as a diplomatic peacemaker. Even after the collapse of the second summit in Hanoi in 2019, Trump maintained that the problem was under control because Pyongyang had ceased long-range missile tests and, more importantly, because he and Kim had a “very good relationship.”
The Biden Administration, which came into office in 2021, largely continued this posture of benign neglect. Despite early offers to engage in talks “anytime, anywhere,” Biden’s team insisted that negotiations must focus on denuclearization, a nonstarter for Kim. When Pyongyang did not respond, the administration shifted focus to bolstering trilateral cooperation with South Korea and Japan. North Korea, it seemed, had become a legacy problem—important, but not urgent.
Second, and more significantly, Washington has discovered—perhaps reluctantly—that it can live with a nuclear-armed North Korea.
That realization was quietly transformative.
For all the apocalyptic warnings of 2017, North Korea has not become dramatically more aggressive since achieving nuclear deterrence. There have been no major deadly incidents like the 2010 sinking of the South Korean corvette Cheonan or the shelling of Yeonpyeong Island.
While Pyongyang still issues threats and conducts military drills, it has not used its nuclear weapons to extract territorial concessions, demand tribute, or coerce Seoul or Tokyo into altering their domestic or foreign policies. In fact, many analysts argue that North Korea’s nuclear posture has been surprisingly defensive—designed to deter regime change rather than to pursue offensive war.
In this sense, Kim Jong-un’s regime may not be as irrational as once thought. Like other nuclear powers before it, North Korea seems primarily interested in survival. Kim has even expressed a desire to be seen as a “responsible” nuclear power—although that label remains deeply contested.
As one U.S. official put it anonymously in 2023, “The worst-case scenarios haven’t materialized. Deterrence is holding, and the cost of trying to change the status quo is just too high.”
What has changed the equation, however, is North Korea’s growing relationship with Russia.
As the war in Ukraine dragged into its third year, Moscow found itself increasingly isolated and desperate for allies. Pyongyang, always eager to challenge the U.S.-led global order, seized the opportunity. Shipments of artillery shells, rockets, and even engineers reportedly began flowing to the Russian military. Some unconfirmed intelligence even suggests DPRK troops have been quietly deployed in occupied eastern Ukraine in support roles.
In return, Russia appears to be sharing advanced missile technology and possibly submarine quieting techniques—both long-standing weaknesses in the North Korean arsenal. Satellite imagery has shown increased activity at DPRK naval facilities, and several test launches of new SLBMs have taken place under suspiciously advanced configurations.
This symbiotic partnership has raised alarms not only in Washington but also in Seoul and Tokyo. A better-armed North Korea with more accurate missiles and stealthier submarines presents an increasingly difficult threat to deter and defend against.
With Donald Trump returning to the White House in 2025, the future of U.S. policy on North Korea is uncertain. While Trump has expressed interest in rekindling summit diplomacy with Kim Jong-un, insiders suggest that his administration is far more focused on China—a “peer competitor” seen as a greater long-term threat.
Moreover, the Trump team may feel that the North Korea issue has been “managed” for now. There is little domestic political incentive to re-open a difficult diplomatic file that lacks clear payoff. Trump still touts his 2018 summit as a diplomatic victory and may seek a repeat photo-op rather than serious arms control talks.
Some voices, however, are raising the alarm.
Chad O’Carroll of NK Pro, a respected Korea-watcher, warns that “Washington is asleep at the wheel even as the DPRK advances its nuclear program and deepens military ties with Russia.” He argues that passivity today could lead to crisis tomorrow, especially if North Korea decides to break with decades of deterrence behavior.
Others fear that future provocations—perhaps a test of a nuclear-armed SLBM or a demonstration of a hypersonic missile over Japanese airspace—could force a dangerous confrontation.
Despite the relative calm, the situation on the Korean Peninsula remains extraordinarily fragile. A single miscalculation, technical malfunction, or escalation could trigger disaster. And while both Washington and Pyongyang have grown accustomed to their uneasy stalemate, the risks are higher now than ever.
North Korea is no longer a poor, isolated nation bluffing with fake missiles and crude bombs. It is a nuclear state with a growing, modern arsenal. It is forging strategic alliances with other U.S. adversaries. It is ruled by a regime that has abandoned peaceful reunification in favor of militarized hostility.
And yet, the U.S. has few good options. Military action is unthinkable. Sanctions have largely failed. Diplomacy remains frozen.
The best-case scenario, for now, is what some call “tense stability”—a cold peace enforced by the threat of mutual destruction. It is not ideal. It is not safe. But it may be the only realistic path forward, at least until the geopolitical winds shift again.
In the meantime, America, freshly awakened from its hypothetical coma, might find that one of its greatest foreign policy challenges hasn’t gone away—it has simply been shelved, waiting in the shadows.
