The specter of nuclear war cast a long shadow over the 20th century, serving as a reminder of humanity's capacity for self-destruction. Now, as the world seems to shrug off Russia’s nuclear saber-rattling against Ukraine — and by extension, all of humanity — a haunting question calls for an answer: Have we grown dangerously numb to the threat of a looming apocalypse?
Ukrainian historian Serhii Plokhy’s book “Chernobyl Roulette” chronicles the 35-day occupation of the Chornobyl nuclear plant at the start of the full-scale war, highlighting the harrowing day-to-day experiences that the nearly 300 Ukrainians — firefighters, operators, and members of the National Guard — who were stationed there had to endure. (Plokhy, somewhat perplexingly, distinguishes between the Ukrainian "Chornobyl" and the Russian "Chernobyl,” in the book, using Ukrainian spelling to refer to the territory under independent Ukraine, while the latter refers to the nuclear plant and the site of the infamous disaster during Soviet times).
Among the recollections from plant workers are instances such as having to persuade the occupying Russian soldiers not to disturb the 1986 disaster site in their misguided quest for “proof” of hidden nuclear weapons. They believed that there were hidden “American laboratories allegedly working on the production of Ukrainian nuclear weapons,” as Plokhy writes.
After an initial search turned up nothing, the Russian soldiers reportedly considered digging into the mounds erected over the debris from the 1986 nuclear disaster. The plant workers convinced them otherwise, warning that doing so would only put the Russian soldiers at risk of nuclear contamination. As Plokhy puts it, the Russian soldiers realized upon listening to them they “would be digging their own radioactive grave.”
Despite such tense standoffs during the occupation, the bravery and quick thinking of Chornobyl's workers helped prevent another nuclear disaster. Yet, nearly three years later, Russia continues its nuclear blackmail. The gap between those who rely on logic and those driven by blind propaganda has only widened, leaving little room for persuasion or reason. On Feb. 14, Russia launched a long-range Shahed drone at the nuclear plant, breaking through the “sarcophagus,” the protective structure covering the remnants of reactor number four, which exploded in the 1986 disaster.
In the most extensively documented war in modern history, where each passing week unveils a new, seemingly unimaginable tragedy that risks overshadowing the last, a book that chronicles a decisive moment of the war is not only valuable but essential. The erasure of history, after all, is a key force driving Russian soldiers to take up arms and invade a neighboring country, fueling Russian leader Vladimir Putin’s delusional claims that Russia’s mission is to "denazify" Ukraine.
That ignorance was laid bare during the occupation of Chornobyl when Russian soldiers, upon seizing the nuclear plant, demanded that leadership surrender "Banderites" and members of the Right Sector, a coalition of ultra-nationalist groups that have come to be seen as a sort of Ukrainian boogeyman in Russian propaganda. Plokhy describes in the book how Valentyn Heiko, a night shift foreman at the station, inquired about their criteria for identifying such individuals and was met with silence; he boldly suggested they start with him.
Plokhy also writes how Heiko was among those who dealt with Russian forces directly during the occupation, striving to negotiate conditions that would allow the Ukrainian staff at the plant to continue their work undisturbed. Defiant yet pragmatic, Heiko told the Russian soldiers at the start of the occupation, “Even though I detest you, I swore before the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to uphold nuclear security,” and emphasized that Chornobyl was not just any nuclear facility, but a post-accident plant with unique, critical concerns.
The Russian capture of Chornobyl had been swift and without violence. As Plokhy highlights throughout the book, the plant’s workers were constantly “trying to balance loyalty to their families, their homeland, and innocent civilians in Ukraine and beyond who would suffer the consequences of a nuclear accident should it occur.”
Russian soldiers' threats to attack the Chornobyl plant — despite the 1986 disaster being a shared history between Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus — left many Ukrainians who came of age during that period in disbelief. “We liquidated the (consequences of the) accident together. For them to do this to us now just makes me feel sorry for (those people),” Ivan Kovalchuk, a firefighter involved in the 1986 cleanup, remarked.
Southward, in Enerhodar, Zaporizhzhia Oblast — a city where nearly a quarter of the 53,000 residents worked at Europe’s largest nuclear plant — efforts unfolded to defend the plant and prevent another occupation of a nuclear facility. Plokhy recounts how the initial Russian attempt to seize the city was thwarted by defiant locals who outright rejected them. Russian forces, "surprised not to have been welcomed," initially turned back before launching their assault.
As Russian forces opened fire on the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant, Plokhy writes, its employees scrambled to reduce the power level of an active reactor, broadcasting a desperate plea over the loudspeaker: “Stop shooting at a dangerous nuclear facility! Stop shooting immediately! You are threatening the security of the whole world!” The warning went unheeded. Citing reports from Ukrainian military intelligence, Plokhy also writes about how Russian occupiers mined the area surrounding the plant. Those remaining in Enerhodar are forced to take Russian passports under threat of violence.
One of the most striking critiques in Plokhy's book is his examination of the IAEA's muted response at the onset of the full-scale war. While Ukrainian nuclear plant workers pushed themselves to the brink, both physically and mentally, to avert a global catastrophe, the IAEA initially refrained from directly condemning Russia for its nuclear blackmail, a silence that raises troubling questions about accountability.
One example is Director General Rafael Grossi’s statement on Feb. 25, 2022, when he referred to “unidentified armed forces” at the nuclear plant. While there were technically no insignia identifying the soldiers as Russian citizens, as was the case during the illegal annexation of the Crimean Peninsula in 2014, “everyone knew who the occupiers were” at that point, as Plokhy writes. The IAEA “would take not hours or days but weeks” to condemn Russia by name.
Even in the aftermath of the recent Feb. 14 attack, which penetrated the sarcophagus, the IAEA did nothing to condemn Russia. In a post on X, the official account’s statement only read that “the IAEA team at the Chornobyl site heard an explosion” and that they “were informed” that a drone had struck the roof.
One possible explanation for the IAEA’s measured response could lie in its relationship with Russia itself. As Plokhy points out, Russia plays a significant role as a major donor to the IAEA. Moreover, one of Director General Grossi's six deputy directors, Mikhail Chudakov, is a seasoned figure from Russia's nuclear industry.
Chudakov's role at the IAEA has raised significant concerns about conflicts of interest, particularly due to his leadership of its Department of Nuclear Energy. This department, which oversees the expansion of nuclear energy into new markets, aligns with the strategic interests of companies like Rosatom, the Russian state-owned nuclear energy giant with which Chudakov had prior professional associations.
“It was only the outbreak of the Russo-Ukrainian War and Rosatom’s involvement in the takeover of the Chernobyl nuclear plant that attracted global attention to Grossi’s deputy,” Plokhy writes.
The Swiss energy counselor wrote to Grossi, urging that Chudakov be excluded from any dealings related to Ukraine and that his access to classified information be restricted. As of this book review, however, Chudakov remains one of Grossi’s deputy director generals and continues to lead the IAEA’s Department of Nuclear Energy.
The success of the Ukrainian counteroffensive in northern Kyiv Oblast led to the Russian withdrawal from Chornobyl by the end of March 2022. Simultaneously, several Russian soldiers were diagnosed with acute radiation poisoning, as it was later revealed that they had been digging fortifications in the Red Forest, one of the most highly contaminated areas on the planet.
Russian soldiers’ ignorance led them to believe they were invading Ukraine to "save" its people, just as they were wrong in their understanding of the plant's operations, convinced that American-supplied plutonium for Ukrainian nuclear weapons could be stored there without the knowledge of international organizations like the IAEA. Despite the plant workers repeatedly exposing their ignorance during the occupation, the Russian soldiers remained steadfast in their delusions, even attempting — unsuccessfully — to recruit some as collaborators.
Although another catastrophe at Chornobyl has been avoided, the ongoing Russian aerial attacks and the occupation of Europe's largest nuclear plant in Ukraine's Zaporizhzhia Oblast underscore the precariousness of the situation and Russia’s continued nuclear blackmail against the world. Meanwhile, Russia's continued membership in organizations like the United Nations and the IAEA raises doubts about the effectiveness and integrity of the international institutions meant to avoid such conflicts. Regardless of how the coming weeks and months unfold in the war, Plokhy warns that Russia's nuclear threats serve as a stark “warning for the future” in an increasingly conflict-ridden world.
Note from the author:
Hi, this is Kate Tsurkan, thanks for reading this article. There is an ever-increasing amount of books about or related to Ukraine available to English-language readers, and I hope my recommendations prove useful when it comes to your next trip to the bookstore. Ukrainian culture has taken on an even more important meaning during wartime, so if you like reading about this sort of thing, please consider supporting The Kyiv Independent.
Kate Tsurkan
