The Nuclear Landscape as a Garden 35
BN-350, and a study of the long-term consequences of underground nuclear
explosions. 126 Lacking the resources to deal with these challenges themselves, the local authorities addressed appeals for assistance to the Council of
Ministers of the Kazakh Union Republic as well as the Central Ministries
in Moscow to contribute financial means toward the “ecological regeneration” [ozdorovlenie] of the region. 127 However, only a few months later, the
collapse of the Soviet Union left the region to its own devices, as Moscow
declined further responsibility for territories outside the Russian Federation.
Meanwhile, the government of newly independent Kazakhstan was faced
with other, still more pressing priorities, and possessed neither the means nor
the expertise required to tackle the imposing nuclear heritage, which the
Soviet Union had left on its territory. What limited efforts were undertaken
focused primarily on securing the Semipalatinsk nuclear weapons test site in
Eastern Kazakhstan.
At the same time, rather unexpectedly, the consequences of nuclear test
explosions became a concern for the inhabitants of Mangyshlak, too, as journalists uncovered in 1990 that the peninsula had temporarily served as a
theater for underground nuclear detonations in 1969–1970. 128 With the help
of eye witnesses, local authorities located two craters some 200 km from
Shevchenko, one of which was found to emit more than 1.5 R/h on the
surface and was therefore covered in concrete. But no soil or groundwater
samples were taken, nor was there a medical investigation of people living
nearby. 129 Local authorities asked the Soviet Defense and Atomic Ministries
to provide further information and conduct in-depth investigations into the
possible health and environmental consequences of the explosions, but in
response, received only vague promises that the matter would be looked
into. 130 In an attempt to increase pressure, the Oblast administration broke
the story to Moscow newspapers, prompting articles in Izvestija and Ogonek –
but again, to little avail. 131 Eventually, the detonations were officially declared
PNEs, 132 allegedly “directed at the development of water reservoirs in arid
locales.” 133 Other speculations point in a different direction – namely, that the
Soviet military was looking for a new site to test megaton-scale warheads for
a new generation of heavy intercontinental missiles, but found Mangyshlak’s
geological conditions unfavorable and the proximity of Shevchenko’s nuclear
facilities somewhat worrisome. 134
For a while, the test explosions eclipsed concerns about the BN-350’s continued operation, notwithstanding the risks arising from an exodus of the
reactor’s predominantly Russian staff and Kazakhstan’s difficulties to pay for
its continued maintenance. 135 Moreover, hidden from public sight, the reactor housed one of the more imposing leftovers of the Soviet atomic project: in
its cooling ponds were stored tons of weapon-grade fission materials, mainly
plutonium and highly enriched uranium (HEU). Luckily for Kazakhstan, the
United States Department of Energy was worried enough about the proliferation risk posed by these materials (enough for nearly 800 atomic bombs)
to assist Kazakhstan in securing and transport them to a safe storage site in
BN-350, and a study of the long-term consequences of underground nuclear
explosions. 126 Lacking the resources to deal with these challenges themselves, the local authorities addressed appeals for assistance to the Council of
Ministers of the Kazakh Union Republic as well as the Central Ministries
in Moscow to contribute financial means toward the “ecological regeneration” [ozdorovlenie] of the region. 127 However, only a few months later, the
collapse of the Soviet Union left the region to its own devices, as Moscow
declined further responsibility for territories outside the Russian Federation.
Meanwhile, the government of newly independent Kazakhstan was faced
with other, still more pressing priorities, and possessed neither the means nor
the expertise required to tackle the imposing nuclear heritage, which the
Soviet Union had left on its territory. What limited efforts were undertaken
focused primarily on securing the Semipalatinsk nuclear weapons test site in
Eastern Kazakhstan.
At the same time, rather unexpectedly, the consequences of nuclear test
explosions became a concern for the inhabitants of Mangyshlak, too, as journalists uncovered in 1990 that the peninsula had temporarily served as a
theater for underground nuclear detonations in 1969–1970. 128 With the help
of eye witnesses, local authorities located two craters some 200 km from
Shevchenko, one of which was found to emit more than 1.5 R/h on the
surface and was therefore covered in concrete. But no soil or groundwater
samples were taken, nor was there a medical investigation of people living
nearby. 129 Local authorities asked the Soviet Defense and Atomic Ministries
to provide further information and conduct in-depth investigations into the
possible health and environmental consequences of the explosions, but in
response, received only vague promises that the matter would be looked
into. 130 In an attempt to increase pressure, the Oblast administration broke
the story to Moscow newspapers, prompting articles in Izvestija and Ogonek –
but again, to little avail. 131 Eventually, the detonations were officially declared
PNEs, 132 allegedly “directed at the development of water reservoirs in arid
locales.” 133 Other speculations point in a different direction – namely, that the
Soviet military was looking for a new site to test megaton-scale warheads for
a new generation of heavy intercontinental missiles, but found Mangyshlak’s
geological conditions unfavorable and the proximity of Shevchenko’s nuclear
facilities somewhat worrisome. 134
For a while, the test explosions eclipsed concerns about the BN-350’s continued operation, notwithstanding the risks arising from an exodus of the
reactor’s predominantly Russian staff and Kazakhstan’s difficulties to pay for
its continued maintenance. 135 Moreover, hidden from public sight, the reactor housed one of the more imposing leftovers of the Soviet atomic project: in
its cooling ponds were stored tons of weapon-grade fission materials, mainly
plutonium and highly enriched uranium (HEU). Luckily for Kazakhstan, the
United States Department of Energy was worried enough about the proliferation risk posed by these materials (enough for nearly 800 atomic bombs)
to assist Kazakhstan in securing and transport them to a safe storage site in