The date of April 26, 1986 is far away in the memory of many, but some have it burned into their memories. «Two more years and it will be 40 since the accident in Chernobyl. How time flies”. Fédir Lyashenko to his … 73 years old, he reflects on the most serious nuclear disaster in history along with that of the Japanese Fukushima power plant: the explosion of reactor number four of the sadly famous Soviet atomic plant – today within the limits of Ukraine – which emitted a toxic cloud and contaminated an area of no less than 150,000 square kilometers. Between 600,000 and 800,000 workers, including civilians, firefighters, police and military, came to put out the fire and bury the radioactive ruins. To date, there is no definitive figure for fatalities. There were 50 directly related to the incident and an undefined number of volunteers who died in the following weeks. Some calculations suggest that the radiation left a total of 4,000 dead and a long list of sick people.
Fédir Liashenko has seen two great tragedies in his country: that of Chernobyl and the current war against the Russians. He is from Zaporizhzhia, where another nuclear power plant is in the middle of attacks and counterattacks by the two armies. He takes “a lot of medicine”, as a consequence of his former mission as a liquidator among the ruins of Chernobyl, a year after the fire. He takes care of his four grandchildren: “So I have someone come and tell me ‘Grandpa, let’s play,'” he says fondly.
When you read the news about the Russian occupation of the Zaporizhzhia power plant, you get goosebumps just because you understand the possible risks it entails: “What a mood you can be in when you see that it is the power plant of your beloved city. “How much enthusiasm was felt in Ukraine, in Europe, for a plant that entered the list of the ten largest in the world.”
Fédir Liashenko has received several decorations for his bravery and his work in Chernobyl.
Liashenko was the head of the fire department when he first entered Chernobyl on May 2, 1987. His mission was to bury the equipment and materials used to put out the fire and remove water from the reactor. «There was a mountain of remains, although in reality it was not the only place where they were buried. The trucks, the hoses… There were other pieces of equipment with little radiation that could be given another life, and we cleaned those and returned them to the State,” he recalls.
Of the tragic day of the explosion, he remembers that “all the firefighters in the region were woken up with the alarm at half past twelve at night. They didn’t send me there. I had to form the groups and prepare the specialized material. I remember that we had to debate who could and wanted to go first as volunteers. They put the “collector pills” on top of these. That is what the liquidators in Chernobyl called the devices that measured the radiation received in the body. «If the level exceeded 5 becquerels, they did not let you pass and you had to go and wash yourself better. When it was my turn to go a year later, he gave that figure daily and fifteen days later they urgently evacuated us. “I returned home to Zaporizhzhia.”
The first year of the tragedy the liquidators came from all over Ukraine. “Hardly anyone came out alive from there.” He remembers his friend, Leonid Pauk, who was one of the first to arrive at the plant with the mission of removing the water thrown by the fire-fighting system from the reactor: “I took him to the hospital many times, because he was sick.” . He says that when he returned from Chernobyl, doctors advised him to drink milk, honey and other products “from bees.” He became a beekeeper. And he’s still at it. “Today he says that if it weren’t for the bees, he wouldn’t be in this life anymore.”
Image of the plant with the destroyed reactor building.
Reuters
“There wasn’t a bird on the street,” Liashenko remembers of the days he was in Chernobyl. His task was to reach Stari Sokoly, a town 26 kilometers from the plant, and bury the contaminated trucks, cars and equipment. Other colleagues from Mykolayiv, Donetsk, Voroshylovgradsk, now known as Lugansk, worked with him, territories now subjected to the tragedy of the Russian invasion. The first week went by normally, but then “the driver of the bus they were taking us on got sick. I also had to get behind the wheel.” He also remembers that on May 9 they worked half a day, because they were taken to the inauguration of the memorial in the name of Víktor Právik, “one of the first to arrive at the scene of the accident, from where no one left alive.” “He was in charge of supervising the process of putting out the fire.”
Years later, when Fédir learned to use the Internet, he began to investigate the accident. He learned that the former head of the Ivankiv region department had organized a company that took foreigners to Chernobyl on guided tours: “They once asked him if there was somewhere he didn’t go. And his answer was the name of the town where I worked, Starie Sokoly, and that he did not recommend anyone to appear there.
Liashenko, appointed colonel “but without an increase in pension”, was not allowed to expose himself to the sun for three years after his work in Chernobyl. “If he went out he had to walk through the streets in the shade so as not to faint.” His treatment was carried out in Berdiansk, a city located in the south of Ukraine with beaches and access to the Azov Sea: «The Government provided me with treatment with thermal peloids. Thanks to that I felt much better. Some time later, doctors found a thyroid nodule. Fortunately, he was not carcinogenic: «I had to take hormones to maintain myself. I got fat. Now I don’t have so much weight, »he shares with a smile. He retired at 45 years old. «My legs hurt. They couldn’t stand me. They looked at my lungs with X-rays. They were like those of a 70-year-old grandfather. My teeth fell out. Totally, happiness.” he says ironically.
To this day he keeps in touch with his colleagues, companions “of the tragedy”, as they say among Ukrainians. They speak two or three times a month and see each other every year on April 17 at a tribute to Ukraine’s firefighters. «At first there were more than 250 people. But each year the number has been decreasing. Now we gather around 15 or 20 people. We look at each other, we talk. ‘How are you?’ ‘Well, I’m still here… Alive.’ ‘Well then'”.
