EDITORIAL: The Titanic legacy of Chornobyl (04/26/98)

EDITORIAL

The Titanic legacy of Chornobyl

As we approach the 12th anniversary of the Chornobyl nuclear accident, many of us are left to wonder how long we can expect the world to remain attentive to history's worst commercial nuclear disaster.

Over the past year, both Hollywood and Broadway have lavished their attention on an 80-year-old tragedy that has little bearing on the present. The well-known story of the sinking of the Titanic has captivated movie audiences from coast to coast, and public fascination with the disaster shows no sign of waning.

At the same time, at the United Nations and the G-7 summits, we hear diplomats and humanitarian organizations complaining of "donor fatigue" and a growing resistance to the pleas for help coming from Ukraine and Belarus - the two states most affected by Chornobyl. The most recent U.N. pledging conferences designed to raise the millions of dollars needed to stabilize the crumbling Chornobyl sarcophagus have come up short, and it is becoming increasingly obvious that the G-7 and smaller affluent nations have no intention of meeting their financial commitment.

To some degree, the International Atomic Energy Agency has succeeded in its attempts to downplay the seriousness of the original accident and the imminent danger that Chornobyl continues to pose for the surrounding communities and for the global environment. Research efforts have stalled and what little research is being carried out is likely to ignore many of the excess cancers, immune deficiencies, birth defects and other health problems caused by the disaster. In a recent interview Dr. Keith Baverstock of the World Health Organization strongly criticized the international community for abandoning its responsibility toward the Chornobyl survivors and for failing to investigate reasonable claims of severe health effects in the region. In fairness to the research community, it should be noted that the challenge of tracking the millions exposed to high levels of radiation requires tremendous effort and strategic acumen. It will take enormous resources to save or protect Chornobyl victims scattered through the vast human ocean of the former Soviet Union.

Human nature is full of quirks and oddities. We find it much easier to wring our hands over tragedies that occurred a century ago - tragedies we can do nothing about - than to confront an ongoing crisis that requires our immediate attention. We find it easy to express outrage about the failure of lifeboats to pick up survivors in the North Atlantic, but we are willing to write off entire future generations of Ukrainians and others whose gene pool has been contaminated by radioactive isotopes.

How much longer must we keep the glare of world attention focused on Chornobyl? The measure of time can be calculated based on the duration of the most dangerous isotopes scattered through the Ukrainian, Belarusian and Russian countryside. The half-life of Cesium 137 is roughly 28 years, but other isotopes released by Chornobyl will remain radioactive for thousands of years. The burden of responsibility that the nuclear age has imposed on the world extends even beyond the most forward-looking vision of the Iroquois Indians, who taught their communities that they must consider the impact of their decisions on at least the next seven generations.

The Chornobyl disaster is still unfolding. Its human toll is difficult to calculate. Even some of the most conservative scientists now estimate that in the coming years Chornobyl will cause between 17,000 and 50,000 fatal cancers. We can expect many casualties beyond those stricken with cancer. Life expectancy in Ukraine and Belarus has plummeted; for the sixth year in a row, the U.N. Office on Population has expressed concern about the sharp decline in population in both countries. Last year, there were 700,000 more deaths than live births in Ukraine, and peer-reviewed studies by Japanese and American health experts are now showing that Chornobyl has been a major factor in doubling birth defects and exacerbating infant mortality.

We cannot delude ourselves into believing that "somehow" the truth about Chornobyl will be revealed in time to save yesterday's children, evacuees and liquidators who will be stricken over the next 10 to 15 years. Fifty years from now, it is likely the International Atomic Energy Agency will still be claiming that only 34 people died as a result of the Chornobyl disaster.

For all the moral cowardice that stalks the planet, Chornobyl was also a catalyst for breathtaking acts of courage and countless, heartwarming gestures of kindness. Hundreds of thousands of liquidators (soldiers, miners, construction workers) plunged themselves into potentially deadly radiation to build the sarcophagus and to help shield the public from even greater exposure; hundreds of thousands of ordinary citizens defied Soviet authority and marched through the streets of Kyiv and Lviv and Minsk, demanding that those responsible for the disaster be brought to justice.

We in the diaspora can take heart, knowing that some of our efforts to aid the Chornobyl victims have led to meaningful results. In Lviv, researchers trained by the Children of Chornobyl Relief Fund, using a flow cytometer procured through American donors have made astounding new discoveries that may help save the lives of leukemic children, not only in Ukraine, but throughout the world. The work of the Zhinocha Hromada in Ukraine and the Illinois-based Ukrainian Environmental Health Project as well as the CCRF and Monsanto have pioneered new programs to reduce infant mortality, prevent the spread of AIDS, and strengthen women's and children's health through public education and advanced technology.

Chornobyl must remain a catalyst. Like the sarcophagus, it is a permanent remainder of the foul legacy of communism, driven by logic as twisted as the melted core of the reactor itself. It may take another grassroots movement of mothers carrying their maimed and dying children through the streets to expose the continuing legacy of Chornobyl. It may require radical action to force the governments in this region and international agencies to meet their responsibility to provide for human needs.

If the tragedies of the Titanic and Chornobyl have taught us anything, they have taught us the extent to which hubris can blind us to our own recklessness. Hubris is that ancient vice of blasphemy by which mere mortals delude themselves into believing that the fruits of their labor can be unsinkable or indestructible. As the world enters the next millennium, it is time we faced the reality that we are not gods, that our technology will always be flawed and that we must take responsibility for the terrible destruction our human arrogance has wrought.

This guest editorial was written by Alex Kuzma, director of development for the Children of Chornobyl Relief Fund.