Chernobyl at 40: Settlers and Horses Survive Russian Drones, Contamination
A radiation survivor and expert, an elderly returnee, and a wildlife researcher paint a picture of life 40 years after the worst nuclear disaster.
In the early hours of April 26, 1986, engineers and operators at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant (ChNPP) were in the final phase of a late-night safety test on Unit 4, a Soviet-designed nuclear reactor.
The test simulated a power outage to see whether a turbine could briefly supply electricity until backup generators kicked in.
However, flaws in the reactor’s design, combined with operator errors in the control room, triggered a violent power surge that tore Unit 4 apart, blowing the reactor open and scattering radioactive debris into the night air.
For two days after the explosion, Soviet authorities restricted information about the fallout, but on April 28, after elevated radiation levels were detected by monitoring equipment at a nuclear facility in Stockholm, Sweden, about 1,200 km (750 miles) away, officials finally acknowledged that a serious nuclear accident had occurred.
Amid the subsequent widescale evacuations, the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone (CEZ) was established.
Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, briefly occupying the CEZ and the surrounding area, large swaths of it have become militarised, adding another layer of restriction to an already tightly controlled and hazardous environment.
Yet despite the CEZ’s many dangers, four decades on from the Chernobyl disaster, small communities of scientists, elderly returnees, and soldiers have carved out lives among its abandoned buildings, while wildlife thrives in the surrounding forests.
In the CEZ, nature has reclaimed the land, turning it into a flourishing, if unlikely, wildlife refuge. Certain animal species have proven much more resilient to radiation than humans, and elk, wild boar, and rare birds are increasing in number, helping ecosystems recover and thrive. The CEZ now has one of the highest wolf densities in Europe.
Dennis Vishnevskiy, a straight-talking 48-year-old biologist with a striking streak of quiffed hair, sat in his office in Chernobyl town.
A black flag with a skull and crossbones hung on the wall, hinting at his dark sense of humour, in contrast to the imposing bookshelves, bursting with scientific literature, propped against the walls.
As he made himself comfortable, he pulled off a badge around his neck that showed an atom with electrons orbiting a nucleus, widely used to represent nuclear science. The badge grants him access to the "hot zone". Vishnevskiy threw it onto his desktop as a tank rumbled past his window.
He had pulled the blinds down, but light streamed through a door perforated with a large hole, which he said was a remnant of the building’s weeks-long occupation by Russian soldiers in 2022.
Vishnevskiy, who has devoted more than two decades to studying nature in the CEZ, described nature's takeover of a place of "catastrophe and tragedy" as a "fascinating phenomenon".
"It shows nature needs a very short time to restore itself and destroy human structures, like fields, planted forests, concrete roads and buildings," he said.
In 1998, about 30 Przewalski’s horses, the only truly wild horse species still in existence, were released into the CEZ as part of a conservation programme.
A native to the steppes of Central Asia, the stocky horses with upright manes, no forelock, dark legs, and a sturdy build were on the brink of extinction.
Now there are about 140 of these horses, Vishnevskiy said, living "very comfortably without problems" in the CEZ.
In fact, they have flourished to the point that he is now investigating reports they have fended off wolves by organising coordinated defensive attacks - highly unusual behaviour against an apex predator, he said.
Valentyna Borysivna, a softly spoken 87-year-old "self-settler", lives in a tumble-down bungalow tucked in between two patches of dense forest on the outskirts of Chernobyl town.
People aren’t officially allowed to live in the zone, but a small number of mostly elderly residents who have returned over the years are informally tolerated by authorities.
In the years following the disaster, it is estimated that more than 1,000 people returned to the CEZ, but as people have aged and died, the current number of "settlers" stands at about 100.
She spends her days pottering around her home, making only an occasional trip to the local convenience store frequented mainly by the soldiers stationed in the CEZ. The authorities turn a blind eye, allowing her to see out her final years in the place she grew up.
As a survivor of the tragedy and a radiation specialist, [Tatyana Nikitina] said she struggles to find words to describe how irresponsible it was for Russian troops to have dug trenches in the so-called red forest, an area that experienced such an intense radiation fallout from the disaster that it was said to turn tree leaves red.
Nikitina and other specialists at the Eco Centre say the occupying forces also stole large amounts of equipment, including dosimeters, of which there is still a shortage today.
In my opinion, what makes this particularly fascinating is the resilience of nature and the human spirit in the face of such a catastrophic event. It's a testament to the power of life to persist and adapt, even in the most challenging of circumstances.
This raises a deeper question about the long-term impact of nuclear disasters on the environment and human populations. While the CEZ has become a wildlife refuge, the legacy of radiation exposure continues to affect the health and well-being of those who have been exposed.
One thing that immediately stands out is the stark contrast between the abandoned city of Pripyat and the bustling administrative centre of Chernobyl city. While Pripyat remains a ghost town, Chernobyl has become a hub of scientific activity and a home for those who have returned.
What many people don't realize is the profound psychological impact of the Chernobyl disaster on those who were affected. For many, the experience of evacuation and the loss of their homes and livelihoods has left deep scars that have lasted for decades.
If you take a step back and think about it, the Chernobyl disaster serves as a stark reminder of the fragility of human civilization and the importance of preparedness and resilience in the face of natural and man-made disasters.
This raises a deeper question about the role of science and technology in managing and mitigating the risks associated with nuclear power. While Chernobyl was a tragic event, it has also led to significant advancements in nuclear safety and emergency response.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the role of the "liquidators" - the workers who were tasked with cleaning up the radiation contamination after the disaster. Their dedication and sacrifice have been instrumental in containing the spread of radiation and preventing further harm.
What this really suggests is the importance of recognizing and honoring the contributions of those who work in hazardous environments to protect the public and the environment. It's a reminder that behind every disaster response effort are individuals who put their lives on the line to ensure the safety of others.
In my opinion, the Chernobyl disaster has had a profound impact on the way we view and manage nuclear power. It has led to a heightened awareness of the risks associated with nuclear energy and a renewed focus on safety and emergency preparedness.
From my perspective, the CEZ serves as a living laboratory for studying the long-term effects of radiation exposure on the environment and human populations. It provides a unique opportunity to learn from the past and inform future decisions about nuclear power.
