At exactly 01:23 on the morning of April 26th, 1986, a chain of events in Reactor No 4 at Chernobyl nuclear power station in Ukraine triggered the world’s worst nuclear disaster.
The first of the explosions blew a 1,000-ton roof off reactor No 4 as though it was the lid of a saucepan, and a second, bigger explosion disintegrated the reactor core, rocketing tons of deadly radioactive material high into the night sky like a blazing meteor. Only 3 per cent of the reactor’s nuclear fuel escaped in the first catastrophic moments. Up to 200 tons of uranium dioxide fuel remains buried in the broken heart of reactor 4.
In that instant, the world changed forever.
A new word, Chernobyl, entered into the history of world disasters and the history of the world with deadly and frightful force. The sun shone, the wind blew, rain fell – and so did the deadly radioactive poison with it.
READ MORE
A nuclear catastrophe does not conclude when the cameras leave. It seeps into the soil, the water, the food chain, and embeds itself in the DNA of all living things. It passes silently from one generation to the next, creating what has become commonly known as “Chernobyl lineage”, as the damage and devastation leans into the next generation.
For four decades, I have walked beside the victims of this tragedy. I have held children whose tiny thyroid glands were attacked by poisonous radioactive iodine 131, as their small bodies mistook it for naturally occurring safe iodine. I have listened to some of “liquidators” – the 800,000 young men, including many conscripted, who were sent into the convulsing fires of hell with shovels and bare hands to contain the inferno – describe running across radioactive rooftops for 60 seconds at a time, knowing that every second shortened their lives. We missed a far greater nuclear explosion at Chernobyl by a hair’s breadth because of these brave men. . Without the intervention by the liquidators, there would have been even further widespread contamination and radioactivity on a global level.
“To those who saved the world” are the words on the monument to the liquidators at the site in Chernobyl. Hailed as heroes in 1986, they are now discarded and forgotten, their ill-health dismissed by the authorities as being unrelated to their exposure to extraordinary levels of radiation and the lack of adequate safety precautions. Many of them paid with their health and their lives. Today, too many of them battle for pensions and medical care while their suffering is dismissed or minimised. Their self-sacrifice cannot be overstated.
There may be an impression 40 years on that Chernobyl is something which happened a very long time ago and no longer poses a threat to the world, but the reality is very different. Chernobyl is not something from the past – Chernobyl is forever. The impact of that single nuclear incident can never be undone; its radioactive footprint is still affecting countless millions of people.
It is impossible to say whether we are over the peak of the consequences of radioactive contamination, or whether we are just on the threshold. The consequences will last for up to 20,000 years. Other disasters are vying for the world’s attention while Chernobyl has been relegated to history, even though the latency period for some cancers is estimated to be up to 60 years – so the worst could yet be to come.
The ghost of Chernobyl was dragged back into headlines on February 24th, 2022, as Russian troops drove tanks through the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone on their way to Kyiv. Places such as Chernobyl’s Red Forest, regarded as among the most radioactive landscapes on Earth, became a military corridor, and deeply radioactive soil that had lain undisturbed for decades was churned up again. Radiation does not need a passport. It does not respect boundaries or borders, travelling wherever the wind takes it. Soon after, Russian forces occupied Europe’s largest nuclear plant in Zaporizhzhia. For the first time in history, nuclear facilities have been weaponised in active warfare. This is not Cold War rhetoric – it is a new and terrifying reality. If we remain silent, we are playing with a loaded gun.
‘We must call for nuclear facilities to be declared permanent “no war zones” under international law. Attacks on nuclear sites must be treated unequivocally as war crimes’
Nuclear power plants were always considered globally “off-limits” because of their deadly catastrophic potential. The collision between warfare and nuclear energy has created a threat with consequences not just for Ukraine, but for Europe and the world and all the generations yet unborn. This weaponising of nuclear facilities has resulted in a collision between warfare and nuclear power, which is a whole new threat with potentially devastating, unimaginable consequences for humankind for centuries to come. This is nuclear terrorism.
[ The €500m hole in Chernobyl’s roof: A race to repair damage from a Russian droneOpens in new window ]
The issues associated with Chernobyl have become even more urgent, particularly following the Valentine’s Day 2025 drone strikes on the nuclear power plant, further escalating the war. The impregnable sarcophagus that is meant to protect humanity from radiation is scarred and breached, heightening the risk of another nuclear catastrophe and bringing with it a sense of foreboding for wars of the future.
My worst nightmare in this conflict is that the tragedy of a second Chernobyl would be unleashed on the world. The next Chernobyl-type event could happen at Chernobyl itself.
Ireland knows something about solidarity. Compassion became our calling card and is the heartbeat of our society.
[ Chernobyl TV drama will bring new light to 1986 nuclear disaster, says Adi RocheOpens in new window ]
That is needed now more than ever. The Irish proverb “Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine” has never been more apt.
We must call for nuclear facilities to be declared permanent “no war zones” under international law. Attacks on nuclear sites must be treated unequivocally as war crimes.
The “war” that has been waged by what happened at Chernobyl is a silent, invisible but deadly one. No associated smells, no visible signs – nothing to forewarn you of danger.
Deadly radiation flows in rivers, towns, streams and forests. It clicks endlessly, ferociously, in Geiger counters, into the silent numbness that is, and sadly always will be, Chernobyl.
If we fail to learn from Chernobyl, we betray those who died and those who still suffer. If we fail to act, we risk repeating the unthinkable. Chernobyl is not history, it is a warning. We cannot, will not, turn away.
Adi Roche is the founder and voluntary chief executive of Chernobyl Children International
