Simeon, a fox that lives near Chernobyl, likes to eat sandwiches. He is not some strange mutant, but part of the wildlife that has rapidly recolonised the exclusion zone around the site of the nuclear disaster. The area remains a memorial and a warning, but its emotional impact should not cloud the safe use of nuclear power.
Thirty-one years ago, on April 26, reactor operators carried out a badly planned test. The RBMK type of reactor, designed in the 1950s, is the oldest still in wide use – 11 are still working in Russia, although they have had safety upgrades since 1986. The RBMK was intended to be cheap to build and simple to operate.
But it contains a number of catastrophic flaws that contributed to the Chernobyl disaster. Automatic emergency shutdown systems were disabled for the test, in which the reactor became unstable at low power. When control rods were inserted to slow the nuclear reactions, they first caused a power surge. As more heat was generated, the cooling water boiled, leading to a steam explosion which blew the reactor building open, and a fire spreading hot graphite from the core and a plume of radioisotopes.
The Chernobyl reactor had no reinforced steel and concrete containment shell, legally required at all modern plants, which provides another safety barrier. This would have doubled the cost and construction time, and the Soviet authorities believed any accident was impossible.
The fallout was compounded by secrecy about the design flaws and attempts to cover up after the disaster. These were only revealed to the world when unusual radioactivity was detected in Sweden. Rescue workers toiled heroically in improvised lead suits, tunnelling under the reactor and clearing radioactive graphite from the roof of the plant in areas so radioactive they could stay for less than a minute. Later, half a million “liquidators”, mostly military reservists from all over the Soviet Union, tried to clean up the affected area.
The vast cost of clean-up, and the loss of faith in Soviet science and the authorities, were among reasons that contributed to the break-up of the USSR just five years later. The impoverished new nations of Ukraine and Belarus were left to deal with the immense burden of relocation and medical care.
In November, a massive new steel confinement structure, funded by European countries, the US, Russia and others, was wheeled into place. It should keep the remaining nuclear materials isolated for the next century.
The exclusion zone, extending to about 30 kilometres around the plant, has become a haven for wildlife. Trees have quickly overgrown the Soviet model town of Pripyat, once home to 50,000 people. Wild horses, wolves, bears and beavers flourish without human interference, despite a somewhat higher level of birth defects. Simeon stalks the infamous “Red Forest”, whose trees downwind of the reactor were killed by intense radiation in the days after the disaster.
Today daredevil “stalkers” sneak into the zone to re-enact the computer game of that name and some settlers have returned, against government wishes, to their former villages. Satirists replaced the Soviet slogan “Let Atom be a Worker not a Soldier” on top of a building on the central square. Geiger counters crackle at certain hot spots, but it is considered safe to visit the zone or work there for controlled periods.
The UAE this year becomes the Arab World’s first user of civilian nuclear power, with a completely different reactor from the RBMK. Much has been learnt since 1986 about safe design and operations, the importance of an independent regulator and multiple backup emergency systems.
Chernobyl retains its grip on the popular imagination. A visit there is an eerie and moving experience. It should not fill us with irrational fears, but it is an imposing reminder that there are no shortcuts to safe nuclear power.
Robin Mills is the chief executive of Qamar Energy, and author of The Myth of the Oil Crisis
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