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<text id=93HT0803>
<link 93XP0239>
<title>
1987: Tried:Chernobyl Defendants
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1987 Highlights
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
July 20, 1987
SOVIET UNION
Judgment at Chernobyl
</hdr>
<body>
<p>Six defendants go on trial for causing a nuclear catastrophe
</p>
<p> Camera shutters clicked and high-intensity television lights
flooded a makeshift courtroom last week in Chernobyl, the
Ukrainian town whose name has been forever emblazoned in the
pantheon of nuclear disaster. In the blinding glare, dozens of
photographers zeroed in on six haggard-looking men seated in the
defendants box. Thus began the trial of the once obscure former
plant officials and technicians charged with primary
responsibility for history's worst nuclear accident. The April
26, 1986, mishap, in which the No. 4 reactor at the Chernobyl
power station exploded and burned out of control, killed 31
people, forced 135,000 to be evacuated and spewed poisonous
radiation across Europe and much of the rest of the world.
</p>
<p> Moscow has been at pains to make the trial a showcase for
Soviet Leader Mikhail Gorbachev's policy of glasnost (openness).
Though Chernobyl has been virtually deserted since the accident
at the power plant eleven miles away, the town has recently
bustled with new life. Workers swarmed over the squat
yellow-and-white Dom Kulturi, or Culture House, and converted
its auditorium into a 162-seat courtroom. Briefcase-bearing
lawyers and expert witnesses appeared last week on tree-lined
streets that had lately been occupied mainly by soldiers armed
with decontamination gear. A dozen foreign journalists traveled
from Kiev in a police-escorted tourist bus for the four-hour
opening session and were given front-row seats. At the
building's entrance, white-suited technicians checked everyone
for radiation contamination. Noted one official: "There is a
logic in holding the trial here at the scene of the crime, as
it were."
</p>
<p> While it may be rich in symbolism, the trial is also a
hardheaded exercise in damage control. By blaming relatively
low-level technicians for the disaster, Gorbachev hopes to
deflect responsibility once and for all from the top Soviet
leadership and the country's beleaguered nuclear power agenda.
The program continues to roll ahead, with about a dozen new
plants under construction. The court proceedings, moreover, are
not completely open. Under ground rules set by Moscow, foreign
reporters may cover only the first and last sessions of what is
expected to be a three-week trial that will hear more than 50
witnesses. So far, 67 plant workers have been fired or demoted
since the Chernobyl accident, and 27 of those have been expelled
from the Communist Party.
</p>
<p> Western observers had a close look at Soviet justice on its
best behavior as the case got under way. One by one, the
defendants gave their names, ages and work histories in reply
to questions put by Supreme Court Judge Raimond Brize, chairman
of the three-judge panel that is hearing the case. Brize paused
solemnly between each answer, as though hearing the information
for the first time. When the judge asked if anyone in the
jammed gallery had witnessed the disaster, a man rose to say
that he was scheduled to testify this week. Brize politely
asked him to leave, presumably to avoid his hearing something
that might prejudice his testimony.
</p>
<p> The court then got down to business. For three hours a clerk
spelled out the charges in daunting detail. They told of
systematic safety violations, inept supervision and deliberate
departures from plant operating rules in an effort to coax more
electricity from the nuclear-fired generators. One account
accused the defendants of failing to notify those living near
the plant of high radiation until 36 hours after the accident.
Murmurs rippled through the audience when the document charged
Anatoly Dyatlov, 57, deputy chief engineer at the time of the
accident, with sending four workers to check the reactor hours
after the disaster without warning them of the danger or
providing them with protective clothing. The four later died
of radiation poisoning.
</p>
<p> If convicted of the minutely itemized charges, as seems almost
certain under the tightly controlled Soviet legal system, five
of the defendants face sentences of up to ten years in prison.
They include Dyatlov, former Plant Director Viktor Bryukhanov,
51, and former Chief Engineer Nikolai Fomin, 50. The three men
have already been stripped of Communist Party membership and
have spent the past year in a Kiev jail, awaiting trial.
Wearing plain dark suits and shirts open at the collar, all
three looked gaunt and weary.
</p>
<p> Moscow allowed the remaining defendants to continue to work at
the plant, but they were demoted and required to notify
authorities regularly of their whereabouts. Included among them
are Alexander Kovalenko, 45, who supervised the No. 4 reactor,
and Boris Rogozhkin, 52, the boss of the midnight-to-8 a.m.
shift (the fatal explosions occurred at 1:25 a.m.). Both could
receive ten-year sentences. The sixth defendant, Government
Inspector Yuri Laushkin, 50, faces up to two years in prison for
failing to carry out his responsibilities.
</p>
<p> When asked whether they understood the case against them, the
men admitted some guilt but denied outright responsibility for
the accident. Several blamed faulty equipment or design
errors. Shielding his eyes from the TV lights, Bryukhanov
conceded that he had been partially negligent. He insisted,
however, that he was not guilty of safety violations. Dyatlov
provided the most emotional moment. Grabbing a microphone and
holding it close, he denied in a firm voice that he was directly
to blame for the death of any plant workers. Then Dyatlov
added, "With so many human deaths, I cannot say I am completely
innocent."
</p>
<p> Despite glasnost, the Soviet public had only a limited view of
the proceedings. Official press accounts stressed that the
investigative report blamed flagrant breaches of safety rules
for the accident. The nightly television news program Vremya
(Time) showed a few minutes of the opening day without
mentioning that the defendants had denied some of the
accusations. Subsequent sessions were not reported at all.
</p>
<p> Outside the courtroom, the surrounding Ukrainian countryside
remained desolate 14 months after the Chernobyl accident. Farms
were devoid of livestock, gardens were untended, and weeds grew
above the windowsills of abandoned houses. The town of Pripyat,
once home to some 50,000 workers, may never be resettled.
Nearby, 27 villages are still so heavily contaminated that
workers have abandoned cleanup efforts. Signs warned against
driving on road shoulders, which could stir up radioactive dust,
and army trucks made up most of the traffic on two-lane roads
that once were thoroughfares to markets.
</p>
<p> Little by little, though, the Soviets have been making progress.
Two hamlets just beyond the 18-mile security zone were
recently reoccupied, and families have started moving back to
16 other villages. The town of Chernobyl itself has been
declared largely decontaminated. Thousands of cleanup workers
reside in a temporary settlement optimistically named Zelony Mys
(Green Cape).
</p>
<p> Elsewhere in Europe, the nuclear catastrophe seemed to have
faded from memory. French shoppers who once used Geiger
counters to help them select produce during the height of the
radiation scare now buy fruits and vegetables without concern.
In West Germany, though, 20 institutes and eight community
groups continue to monitor samples of suspected foods. Checks
recently found excessive radiation in certain chocolates, dried
mushrooms and beef.
</p>
<p> In Eastern Europe, which suffered some of the heaviest fallout,
the public paid close attention to the trial. Newspapers and
television programs carried reports of the proceedings. The
accident has even stirred up several nascent environmental
movements. In Poland, for instance, an outlawed group called
Freedom and Peach opposes construction of a nuclear power plant,
the country's first, near Gdansk. Movement leaders have seen
the future 400 miles across the Soviet border in Chernobyl, and
they are convinced it will not work. The trial at Dom Kulturi
is unlikely to reassure them.
</p>
<p>-- By John Greenwald. Reported by Ken Olsen/Chernobyl, with
other bureaus</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>