It will be interesting when the entire story comes out, if ever, and we can 
know the total real costs of this accident/disaster.

My wife is Ukrainian and was about 8 years old when the reactor blew.  She 
lived in Sumy (east-north-east of Kiev on the Russian border) when the 
accident happened.  She has relatives that were involved in the evacuation 
who are suffering to this day.  One uncle can hardly eat, and will likely 
die from complications not directly related to his radiation exposure...and 
not be counted as a loss from the accident...just poor diet or other causes.

My wife lost her eyesight for over a week starting a few days after the 
reactor blew up.  The authorities told her that it was unrelated and not to 
worry.

Even to this day in Kiev and other parts of Ukraine, there are times when 
everyone "knows" that the levels of radioactivity are higher than normal as 
it becomes difficult to breathe...yet nothing happens...

--Randall

___________________________________________________________________________

<< Heisenberg may have slept here >>

"If I had eight hours to chop down a tree, I'd spend six sharpening my 
xe."  --Abraham Lincoln

___________________________________________________________________________

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Keith Addison" <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
To: <biofuel@sustainablelists.org>
Sent: Friday, April 28, 2006 6:00 AM
Subject: [Biofuel] Hell on Earth


http://www.commondreams.org/headlines06/0426-01.htm
Published on Wednesday, April 26, 2006 by the Guardian / UK

Hell on Earth
Chernobyl was the world's worst environmental disaster. Twenty years
on, John Vidal reports on the clean-up, the false medical records,
the communities that refused to leave and the continuing cost to
people and planet

by John Vidal



Twenty years ago today, Konstantin Tatuyan, a Ukrainian radio
engineer, was horrified when Reactor No 4 at Chernobyl nuclear power
complex exploded, caught fire, and for the next 10 days spewed the
equivalent of 400 Hiroshima bombs' worth of radioactivity across
150,000 sq miles of Europe and beyond. He was just married, and he
and his young family lived in the town of Chernobyl, just a few miles
from the reactor.

Candles burn in front of a Chernobyl monument during a remembrance
ceremony at Mitino cemetery outside of Moscow April 26, 2006.
Mourners bearing candles marked the 20th anniversary of the Chernobyl
nuclear disaster on Wednesday, honouring those who died from its
effects as leaders pledged to ensure it would never happen again.
REUTER/Thomas Peter
Like 120,000 people, the family was evacuated, but Tatuyan
volunteered to become a "liquidator", to help with the clean up,
believing that his knowledge of radiation could save not just him but
many of the 200,000 young soldiers and others who were rushed in from
all over the Soviet Union. "We felt we had to do it," he says. "Who
else, if not us, would do it?"

Tatuyan spent the next seven years in charge of 5,000 mostly young
army reservists - drafted in from Azerbaijan, Lithuania, Chechnya,
Kazakhstan and elsewhere in what was the Soviet Union - working 22
days on, eight days off, digging great holes, demolishing villages,
dumping high-level waste, monitoring hot spots, testing the water,
cleaning railway lines and roads, decontaminating ground and
travelling throughout some of the most radioactive regions of
Ukraine, Belarus and southern Russia.

He survived the worst environment disaster in history, he says,
because he knew the danger and could monitor the radioactivity that
varied from yard to yard and from village to village depending on
where the plume descended to ground level, and on where the deadly
bits of graphite from the core of the reactor were carried by the
wind.

He took precautions but he also kept meticulous - albeit illegal -
records of his own accumulating exposure. Every year the authorities
told him he was "fit for duty", and when he left Chernobyl they gave
him a letter saying he had received just under the safe lifetime dose
of radiation. He knew he had received more than five times that
amount.

What he saw in those years, he says, appalled him: young men dying
for want of the simplest information about exposure to radiation; the
wide-scale falsification of medical histories by the Soviet army and
the disappearance of people's records so the state would not have to
compensate them; the wholesale looting of evacuated houses and
abandoned churches; the haste and carelessness with which the
concrete "sarcophagus" was erected over the stricken reactor; and,
above all, the horror of seeing land almost twice the size of Britain
contaminated, with thousands of villages made uninhabitable.

It was sometimes surreal, he says. He had people beg him to leave
their homes or villages contaminated because that would guarantee
them a pension; he recalls how several carriages of radioactive
animal carcasses travelled for five years around the Soviet Union
being rejected by every state, returning to Chernobyl to be buried -
train and all. He helped fill a 4 sq mile dump with radioactive
lorries, cement mixers, trains and helicopters. He knows where the
Chernobyl bodies are buried, he says, because he was the grave
digger. "We made up the response as we went along," he says. "It was
hell."

Optimistic

Tatuyan has now retired, an invalid. He says he surely saved many
lives and made great parts of the Ukraine semi-habitable, but the
price is a heart condition, an enlarged thyroid, diabetes, pains in
the right side of his body, breathing difficulties and headaches. But
he is optimistic and, like several million people across Ukraine,
Belarus and southern Russia, says he now looks at his life in terms
of the time before and after Chernobyl. Most of his team of
liquidators are dead; the rest, like him, are ill.

Tatuyan is now 56, and his children and country are proud of him. For
him, the effect of the radiation on the environment was shocking.
"The first thing we noticed was that many miles of trees in the
forest turned red," he says. "They had to be cut down and buried. All
the animals left. The birds did not come back for four years. It was
strange not hearing them.

"In the winter of 1986/87, there was an infestation of mice because
the crops had not been harvested. So the population of foxes
increased. Most of them had rabies, and hunters were called to come
and kill them. The wild pigs came back first. Then the wolves.
Because people were evacuated, thinking they would be gone for only a
few days, they left their dogs. But the dogs then crossed with the
wolves and were not afraid of humans. It was very dangerous."

Today, the forest is moving in on the modernistic town of Pripyat,
built for the reactor workers just a few miles from the plant.
According to ecologists, weathering, decay and the migration of
radionuclides down the soil have already led to a significant
reduction of the contamination of plants and animals. Some scientists
are upbeat. Biodiversity, says the Institute of Ecology in the
Ukraine, has increased due to the removal of human influence. Moose,
wild boar, roe and red deer, beavers, wolves, badgers, otters and
lynx have all been reported in the area, and species associated with
humans - rats, house mice, sparrows and pigeons - have all declined.
Indeed, of 270 species of birds in the area, 180 are breeding.

But it is not as simple as that. Other scientists report mammals
experiencing heavy doses from internally deposited Caesium-137 and
Strontium-90 radioactive fallout. One study has found mutations in 18
generations of birds; another that radioactivity levels in trees are
still rising. Contamination has been found migrating into underground
aquifers.

Levels of Caesium-137 are expected to remain high all over Europe for
decades, says the United Nations. In parts of Germany, Austria,
Italy, Sweden, Finland, Lithuania and Poland, levels in wild game,
mushrooms, berries and fish from some lakes are well over a safe
dose, as they are in all the most affected regions of Belarus,
Ukraine and Russia. In Britain, there are still restrictions on milk
on 375 hill farms, mainly in Snowdonia and the Lake District.
Meanwhile, tens of thousands of square miles of agricultural land
still cannot be used for farming until the soil has been remediated.

Humans have fared badly. In the past few weeks four major scientific
reports have challenged the World Health Organisation (WHO), which
believes that only 50 people have died and 9,000 may over the coming
years. The reports widely accuse WHO of ignoring the evidence and
dismissing illnesses that many doctors in Ukraine, Russia and Belarus
say are worsening, especially in children of liquidators.

The charge is led by the Russian Academy of Medical Sciences, which
last week declared that 212,000 people have now died as a direct
consequence of Chernobyl. Meanwhile, a major report commissioned by
Greenpeace considers the evidence of 52 scientists and estimates the
deaths and illnesses to be 93,000 terminal cancers already and
perhaps 100,000 deaths in time. A further report for European
parliamentarians suggested 60,000 deaths. In truth no one knows.

More than 500km from Chernobyl, the peasant farmers of the village of
Boudimca, one of the most affected in Ukraine, refuse to leave,
despite the fact that many of their children are suffering from acute
radiation diseases. Every child in Boudimca has a thyroid problem -
known as the "Chernobyl necklace". The villagers are attached to the
land. "We would prefer to die in our own land rather than go
somewhere else and not survive," says Valentina Molchanovich, one of
whose daughters is in hospital in Vilne with radiation sickness. "We
understand the paradox, but we prefer to stay."

Though they live simple lives - each family has a cow, ducks and a
few chickens - they suffer all the ailments of stressed out western
executives: high blood pressure, headaches, diabetes and respiratory
problems. They know that the berries and the mushrooms they have
always lived on are contaminated. "We are just so used to living
here," says Molchanovich. "My parents lived here. We build our houses
together. We are a very tight community."

But others are, literally, dying to leave the village. Mikola
Molchanovich, a distant relation, is the father of Sasha, a 12-
year-old girl who this month was also being treated for constant
stomach aches in a children's hospital in Rivne. He says: "My wife is
in hospital giving birth, my son is in another hospital being treated
for radiation sickness. My sister has 30,000 becquerels [units of
radioactivity] in her body. Some people have 80,000, or more.

"This is our community; my parents lived and died here. We used to be
able to collect 100kg of mushrooms a day - the whole village would
collect them. Some of our cows have leukaemia. The people who moved
away from the village are healthier and better. I would go if I had
the chance. But I am trapped. I cannot sell my house because it is
contaminated. People are becoming weaker. We cannot feel it, we
cannot see it, yet we are not afraid of it.

Situation worsening

"Everyone who helped on the clean up is now ill," says Tatiana, a
senior doctor at the Dispensary for Radiological Protection at Rivne.
"The situation is worsening. In 1985, we had four lymph cancers a
year. Now we have seven times that many. We have between five and
eight people a year with rare bone cancers, when we never had any. We
expect more cancers, and ill health. One in three pregnancies here
are malformed. We are overwhelmed."

A doctor in the local region's children's hospital says: "The
children born to the people who cleaned up Chernobyl are dying very
young. We are finding Caesium and Strontium in breast milk and the
placenta. More children now have leukaemias, and there has been a
quadrupling of spina bifida cases. There are more clusters of
cancers. Children are being born with stunted growth and dwarf
torsos, without thighs. I would expect more of this over the years."

Tatuyan is now an environmentalist, convinced that nuclear power is
no answer. "I go to the forest with friends to care for the deer," he
says. Tonight, he and the other liquidators will meet and celebrate
the 20 years. "When we meet we make the same toast. We say: 'Let's
meet again alive.'"

SocietyGuardian.co.uk © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2006

###

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