CHORNOBYL: NO END IN SIGHT
I’ve been documenting the aftermath of the Chornobyl catastrophe for 3 decades, covering its post-apocalyptic world, the innocent victims, the damage in the fallout-region, disaster tourism and more.
After the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I felt that my mission was unfinished. With a grant, the help of a Kickstarter campaign, and many friends who donated (Thank You all!) and after nearly a year of negotiations, I finally was permitted to re- enter Chornobyl, now a military Zone.
Since 2019, the reactor is enclosed under a huge arc, 108 meters high and 256 across, to allow deconstruction of the ailing shelter.
The town of Pripyat, less than 3 km away from the reactor, was constructed for the plant’s personnel. Now, a chilling ghost town, its buildings bear witness to the hasty departure.
During their occupation of Chornobyl, Russian troops dug trenches and bunkers in the Red Forest, one of the most contaminated areas in the Zone. A lone dosimetrist checks the radiation in the area, now overtaken by vegetation. It is a risky job. The Zone is still littered with landmines.
Doctors, scientist, shopkeepers, and dosimetrists are among the estimated 2,000 people who work in Chernobyl on shifts lasting up to 2 weeks. They are joined by an undisclosed, large number of military personnel.
Ignoring radiation levels, several hundred elderly people had illegally returned to their village homes inside the Exclusion Zone, preferring to die on their own contaminated soil instead of a broken heart in anonymous city suburbs, but their numbers are rapidly dwindling.
Many of the half million liquidators who participated in the gargantuan clean-up efforts following the catastrophe received high doses of radiation, resulting in exposure-induced diseases. To help the innocent and most needy, international Chornobyl charities now concentrate their funding efforts in the vicinity of the Zone in Ukraine.
On my last day, I was finally granted access to the depths of reactor #4 again.
Clad in protective attire, armed with Geiger counters and dosimeters, and flanked by a team of five, I ventured into the belly of the beast. The space was dark and claustrophobic; again, we rushed through dimly lit tunnels strewn with wires, shredded metal, and other debris, and I struggled not to trip. We had to move fast. Nearly 4 decades after the accident, radiation levels are still so high that, despite my protective gear, in three locations I was only allowed to photograph for 2 minutes each – serving as a warning to human hubris, reminding us that not everything that is technologically possible is also wise.
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