The footsteps of the soldiers in the snow and the whisper of the falling flakes, fat and juicy like jelly beans, is almost the only thing that is heard on the dark roads of the Chernobyl exclusion area. With a radiation meter pinned to the lapel of their camouflage suit and their rifles slung over their shoulders, a small Ukrainian border guard patrol advances on foot through dilapidated villages, bleak roads and hastily abandoned houses after the power plant accident. in 1986. The area surrounding the facility—with the sinister sarcophagus lining Reactor 4, whose explosion caused the biggest nuclear catastrophe in history—is still one of the most polluted areas in the world. And in addition to being a strategic point for Ukraine, Chernobyl is on the shortest route in case of an invasion from Belarus. “This is Ukrainian soil and for national security we must watch and protect it,” remarks Oleh, a blue-eyed recruit with a freckled baby face. He is 20 years old and is doing military service.
Like Oleh, none of the three members of the patrol that EL PAÍS accompanies through the gloomy exclusion zone had been born when the Chernobyl tragedy shook the world. Now, with the concentration of Russian troops around the eastern flank of Ukraine, which has raised the alarm of the United States and NATO about another possible Russian invasion, and the development on Belarusian territory of intense military maneuvers by forces from Minsk and Moscow that will launch their massive second phase this Thursday, the Government of Volodímir Zelenski is also trying to reinforce the strategic points of its border with Belarus, until recently quite uncovered. And that includes the so-called Chernobyl exclusion zone, a perimeter of about 30 kilometers around the plant, hastily decreed by the Soviet authorities after the accident to try to isolate the lethality of the radioactive particles that still they are in the ground and that will make much of that land uninhabitable for hundreds of years, says Ludmyla Chehonya, from the Department of Tourism.
Senior officials of the Russian Army, including the Chief of the General Staff, Valeri Gerasimov, arrived in Belarus on Wednesday, in another display of military muscle exhibited by the Kremlin. The country ruled with an iron fist by authoritarian leader Aleksandr Lukashenko, increasingly dependent on Moscow, is only a dozen kilometers from the sarcophagus of reactor 4. Now, new border guard patrols and district police have been added. to the troops who were already guarding those 2,600 square kilometers, known as The Zone. It is a security issue, Defense Minister Oleksii Reznikov commented last Friday, who despite constant warnings from Washington insists that there is no information indicating that Russia is going to launch an attack soon. That Chernobyl is a possible incursion route from the north does not mean that it is the most likely, the minister insisted.
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The entire border area with Belarus, which also has its own exclusion zone, is rich in forest and swampy terrain, explains Mykola Ustimenko, of the Border Guard in the Orane area, which makes it difficult to imagine an incursion from there and a scenario in which Chernobyl becomes a great trench. Ustimenko, 35, brushes the snow off his spotless uniform as he stresses that the number of patrols guarding The Zone is secret, though he insists they are “enough.” In case of invasion, says the military, “the border guards will defend the perimeter and hold off the offensive until the arrival of the regular Army, combat reserves with adequate weapons and equipment, which are deployed very close.”
In La Zona everything has a timeless air. In one of the villages near the Veresnya river, weeds enter the houses and a tree has moved until it breaks through the wooden floor that its inhabitants once walked on. Small tracks of some animal can be seen in the snow and a noise cuts through the dense silence. “Maybe it’s a dog. Or the wind,” says recruit Oleh. After the accident, in just a few hours and without telling them where they would go and that they would probably never return, the Soviet authorities evacuated some 91,000 people. Some left with what they were wearing and never came back.
A catastrophe that lives on
Life in that town and in many others changed forever on April 26, 1986 at 1:27 in the morning. At that time, reactor number 4 of the Chernobyl power plant in the former Soviet Union – today Ukraine – exploded. The plant burned for 10 days and the invisible particles it released to the surface contaminated 142,000 square kilometers in northern Ukraine, southern Belarus and the Russian region of Bryansk. The radioactive fallout reached even further. The consequences of the catastrophe still remain.
The tragedy has caused thousands of deaths since then. In the year 2000, the UN Scientific Committee on the Effects of Nuclear Radiation reported 30 deaths in its first study on the Chernobyl accident: workers, engineers, policemen or firefighters who formed the body of the so-called liquidators, responsible for extinguishing the fire and stopping its consequences. Another report prepared five years later by experts from the UN, the World Health Organization and the International Atomic Energy Agency put the fatalities at 4,000; and stressed that in all likelihood another 5,000 would die five years later from radiation-related illnesses.
The leader of the patrol, Konstantin, states that guarding The Zone is not dangerous because each shift and each soldier is closely controlled. In addition, after each service, a radioactivity analysis is passed in a facility that still exudes the aroma of Soviet times. “We frequently check the radiation level with the meters we carry and if it exceeds the permissible limits, the detachment leaves the area as quickly as possible and covers it from a safe distance,” says the 21-year-old. That coverage includes surveillance with drones like the one Andriy manages, with which the border guard supports patrols on the ground and observes from the air areas too polluted to travel on foot or by car.
After the accident, the rest of the reactors continued in operation for some years, until the plant was closed. But the sarcophagus and the facilities require surveillance and maintenance, and the workers who take care of it live in the city of Chernobyl, restricted to those essential services. A couple of years ago, in addition, the Ukrainian government launched a program of tourist visits to the area, which stood out after the premiere of the series Chernobylof HBO, and that offers tours organized within a closed circuit.
Beyond those fans of disaster tourism, access is prohibited. Although a few people, mostly very old, returned to their homes a few years after the tragedy and are still there, they have not wanted to leave them, explains Chehonya, from the Department of Tourism. Until recently, the so-called marauderswho came to steal scrap metal to later sell it, illegal mushroom pickers and the occasional fool who tried to venture off the tourist circuit out of curiosity were the greatest danger in the contaminated area.
Although the need to strengthen the security of the Chernobyl zone may seem strange to some – who would want to cross a territory contaminated by radiation? – the entire area is considered part of the critical infrastructure of the State and a problem area that requires more control, explains Sergei Krivonós, a general in the reserve and deputy secretary of the National Security Council of Ukraine until 2020, on the other end of the phone. In addition, the Ukrainian government has defined another 700 objects of critical importance – some of them dangerous – that need strengthened security , points out the former undersecretary of the National Security Council. “The question is how far we can cover all the objects. It is necessary to establish priorities: firstly, to protect those who can harm the State if they are out of service”, says Krivonós.
In the once splendid city of Pripyat, once boasted of being the crowning glory of Soviet developmentalism and the newest and most glamorous in the USSR, the abandoned and gray buildings cause immense discomfort. The huge and rusty Ferris wheel and a metal enclosure with yellowish bumper cars, the heart of what was going to be a new amusement park, has remained as the shell of what could have been and it was not in the city that then had 43,000 inhabitants. The accident occurred on April 26, so the inauguration of that playground, on May 1, Labor Day and a great holiday in the USSR, never took place. Through the deserted streets, while the sun begins to hide, a group of soldiers has been deployed. Some watch in solemn silence. A couple take photos with their cell phones before hurrying along. Military maneuvers are being prepared for the next day with other Ukrainian security forces to which senior officials, diplomats from various countries and the press are invited. It almost coincides with the 52nd anniversary of the founding of Pripyat.
Post-apocalyptic Pripyat is, perhaps together with the sarcophagus of reactor 4, the most famous point in the entire area and has become the symbol of tragedy. But all of Chernobyl emanates a lesson that sounds like a reality that is still possible. The one of lies, concealment, propaganda and fake news. In this case, those of the USSR apparatus, which silenced the catastrophe for days to the world and sought at all costs to cover up the problem. The consequences of the event, however, were tremendous for the Soviet coffers, already very depleted. Some believe the disaster hastened the collapse of the USSR, which fell apart in 1991 but whose foundations sometimes seem to continue to crumble to this day.
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