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The 'liquidator': He cleaned up after Chernobyl — and is paying the price

 

 

KIEV, Ukraine — Sergey Krasilnikov, 65, was one of about 800,000 soldiers, firefighters, engineers, miners, farmers and volunteers tasked with taking part in the Chernobyl cleanup operation after the accident. They were known as "liquidators." Most were between the ages of 18 and 22 and came from the three worst-affected countries: Belarus, Russia and Ukraine, all then part of the Soviet Union. They were exposed to various radiation levels, and 20% may have died by 2005 while in their 30s and 40s, according to the Chernobyl Foundation, which raises funds for Chernobyl-related projects. It is not known how many are still alive, but more than 90% of the liquidators had radiation-induced health problems, such as thyroid cancer, heart disease and respiratory and digestive problems, although many scientists say not all these health problems can be attributed to radiation.   

Krasilnikov had a stroke in 1994, leaving him paralyzed on the left side of his body and needing a wheelchair. He lives in a cramped, two-room apartment on the fifth floor of a building with no elevator or lights in the hallway on the outskirts of Kiev. He lives there with his wife, Nataliya, and two cats, Zeus and Julia Volodymyoiune.  

Hanging on the walls are about two dozen framed medals and photographs of Krasilnikov with dignitaries and at various ceremonies. In some he is in the wheelchair, others not. One picture shows him in his wheelchair and dressed in suit and tie, on the roof of an abandoned building inside the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, the closed area around the nuclear plant. A few years ago, he went on a hunger strike for 53 days to protest what he says is a lack of support from the government for people like him. He runs a group that raises money for invalid liquidators in his local area. It has 1,586 members.  

 

 

Here are his words, edited and condensed for clarity:

 

Before Chernobyl, liquidation always meant to break something, to eliminate, to destroy. After the accident, the word received a new life and meaning. A liquidator became a person who rescued people and living things. A person who creates. We were proud of this, and put our souls into the work.

But now it’s clear to me that we belonged to a generation that was thrown away. We were brought up in the spirit that you needed to give your life for your country, and that the first thing you should think about is the motherland. We all had great zeal to do something to overcome this disaster. When it happened, there was a great rush to go help. Nobody realized the effects of radiation because it has no smell. It is invisible. People did not have any protection. 

 

Over time, we went from being heroes to outcasts. I can tell you, we never thought that giving up our own health and protecting the Ukrainian people would eventually lead to us becoming irrelevant both to the state and to the people. That one day no one would take any interest in us.    

My job was to help organize the evacuation of the city of Pripyat. It started on the day after the disaster at 2 p.m. The buses were coming from all over Ukraine, and I had to tell them where to go. There were about 1,200 to 1,500 buses, plus the same number of trucks and military vehicles. It was a lot. I recall that when I arrived in Pripyat, a few select units of the military were dressed in special protective suits and had respirators. At the same time, local people were just in their ordinary clothes. I remember it was a very hot day. ‘Shut off your water and gas. Please close the windows. This is a temporary evacuation.’ This was announced repeatedly, at one-minute intervals, over a loudspeaker. 

People were in a panic, and most of them were women and children. I think people realized they were never going to come back home again to Pripyat so they tried to take as many things with them as they could carry — toys and bedsheets and everything imaginable — but a lot of it was confiscated at the checkpoints. They were evacuated to nearby cities and towns. There was absolute confusion. 

We were working as part of the emergency response so we had portable radios. We knew what was happening right away. Everyone was communicating on open channels. Helicopters were circling the area constantly. There were rumors the explosion had caused evacuations within a radius of 310 miles of Chernobyl. I thought to myself: Kiev is only 43½ miles away. It felt like a funeral. Women were crying and hugging their children. It’s impossible to describe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I returned to Pripyat about a year after the catastrophe to help build a wire fence around the city. It was a completely different atmosphere. The authorities were fussy, but it was calmer. The fence has since been dismantled. Later, I was asked to help with the reconstruction of the power plant at Chernobyl. I worked as a foreman. Then in 1994, I got sick. After my medical assessment they said my stroke and paralysis were a direct result of my work as a liquidator. ‘The loss of health is 100%,’ the doctor said. Yet it still took a long time before I got any disability assistance from the government, and we lived hand-to-mouth and had to sell a lot things. And do you know what they gave me for all this health damage in the end? Enough to buy about 700 grams of butter (about 1½ pounds).That’s how the state appraised the damage to my health from Chernobyl. They gave me a pension eventually. I now get about 5,000 Ukrainian hryvnia ($200) a month. Of this, I pay 3,500 (about $136) each month to the hospital for treatment.       

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let me tell you: In 1986, I was 35 and was studying at the Kiev Institute of Civil Engineering. I imagined my future would look different to how it is now. The occupation of a builder was respected. I was expecting to work in the building industry in Kiev. For the last 30 years, I have had to bury a lot of the members of our community. We are always trying to raise money for serious and expensive surgeries. I know what the attitude of the state is: They don’t care, because they don’t need us any longer.

 

Had I known with what indifference and scorn the state would treat me now, I may not have agreed to be a liquidator. Nevertheless, knowing what I know now, I would probably act in a similar way. I had family in Kiev. I wasn’t saving state bureaucrats, I was saving the ordinary people of this country. I was protecting the people of Ukraine from the spreading of nuclear poison. In this way, I built the church in miniature. I wish I had lived a different life, but I would not live the one I was given differently. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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