Valery Alekseyevich Legasov
1st September, 1936
On the 26th of April 1986, No. 4 reactor of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant exploded. Unseen by Western eyes, the Soviets moved to start to limit the scale of the disaster and clean up the mess and, because they were Soviets, they did not fuck around. Over the next two years, what became known as the Chernobyl Liquidators went to work.
600,000 of them.
1986 was, of course, a trillion years ago, at least in terms of technology. In 1986 all I had to worry about, in darkest, deepest, West Wales were David Bowie’s alarming trousers and going to the pub to get as drunk as possible for the princely sum of £5, which you could do in them there olden days. When the government then told us that we couldn’t sell our sheep anymore, the principal income for farmers in that area, because they were all now contaminated with something called caesium-137 because something ‘in Russia’ exploded, at first, we didn’t think much about it. The restrictions wouldn’t last for long and the government was compensating the farmers, so no worries.
The restrictions were lifted in 2012.
In Ukraine, people went to work clearing up the mess armed with brooms and shovels, 90 seconds at a time each, because the technology to do it otherwise didn’t exist and if they didn’t do it, nobody would do it. If it was anywhere else in the world, probably, nobody would have done it. The risk to human life was so high that in many cases, these workers were like kamikaze pilots. But they did it, because otherwise nobody else would. In the UK or anywhere else in the west, health and safety regulators with clipboards would have sprung up like mushrooms after a storm and forbidden anyone to go within 30 miles of the place. In Ukraine, the health and safety inspectors put on rubber wellingtons and went into the death zone to take measurements, 90 seconds at a time.
The same dedication to duty, the same pig-headed obstinance that saw the Soviets simply refuse to bow down to just about anyone - Napoleon, the Nazis - or anything, saw them refuse to let the fact that they were all about to die dissuade them from what was their duty as citizens.
Firefighters, troops, police, sanitation workers (including a team of women who were tasked with collecting rotting food to stop disease spreading), hunters tasked with exterminating contaminated wild and domestic animals, air force and civil pilots (including Mykola Melnyk, a civilian helicopter pilot who placed radiation sensors on the reactor), scientists, transport workers, coal miners (who tunnelled under the molten reactor core to stop the fucking thing melting through to the water table), construction workers and even media, who went in there to record what was happening.
600,000 of them were issued special certificates recognising them as liquidators. Some 10% of them are now dead and 165,000 listed as ‘injured’, but no increase in overall mortality from cancer or non-cancer causes has been traced in them. However, a statistically significant dose-related excess mortality risk was found for both cancer and heart disease.
But they didn’t know that. All they knew was that they had to stop this thing.
The first firemen on the scene had almost no idea why they were there or what had happened. They certainly had no idea that the rubble they found strewn all over the floor when they turned up was graphite from the reactor core.
Grigorii Khmel, the driver of one of the fire engines, described arriving on scene:
“We arrived there at 10 or 15 minutes to two in the morning ... We saw graphite scattered about. Misha asked: "Is that graphite?" I kicked it away. But one of the fighters on the other truck picked it up. "It's hot," he said. The pieces of graphite were of different sizes, some big, some small enough to pick them up …. We didn't know much about radiation. Even those who worked there had no idea. There was no water left in the trucks. Misha filled a cistern and we aimed the water at the top. Then those boys who died went up to the roof—Vashchik, Kolya and others, and Volodya Pravik ... They went up the ladder ... and I never saw them again.”
One of the first experts to arrive at the site was a man who subsequently became famous in the West for his pivotal role in managing the Chernobyl disaster and his candid revelations about the flaws in the Soviet nuclear program, which he detailed in his posthumous recordings and public statements, Valery Alekseyevich Legasov.
Chernobyl was also, ultimately, to cost him his life.
Valery Legasov, born on September 1, 1936, in Tula, Russia, became a pivotal figure in nuclear science history due to his involvement in the Chernobyl disaster. As a Soviet chemist and a member of the Academy of Sciences, Legasov's career was distinguished by his scientific expertise, leadership, and an unyielding commitment to his duty. His role in the aftermath of the Chernobyl disaster would ultimately define his legacy and contribute to his tragic end.
On April 26, 1986, Reactor No. 4 at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in Pripyat, Ukraine, exploded during a late-night safety test. The explosion unleashed an unprecedented amount of radioactive material into the atmosphere, leading to one of the worst nuclear disasters in history. Within hours, the Soviet government scrambled to assess the situation and contain the fallout. Legasov, then the First Deputy Director of the Kurchatov Institute of Atomic Energy, was swiftly called to join the government commission investigating the incident. His scientific acumen and leadership experience made him a natural choice for this critical task.
Arriving at Chernobyl just hours after the explosion, Legasov faced a scene of unimaginable devastation. The reactor core was completely destroyed, and the surrounding area was heavily contaminated with radioactive isotopes. Recognizing the magnitude of the disaster, Legasov immediately understood that the Soviet Union was dealing with a catastrophe unlike anything it had faced before.
In the days following the explosion, Legasov was crucial in managing the crisis. He provided key recommendations on containing the radiation, protecting the population, and preventing further explosions. One of his primary suggestions was to use boron and sand to smother the burning reactor and absorb neutrons, thereby reducing the risk of additional nuclear reactions. This recommendation, among others, was swiftly implemented and played a vital role in stabilizing the situation.
Legasov also led the efforts to evacuate Pripyat, a town just three kilometers from the reactor. Understanding the grave danger posed by the radiation, he advocated for a swift evacuation. Although it was delayed by more than 24 hours, the evacuation ultimately saved thousands of lives.
Despite his critical role in the immediate response to the disaster, Legasov grew increasingly frustrated with the Soviet government's handling of the situation. He recognized that the disaster resulted from systemic failures within the Soviet nuclear industry, including poor reactor design, inadequate safety measures, and a culture of secrecy that stifled transparency and accountability. Legasov believed the disaster could have been prevented had these issues been addressed earlier.
Over the following months, Legasov worked tirelessly to contain the fallout and mitigate the disaster's impact on public health and the environment. He played a key role in the investigation into the explosion's causes and presented the findings to the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) in Vienna in August 1986. During his presentation, Legasov did something unheard of in the Soviet Union at that time—he spoke candidly about the shortcomings of the Soviet nuclear program. "The Chernobyl disaster was not only the result of human error but also a direct consequence of the faulty design of the reactor and the systemic problems within the Soviet nuclear industry," he stated. His honesty earned him respect internationally but also put him at odds with Soviet authorities.
Legasov’s health deteriorated as a result of his exposure to radiation at Chernobyl. He suffered from chronic fatigue, respiratory problems, and other symptoms associated with radiation sickness. Despite his declining health, he continued to work, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to prevent similar disasters in the future.
Legasov’s professional challenges were compounded by the lack of recognition and support from the Soviet government. His candid assessments of the disaster and the flaws in the Soviet nuclear industry were met with resistance and hostility from his superiors. He was increasingly isolated and marginalized within the scientific community, and his recommendations for improving nuclear safety were largely ignored. Reflecting on his situation, Legasov once confided, "I was an isolated man. I understood that the system was against me, but I could not remain silent. I had to speak the truth, no matter the consequences."
The pressure and frustration took a heavy toll on Legasov's mental health. He became deeply depressed and despondent over the lack of meaningful change in the aftermath of the disaster. On April 27, 1988, exactly two years after the Chernobyl explosion, Valery Legasov took his own life. He was found dead in his Moscow apartment, having hanged himself.
Legasov's suicide sent shockwaves through the scientific community and the Soviet government. In his suicide note and in tapes he recorded before his death, Legasov expressed his deep disappointment with the Soviet leadership and his belief that the lessons of Chernobyl were being ignored. "I can no longer fight alone," he wrote in his final note. "My voice is but a whisper in a sea of silence." He lamented the lack of accountability and the failure to implement the necessary reforms to prevent future disasters. His death was a tragic reminder of the personal toll that the Chernobyl disaster had taken on those who had worked to contain it.
In the years following Legasov’s death, his role in the Chernobyl disaster was increasingly recognized, both in Russia and internationally. He was posthumously awarded the title of Hero of the Russian Federation in 1996, an honor that acknowledged his contributions to the containment of the disaster and his courage in speaking out against the flaws in the Soviet nuclear industry.
Legasov’s legacy is one of both tragedy and heroism. He was a man of immense scientific talent and integrity, who dedicated his life to the pursuit of knowledge and the protection of public safety. His work during the Chernobyl disaster saved countless lives, and his warnings about the dangers of nuclear power remain relevant to this day. Yet his life was also marked by profound frustration and disillusionment, as he struggled against a system that was resistant to change and accountability.
The HBO miniseries Chernobyl (2019) brought renewed attention to Legasov’s role in the disaster, portraying him as a principled and determined scientist who fought to uncover the truth about Chernobyl. The series highlighted the personal and professional challenges Legasov faced, and it introduced his story to a global audience, ensuring that his contributions would not be forgotten.
Valery Legasov’s life and death are a stark reminder of the human cost of the Chernobyl disaster. His bravery in the face of immense challenges and his unwavering commitment to the truth stand as a testament to the importance of scientific integrity and the need for transparency and accountability in the management of nuclear technology. As the world continues to grapple with the legacy of Chernobyl, Legasov’s story serves as a powerful lesson in the consequences of ignoring the warnings of those who know the risks best.
His final words on the recorded tapes offer a haunting reflection on the burden he bore: "What I did, I did for the people and for the country. But the truth must be told, and I could not be a silent accomplice to a system that only perpetuated lies."