Dealing with nuclear emergencies
Workers drawn from all across the Soviet Union built this “sarcophagus” under extreme radiological conditions, on the ruins of the destroyed reactor. They used unimaginable amounts of concrete — and a great deal of imagination. This concrete mausoleum has held up, with some assistance, for 30 years now.
Over the years, as the ranks of those who responded to Chernobyl have thinned, new generations of nuclear professionals have been trained to prevent another disaster. Their training has emphasized “safety culture.” This, along with “inherently safe designs,” was going to guarantee an accident-free nuclear future. For a while, it seemed as if the world was on the verge of forgetting forever what responding to a nuclear emergency really required. Then, in March 2011, multiple reactors at one of the world’s largest nuclear power plants melted down as a consequence of a massive earthquake, a tsunami, and a sustained power outage.
As a student of the Soviet nuclear power program and the Chernobyl disaster, it was painful for me to watch the blame game that played out immediately after Fukushima. Almost to the letter, the Chernobyl “script” was followed. First, the plant’s operators were blamed. Then the reactor design was at fault. Finally, it was the turn of the national nuclear regulatory structure. “Culture,” of course, received a great deal of blame as well.
The “lessons learned” from Fukushima — and new reports on these lessons continue to be published —focus predominantly on technical and legal fixes, organizational reform, and liability concerns. In the US, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission responded to Fukushima by overhauling its rules and guidelines for accident prevention, preparedness, and response. The US nuclear industry, meanwhile, implemented “FLEX,” a program designed to provide nuclear reactors in distress with hardware such as extra pumps and generators, both on site and stored at regional centers. In Europe, power reactors were subjected to “stress tests” after Fukushima, and these tests sparked conversation among nations hosting nuclear power reactors about harmonizing, if only loosely, national regulations concerning natural (and other) hazards to nuclear power plants.
Steps such as these go in the right direction. But emphasizing prevention and preparedness over response ignores a simple fact: Nuclear disasters tend to exceed people’s worst expectations. There is a good reason that the nuclear industry refers to disasters as “beyond design-basis accidents” — only a limited number of scenarios can be anticipated and prepared for. Disasters, therefore, require the development of creative, skill-based, and team-based response strategies.
In Europe and the US, the nuclear industry seems hung up on the idea of control. There is a plan for every conceivable situation. Should plans fail, there are more plans. Such an approach, as documented by the anthropologist Constance Perin, fundamentally fails to acknowledge the messiness of operating imperfect, real-world technologies (and all technologies are imperfect).
Worse yet, it incapacitates an aspect of creativity that, though it’s more often associated with jazz, can be tremendously important in nuclear emergencies: Improvisation. In any disaster, improvisation occurs. It happened at Chernobyl, even if creative imagination was thoroughly expunged from all written reports. Improvisation happened at Fukushima, and in fact a lot more improvisation will be necessary if the Fukushima disaster is ever to “end.” It is tempting to remember creative action only when it fails. Making this mistake locks in a mindset of control and controllability. Any such mindset will be exploded —yet again — by the next nuclear emergency.
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TRANSCEND Media Service
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