AMERICANS ATTACK BULGARIAN REACTORS!

OR WHAT HAPPENS WHEN U.S. ACTIVISTS VISIT

THE MOST DANGEROUS

NUCLEAR PLANT IN THE WORLD

The Kozloduy nuclear power plant sprawls across the rural Bulgarian countryside, nearly hidden in a valley behind gently rolling hills until we are nearly upon it and see the vent stacks piercing above the hills and then an array of lights before we can make out the two containment buildings holding the 5^th and 6^th units, and the drab green industrial buildings where units 1 through 4 silently split atoms.

As we drive along near the massive plant site, stopping by the side of the road so everyone can take photographs, we are of course not aware that inside Unit 6 operators are scrambling to repair the serious accident that took place just hours ago: a main feedwater pump broke, endangering the reactor and everyone for miles.

Not to worry, the plant management tells us the next morning, no radiation was released, no one was harmed. The nuclear industry speaks the same language in every country. But, of course, we cannot take you to see where the accident took place. There is too much work going on.

And indeed, the radiation levels are very low at Kozloduy, about half those of the capital city of Sofia 80 miles away. It’s simply an area of low background radiation, and the vent stacks, hundreds of feet tall, ensure that radiation from the reactors will drift away from the site. We can’t check the venting into the water of the nearby broad and churning Danube River, but we have heard reports of massive tritium releases.

But this is Bulgaria, and it is wartime, and tritium releases seem less relevant than bombing-caused oil slicks, and missiles falling accidentally into the country, and besides, an accident at Kozloduy may not exactly be routine, but it’s hardly unexpected either, and neither are high radiation releases.

So we drive on to our hotel, just past the First Atomic Café of Kozloduy, where a bad heavy metal band is entertaining the children of the plant’s workers on the town’s central square, just outside the hotel lobby. But the kids like it, and as the music plays on, and then the band stops to be replaced by an Offspring tape ("gotta keep ‘em separated"), one can only think of another nuclear workers’ city, Pripyat, Ukraine, permanently abandoned as a result of Chernobyl.

It’s a weird juxtaposition, listening to four snotty kids from L.A. echo off the crumbling Breshnev-era high-rise apartment buildings that mark Kozloduy (and Pripyat, and so many other cities in the East), while realizing that the entire city would not exist except for the nearby power plant. Indeed, before the plant was built 25 years ago, Kozloduy was a farming village of 500—now it’s a mini-city of 20,000, and, like Pripyat, it was built for convenience, not safety: the reactors—all six of ‘em (keep ‘em separated)—are just two miles away.

THE MOST DANGEROUS REACTORS IN THE WORLD, AND AN UNCOMFORTABLE HONEST MOMENT

It was less than two years ago that a former top U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission official told me that the two most dangerous nuclear facilities in the world are the Kola complex above the Arctic Circle in Russia, and the Kozloduy complex in Bulgaria. Both should be closed immediately, he said, and he encouraged NIRS to work to do just that.

His opinion is virtually universal, at least outside Bulgaria. Following the fall of the Soviet Union, even the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) recommended the shutdown of Kozloduy, or at least units 1-4. Bulgaria desperately wants to join the European Union, and NATO. But the EU has made clear on several occasions, most recently two weeks before our visit, that a condition of Bulgaria’s entry is the permanent shutdown of the first four units. In fact, the EU thought it had obtained an agreement from Bulgaria that the first two reactors would close in 1997, the second two in 1998. In the interim, western funding was obtained to perform some basic safety upgrades to the reactors, to allow them to operate even that long. But the upgrades just gave Bulgaria the confidence to say, well, our reactors are better now, so we won’t close them. And, besides, the EU has never put its money where its mouth is, and has never provided funds to help wean Bulgaria away from its nuclear dependency and move to other energy sources. And Bulgaria is a poor country, and probably can’t do it on its own.

The basic problem at Kozloduy is, that, well, that there are so many problems it’s hard to find a place to start. So let’s begin with the most elemental issue, containment. At units 1-4, there is none. The reactor vessels sit, virtually unprotected, in an industrial building—two units to each building. No containment, none. Not even a Chernobyl-style containment, they’re not even that good. It’s the one problem even Bulgaria admits it can’t solve, it would be far too expensive, perhaps even impossible, to build containments around these reactors. So, if they melt, that’s it: the radiation will go out across the countryside, across the Balkans, maybe to Turkey and Greece, maybe to Italy, or Serbia, almost certainly to Romania.

But maybe they won’t melt? Except that these are the first Soviet-designed Pressurized Water Reactors, VVER-440, 230s. No containment, how about no emergency core cooling system? That’s how they were designed. And despite numerous western-funded upgrades, the ECCS still doesn’t meet anyone’s safety standards. But then, neither does the fire protection, nor the instruments and controls, nor virtually any other part of the reactors.

At a meeting with the plant’s top management, I ask what is obviously an uncomfortable question: "what is the worst accident you believe can happen at these reactors?" The intent of my question is to find out about the managers’ understanding of the nuclear safety culture. If they don’t believe an accident can happen, they won’t act to prevent one. One manager goes on and on—yes, he says, I understand nuclear safety culture, it’s not something we had here before but we do now, but we don’t think there are any problems. To my surprise, he is interrupted by the plant’s General Manager, the top person, Krassimir Nikolov, who says bluntly that units 1-4 could not withstand a basic design basis accident—nukespeak for a loss of cooling water. Every reactor in the world is designed to withstand that accident (it’s complications from that accident scenario that could cause meltdowns). Not Kozloduy. The reactors would melt; Bulgaria essentially would die.

It’s a rare honest moment, and Mr. Nikolov, who uncannily resembles Bill Clinton, seems almost liberated in his admission. But then he returns to his industry spiel: we have ordered new jet condensers from Russia and they will be installed later this year, and that will help a lot, and besides, we have great people working here, and they understand nuclear safety, and we will run these reactors safely.

There is no doubt that the jet condensers will help, and, actually, I am somewhat impressed by the obvious competence of most of the plant managers and by their openness. We tour the control room of Unit-2; it’s modern, the old Russian one has been torn out and replaced by German machinery and instruments. There are three reactor operators there, occasionally checking computer screens and dials, tolerating the dozen of us who have intruded on their workspace while the reactor runs at 50% power. They are willing to show us everything, answer every question, take as much time as we want. They’re obviously proud of their facility.

Later, I learn that our hosts, the Bulgarian group Za Zemiata (For the Earth) have toured the plant site several times; every time they have been taken to the control room of Unit 2. What about the other control rooms, I have to wonder….

And safety improvements aside (and there was so much room for improvement that the 1-4 reactors would be immediately closed in almost any other country despite the modifications), there is still no containment, and never will be one, and the reactors, almost no matter what is done, still will never be able to fully protect against a basic loss-of-cooling accident, an accident that becomes more and more likely as the reactors age and the pipes become corroded and embrittled.

LIFE DURING WARTIME, OR HOW WE LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE DAN ACKROYD

Security is a major issue at Kozloduy, and throughout Bulgaria, this week. After all, there is a war going on. Bulgaria shares a border with Serbia, the reactor site is just 50 miles from the border. At least eight missiles or bombs have missed their targets and fallen inside Bulgaria. One wrecked a house in the suburbs of Sofia, the capitol city. One came within 20 miles or so of Kozloduy. Not close, but not that far either—missiles can travel 20 miles pretty darn quickly….

The Bulgarian government tries to put an odd spin on the war and Kozloduy. No one would dare attack us, they argue, because of Kozloduy, because no one would want that kind of destruction on their hands. We are therefore safer because we have Kozloduy. A Bulgarian TV crew tries that argument out on Ed Smeloff, a member of our team, and director of the Pace University Energy Project. He tries to keep a straight face while pointing out that no one wants to attack Bulgaria, but if they did, the first thing they would hit would be Kozloduy, and that in the meantime, people have far more to worry about from accidents at the plant than from misplaced missiles.

But this issue is also on the mind of the security chief at Kozloduy, who looks and acts like Dan Ackroyd on six cups of Bulgarian espresso. He has been waiting patiently through our three-hour meeting with plant management for his turn, and when he finally gets it, he lets loose. He shows overhead slides at a frenetic pace, using his pointer almost maniacally. He talks about the new security measures the plant has put in since the war’s start, the new anti-aircraft gun emplacements, the commitment the management has to ensure that no one unauthorized can gain access to the plant from anywhere.

Actually, he’s embarrassed, since just the week before—as he well knows—two people sitting in the room, from Za Zemiata, took a German TV crew and broke into the plant, and got out again, and put the whole story about the plant’s lax security on continent-wide TV.

I tell him I heard there was a no-fly zone around the plant, and is he prepared to order planes that violate the zone to be shot down. Absolutely, yes, he replies. The no-fly zone is about a 20-mile radius around the plant, and he will shoot down any plane that violates the zone.

Except the zone only extends about 15,000 feet high (presumably higher than the anti-aircraft guns can reach anyway), and every single plane in the region—NATO bombers heading toward Serbia and commercial aircraft whose normal traffic lanes have been diverted because of the war—flies directly over the plant. It has become a landmark for pilots, because it is the most visible and identifiable landmark in the region. If they stay directly overhead, they will be ok; too far in the other direction and they risk flying over Serbian airspace (the NATO bombers, of course, use the plant as the key to turn towards Serbian airspace….).

ATOMIC WASTE: NO SOLUTIONS HERE EITHER, AND ONE REALLY BAD IDEA

The plant’s radioactive waste manager is likable, open and blunt. He takes us on a tour of a new facility under construction for the handling of "low-level" waste. It is an impressive building—thick concrete and steel reinforced walls—much stronger than the weak building that surrounds the units 1-4 reactors. Here they will bring in waste for processing; "low-level "waste will be separated from "intermediate-level" (a distinction unfortunately unknown in the U.S.), and treated differently. All will be stored in the building until a governmental decision is made about what to do with it—it could be decades or more, but the building is constructed to last. He loses us, however, when he confides that if it was up to him, they wouldn’t construct this building, the stuff just isn’t that dangerous and the building’s too expensive. But, since the public seems to want it, he’ll go along….

He then takes us to the high-level waste building; a structure about six stories tall. We have only a few minutes on the site; security is already nervous, we were supposed to leave quite a while ago, but he wants to keep talking and we aren’t especially ready to leave.

High-level waste is the really big problem for Kozloduy, as it is for reactors everywhere. The fuel pools are full, and the plant managers have decided upon a highly risky strategy: they intend to rerack the pools vertically—putting fuel rods on top of each other—to make more room. It’s an approach that even the IAEA has condemned in no uncertain terms. Now, he says, the pool is only 64% full. In any other country, it would be about 104% full…

Plus, the building is not seismically qualified. So they have to essentially tear the building apart and build new reinforcing walls—with the waste still in it. He shows us where the walls will come down in a few months; protecting the public will simply be a tarp over the pool as the walls are rebuilt. They won’t let us see the pools—they see we need a signed medical certificate for that—but at the same time argue that there is no detectable radiation inside the building. We have our doubts.

The other choice the plant managers have made is to ship as much waste as possible to Russia. That’s what used to happen, at least before the fall of the Soviet Union. Now Bulgaria wants to resume the shipments. But the terms and atmosphere are different now. If Bulgaria ships its waste, according to Russian law, it will be reprocessed, for use in Russian reactors and the reprocessing wastes will be sent back to Bulgaria—hardly a permanent solution. Moreover, there is uncertainty over the price, and whether Bulgaria can afford the transport. Plus there is the reaction of other countries: the transport would pass down the Danube, then through Romania, Moldova and Ukraine. And citizen opposition to the proposed transports is growing.

We suggest that they look into dry cask storage. It’s cheaper, it’s better than reracking the fuel pools in such a manner, it’s better than sending high-level waste on a barge down the Danube. Actually, they’re interested. They don’t know a lot about dry casks, they’ve just last week sent out their first request to cask manufacturers for more information. They ask a lot of questions—many terribly misinformed—about them and NRC regulations of them. One manager is convinced the NRC licenses them for only three years. Steve Frischman of the State of Nevada attempts to convince him that no, the licenses are for 20 years, and renewable for another 20 years at least. The manager is unpersuaded, so Steve writes down the relevant regulations: look them up, he says. I suspect they will. And perhaps we have made a little headway, though it is very uncomfortable to advocate dry casks; in this case though, even if the reactors closed tomorrow, they would still need them.

THE POLITICIAN

For the record, the U.S. delegation to Bulgaria consisted of Michael Mariotte, executive director of NIRS; Ed Smeloff, director of the Pace Energy Project and former chairman of the Board of the Sacramento Municipal Utility District; Steve Frischman, a geologist with the Agency for Nuclear Projects of the State of Nevada; Judy Treichel, director of the Nevada Nuclear Waste Task Force, and East-West activist and NIRS cohort Alyson Ewald.

Za Zemiata also brought in Vladimir Sliviak, of Russia’s Ecodefense! and Socio-Ecological Union; and Bodgan Dinu and Marcin Desa of bordering Romania’s Ecosens, for much of the trip.

And we did much more than tour Kozloduy.

We met with the chairman of the Parliament’s Environment Committee. He’s a former activist—he helped organize Ecotopia in Bulgaria in 1992. What is Ecotopia? Think NIRS’ action camps times ten….hundreds of activists from across Eastern Europe gathering for 2-3 weeks every summer.

But now he’s in government, and it seems to weigh on him. He talks much about how poor Bulgaria is, and how difficult this makes it to change things.

On one level, he’s right. The average Bulgarian income is about $100/month, about twice that in Sofia. Everything is cheap: coffee is a dime; beer a quarter, a full meal at a good restaurant less than $5.

The fall of the Soviet Union, and the virtual looting of Bulgaria as the Soviets departed, set the economy off on the wrong foot. A devastating recession in 1996 knocked out a substantial portion of the industrial infrastructure.

In a practiced politician’s manner, he nearly pleads with us to take home an anti-war message. It’s not that Bulgaria supports Serbia—it doesn’t, in fact it wants to join NATO. But the war is another major blow to Bulgaria’s economy. The tourist trade has dried to almost nothing. And almost all international commerce normally either goes by train through Serbia or up the Danube River—and neither option is open now…

Ed Smeloff points out that until the electricity sector is liberalized, and the costs of Kozloduy reflected in electrical rates—which they aren’t now—western investors are unlikely to take a major interest in the country.

The politician agrees, to a point. Enron recently bought a large power plant in Bulgaria, but it intends to sell all of the electricity to Turkey—because of the non-competitive nature of the Bulgarian electrical market.

We encourage him to look further into this issue. If the first four units at Kozloduy were closed, and the markets opened, well, Bulgaria is a great place for energy efficiency improvements (their economy is nine times less energy efficient than the typical Western European state) and has substantial opportunity for renewable resources as well.

Finally, we talk about the need for openness and public participation in nuclear and energy decisions. He’s heard it before, but today he wants to act, and announces—knowing we will tell the media waiting outside (he has told us they’re waiting for us)—that he will chair public hearings into radioactive waste issues, and invite Za Zemiata to participate, within six months.

Apparently, he’s promised that before, but never publicly, and he’s always been shut down by the remaining communist members of his committee. This time, it appears he means it, as does another elected official who has joined him in the meeting.

THE BUREAUCRATS

Another day, another meeting. On one level, this one is rather astonishing. Solely at the invitation of Za Zemiata to meet with us, members of the national utility, NEK; top staffers from the country’s NRC equivalent, The Committee on the Use of Atomic Energy for Peaceful Purposes; some staffers from the Public Health Ministry; some staffers from Kozloduy itself, and several members of the public have all crowded into a hearing room at the Environment Ministry.

This would never happen in the U.S., we all look at ourselves and whisper; never would the NRC, EPA, utilities, etc. join together like this at the request of NIRS, or any other environmental group.

Moreover, it’s a long program. It starts with introductions (by about 30 people); then 10 minute (20 minutes w/translations) talks by each American. Then a brief break. Then 90 minutes of questions and answers, directed to and from all sides. Nearly four hours in total and almost everyone stays until the end.

Have we made headway? It’s hard to tell. They are all interested in dry casks; they are less impressed when we complain about Kozloduy’s known safety deficiencies. They seem to have a new respect for Za Zemiata, for being able to pull this together, and bring in people from across the world to speak with them.

THE ENVIRONMENTALISTS

We also meet with various environmental groups from across the country—one day in Sofia and one day in Montana, a city of about 60,000 situated between the capital and the reactor site.

Most of the groups have not taken an active role against Kozloduy. We try to interest them in the campaign; point out how it may intersect with their own work; help them figure out a role they can play. It works better in Montana, where people seem inspired and participate in a workshop led by Alyson that encourages them to commit to at least one activity, no matter how small. Virtually everyone commits to something, and it appears a campaign is getting underway…

OF COURSE THE MEDIA SHOULD BE SKEPTICAL, BUT THIS IS RIDICULOUS…

The final official day of our visit has, thankfully, only one event, but it’s a big one: the concluding press conference. It’s our first chance at reaching the people of Bulgaria.

But the night before has brought big news, a peace agreement is in the air, perhaps the war is over. We figure that the media will be otherwise occupied and turnout will be low.

Wrong. There are about 30 chain-smoking reporters and cameras from at least three TV networks crammed into a small, unventilated room atop the press building.

I start out and say that as a result of our week-long visit, the Americans believe that the first four units at Kozloduy should be "closed immediately."

The uproar starts almost faster than I would have closed the reactors.

The reporters let the rest of us finish our brief statements—Vladimir and Steve make a strong case against atomic waste transport, and then the journalists tear into us. Who are we, they ask, to make such statements?

Several, mostly with the communist press we learn later, are openly hostile. They ask questions and interrupt the answers. Two ask questions and walk out during the answers. They give speeches. They glower and frown and light another cigarette. The cameras leave.

A few take notes. The press conference stops after an hour, someone else has reserved the room; it continues in an impromptu fashion in the hallway.

Later, back at the office, a reporter from the national TV network, still controlled by the government, calls about a different issue.

Polina asks whether they will cover the press conference. Are you kidding? is the reply, they won’t let us show a group of foreigners tell us we have to close our reactors!

Maybe we were too strong, we think, maybe we should have toned down our statements. After all, even Za Zemiata has never publicly called for immediate shutdown of the four units.

Then we get another call; Polina’s mother is watching the news, and we have two full and "respectful" minutes on a different TV network. And then the third network also does a fair report.

That night, we go to a park in downtown Sofia; hundreds of young people hang out, playing drums, drinking beer, visiting and talking. In the center of the park is a huge Soviet statue—as high as ladders can reach it is painted day-glo: "cultural revolution;" legalize it;" fuck NATO." It’s a gathering place as I haven’t seen in years and it’s a symbol of the new freedom and excitement that have gripped the country.

Vladimir brings by an evening newspaper, we already have a large, favorable story on page three.

The next morning, Alyson and I go out to buy food for our 25-hour train ride to Budapest. An elderly gentleman come up and starts talking to me. I have no idea what he’s saying; Alyson’s Bulgarian is just enough to be able to tell him that I’m American and don’t speak the language. He smiles and pats me on the back. It’s early in the morning, and it’s another half-hour before we realize that he recognized me from the TV last night. On the tram, we see people reading this morning’s newspapers: there are 3-inch headlines: Americans Say Kozloduy Should Close.

We think we’ve made our point.

Now we need to make it outside of Bulgaria. We need to convince U.S. policymakers that closing Kozloduy—perhaps the most dangerous nuclear facility in the world—is in our interest too, and will help achieve stability in the Balkans. We need to convince the European Union that it’s just not enough to demand that Kozloduy be closed as the price of admission, with a country like Bulgaria, the EU’s financial assistance is needed too.

The world’s nuclear power corporations, especially BNFL/Westinghouse and Siemens, are trying to keep Kozloduy operating because they’re the ones who get the upgrade contracts. For them, it’s money in the bank; for the rest of the world, it’s the prolongation of a clear and present danger.

An accident at Kozloduy could well topple the rather fragile Bulgarian government and the country’s experiment with freedom and democracy and could further unsettle the Balkans with potentially disastrous results.

There are six reactors at Kozloduy. None of them could operate in the U.S., but the first four small, aging, dangerous units must be closed, and closed as soon as possible.

Traveling through the country, meeting with local people and top government officials, I get the feeling everyone would be happier if they just shut down. The trick is to make it happen.

CLOSING KOZLODUY

WHAT YOU CAN DO

Send a letter to President Clinton and Vice President Gore and demand that the U.S. work to convince the European Union to provide financial assistance to Bulgaria to close Kozloduy. Demand that the U.S. chip in too. Send copies of your letter to relevant members of Congress.

Addresses: Hon. William Jefferson Clinton (and Hon. Albert Gore), President of the United States, The White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20500

Key Congressional contacts

(US Senate, Washington, DC 20510; US House of Representatives, Washington, DC 20515):

Senate: Patrick Leahy, D-VT; Barbara Mikulski, D-MD; Tom Harkin, D-IA; Mitch McConnell, R-KY; Arlen Specter, R-PA; Daniel Inouye, D-HI, Frank Lautenberg, D-NJ; Patty Murray, D-WA; Ben Nighthorse Campbell, R-CO; Judd Gregg R-NH; Richard Shelby, R-AL; Robert Bennett, R-UT; Christopher Bond, R-MO; Joseph Biden, D-DE; Paul Sarbanes, D-MD; Christoper Dodd, D-CT; Paul Wellstone, D-MN; Gordon Smith, R-OR; Richard Lugar, R-IN

House: Nancy Pelosi, D-CA; Nita Lowey, D-NY; Jesse Jackson, Jr, D-IL; Carolyn Kilpatrick, D-MI; Martin Olav Sabo, D-MN; Sonny Callahan, R-AL; John Porter, R-IL; Frank Wolf, R-VA; Michael Forbes, R-NY; Robert Menendez, D-NJ; Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, R-FL