Russian submarines rusting away to catastrophe

In Murmansk's nuclear graveyard, 200 Hiroshimas lie in wait, writes STEVE CRAWSHAW.

SNEZHNOGORSK - In the midst of the desolate landscape of the Kola Peninsula - bare granite and low-growing birch trees for kilometre after desolate kilometre - three nuclear submarines lie rusting in the icy waters of Snezhnogorsk.

These submarines will never again be used; in that sense, their presence here is good news. But those with responsibility for looking after them fear that these vessels, and dozens of others like them, could yet cause a catastrophe which would make the Chernobyl disaster pale into insignificance.

Two years ago Robin Cook, then British Foreign Secretary, promised £5 million ($16.5 million) to help with the nuclear clean-up in the Murmansk region, as part of a larger programme on nuclear clean-up in the former Soviet Union, where environmental considerations always came bottom of the list.

None of the money has been delivered; a key set of talks between the two sides last week ended inconclusively. If the hesitations continue for much longer, Russians believe it may all be too late.

Yuri Yevdokimov, Governor of the Murmansk region, says: "I don't want to be rude. But I think that few people in Europe have appreciated the nature of the real risk."

Until recently, the Nerpa submarine repair yard at Snezhnogorsk was off-limits. Even now, you sense that the plant managers are wary of their own bravery in opening the rusting gates. And yet they reckon they have little option.

They want the rest of the world to help them to stave off the danger of nuclear apocalypse - and they believe that the danger is real.

In the words of Pavel Steblin, director of the plant, "God forbid that a tragedy should happen here. But if it does, the world would be involved."

In theory, Western countries already acknowledge the dangers posed by this rusting nuclear graveyard.

British officials argue, however, that Russian bureaucracy is obstructive; there is said to be a lack of transparency, and the legal framework, especially for liability guarantees, is unclear. The only thing both sides agree on is that if something goes wrong, it could go very wrong indeed. Russian officials talk of "200 Hiroshimas."

Snezhnogorsk is just northwest of Murmansk, a city of half a million inhabitants and endless crumbling apartment blocks.

Here the economic turnaround that is getting under way in other parts of Russia is still a distant prospect, at best. We are well inside the Arctic Circle, and it is broad daylight at midnight. Even that strange, never-fading light fails to lend Murmansk real charm, however. This is a place of Soviet-style desolation.

The Snezhnogorsk submarines are only part of a much larger problem in the Murmansk region. There are 200 nuclear reactors and 80 nuclear submarines waiting to be decommissioned throughout the region; the Northern Fleet has its main base at Severomorsk, west of Murmansk. The Lepse, an old Soviet supply ship in Murmansk Bay, has hundreds of spent nuclear fuel assemblies on board.

Alexander Ruzankin, chairman of the nuclear conversion and radiation safety committee for the region, says: "I don't know of any technology that could treat that boat properly."

Yet, if the rusting Lepse were to sink, it would unleash radioactivity on a catastrophic scale.

At Andreyeva Bay, further west, 20,000 spent fuel rods stored in rusty containers would be equally difficult to deal with. In short, a catalogue of environmental nightmares.

According to Ruzankin, submarines are being decommissioned at the rate of around 15 a year; to do it safely is expensive. The Russians calculate that $US1.5 billion ($3.55 billion) is needed to get the nuclear problems of the Barents Sea region safely under control.

Russia, it is generally agreed, cannot afford to foot the whole bill. Other money comes from the Norwegians, the Americans and the European Union.

Ruzankin is impatient both with his own Government and with the European failure to acknowledge the potential problem for the rest of the world.

He also suggests that the Kremlin is almost as reluctant to focus on the problem as the rest of Europe.

Nobody in Murmansk or Snezhnogorsk can be unaware of the literally explosive problems that lurk on their doorstep. But, as Ruzankin points out, "Moscow is far away. We're next door."

- INDEPENDENT