A Call for Specialists

“You have to leave for Chernobyl immediately.” This is what the letter addressed to Lieutenant Colonel, Dr. Lev Artishchev read. He received it in August 1986 while on a family vacation in Leningrad (currently Saint-Petersburg). “It was an order from the Main Military Medical Directorate of the USSR, and I had to be there as soon as possible,” recalls 83-year old Artishchev, who back then was the general toxicologist-radiologist of the 7th guard of the Ministry of Defence of the Soviet Union. 

Born to an Armenian mother and a Russian father, Artishchev is one of the most respected military doctors in Armenia. 

On August 20, he arrived at Chernobyl, with a small suitcase filled with documents and papers about radiology and safety instructions. “I knew they would call me eventually,” says Artishchev. “There were only about 79 radilogist-toxicologist in the Soviet Army and I was one of them. We were trained and prepared for that kind of disasters, and I was aware of the situation there.” 

Chernobyl was not the first disaster he had dealt with. Throughout his service in the Soviet Army, he participated in liquidation actions in several low-scale disasters. 

Upon his arrival, Dr. Artishchev was appointed as the radiologist-toxicologist for the army units who were performing various liquidation tasks. His primary responsibility was to check the radiation levels of soldiers and then recheck it when they arrived back. 

“We [he and other doctors] had to make sure that the radiation levels the commanders and their groups received did not exceed the limited number,” Artishchev explains. “The limit we had set was 27 rem because after that amount of radiation chromosome processes and changes start to occur in the human body and seriously affect health.” 

Dr. Lev Artishchev. 

Lev Artishchev (in the middle) with his colleagues in Chernobyl.

The radiation levels varied in different locations. Some people had to work two hours, some could only for five minutes.  Artishchev had to be very careful while calculating daily radiation levels as an overdose could risk liquidators’ lives. On some occasions, however, state authorities would not take this into consideration.  “Sometimes, I would see that the dose a soldier received was already 15-17,” the doctor recalls that with deep sadness. “I would immediately report that he should not continue working, but I would be told that there are not enough people, and there is no one who can replace him.” 

To exempt a liquidator, Artishchev had to report to his leader, his leader to another leader. “We had to follow our orders and had limited time, and that would take forever. What could I do then? I had only the right to report about radiation levels and not instruct liquidators.”

At some point Lev Artishchev stopped believing the radiation dosimeters and demanded that Whole Body Counters (special technology that measures radioactivity in the human body)  brought in. This was met with disapproval by his directorate that believed he was taking his job too seriously. There was no time to properly examine people and there were not enough people to replace one another. 

After the disaster different high-ranking Soviet officials would visit the Chernobyl zone. From August to September, Artishchev was responsible for instructing and guiding them in the exclusion zone. “I would check their radiation level, give them special clothes, an individual  dosimeter and then record number of days they had stayed,” he said. It was in the scope of this task when he was introduced to Valery Legasov, Soviet chemist, and Boris Scherbina, the Deputy Chairman of the Soviet Council of Ministers. 

Valeri Legasov, the first Deputy Director of the Kurchatov Institute of Atomic Energy, was one of the key figures in the Chernobyl disaster. When learning about the accident, he immediately flew to Chernobyl and was appointed the Chief of the Commission investigating the disaster. It is believed that he was the one who insisted on evacuating the population living in the nearby area. Two years later, one day before the the results of the Chernobyl investigation were to be released, Legasov commited suicide. Lev Artishchev mentions with deep sadness that Legasov played an enormous role during the Chernobyl accident yet he was ignored by state authorities. Ten years after the disaster, then Russian President Boris Yeltsin posthumously conferred Legasov the honorary title of Hero of the Russian Federation. 

Valeri Legasov (Left) in Chernobyl, Lev Artishchev is the one behind, barely seen.

The document Lev Artishchev kept for years: It shows names of the soldiers and their radiation levels. 

Armenian soldiers Yerem Avagyan and Simon Iritsyan were among the thousands of soldiers who arrived at Chernobyl right after the disaster. 

“Back then I was a 21 year-old soldier in the USSR army,” recalls Avagyan, who was spending his last days in Chernogorsk military unit. “On the night of April 27, we were transferred to Chernobyl, and the evacuation processes of the population were still going on. It was indeed very organized although people looked scared.” 

Upon arrival, Avagyan and his fellow soldiers were involved in the construction process of the 15km zone. They were given special clothes and strictly instructed on how to act on site. 

“First, we were building a zone so that people cannot go in and out, then I started to work as a driver for specialists measuring radiation levels in different areas within the zone.” 

Yerem Avagyan.

The Chernobyl Scar

Simon Iritsyan, another Armenian soldier, was serving in the military unit in the city of Bila Tserkva when he was sent to Chernobyl. “I remember it was right after the accident when we had an emergency call,” he recalls. “I was standing in front of our military unit and I remember how our commander ordered two firefighters, both Armenians, to immediately leave for Chernobyl. I never saw them again. Several days later our entire regiment was transferred there.” 

Upon Iritsyan’s arrival to Chernobyl, the population of the nearest settlement had already been evacuated. He was surprised by the image of empty houses and the abandoned city of Chernobyl. “Only aged people were left in the area,” he recalls. 

Iritsyan’s regiment was located in the woods, within the 30 km zone. He, along with hundreds of soldiers, performed various tasks including supervision of entrances to the exclusion zone, as well as transporting commanders and firefighters within the zone.

Back then, Iritsyan did not realize the severe impact of the radiation. His understanding of the liquidation actions was as simple as it would be for a soldier following orders: “We could not understand what was going on back then, because anytime a soldier goes outside his military unit, it’s a true joy for him. Unfortunately, the radiation left its mark.” 

Up until now, Simon Iritsyan and his family are “bearing” the fruits of Chernobyl. After returning to Armenia, 21-year old Simon was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer and was immediately operated on. Everyone in his village knew he had been in Chernobyl. Soon, this realization began to create obstacles in Simon’s personal life: nobody in the village wanted to marry him. To eventually form a family, Simon had to find a spouse from another city in Armenia. Anushik, Simon’s wife, discovered Simon’s Chernobyl experience only after their marriage. In 1996 they had their first child, and it seemed that the Chernobyl scar had left Simon. But Chernobyl did its job: Simon’s and Anushik’s second child died two days after the birth.“The doctor said our baby died because of my radiation exposure at Chernobyl,” Iritsyan says. However, even after this tragedy, Simon and Anushik went on to have their third child, but the boy has several health issues which, Simon believes, are caused by Chernobyl radiation. 

Up until last year, Simon was receiving a disability pension, but last year it was terminated. He has applied to the Human Rights Ombudsman.

Simon Iritsyan.

Simon Iritsyan in the woods of Chernobyl.

From Metsamor to Chernobyl 

After the accident, Armenia’s Metsamor Nuclear Power Plant sent 120 workers to Chernobyl. Metsamor had already been operating for 17 years at that point and had well-trained professionals on staff who could help with the reactors and perform other administrative tasks. 

Khdr Muradyan, an ethnic Yazidi, was a specialist in the safety system at Metsamor and was sent to Chernobyl a month after the accident. “I was working in that system, and I had to go there,” Muradyan says. “Of course I could imagine what was happening in Chernobyl.”

After arriving at Chernobyl, Muradyan started to work in the safety system of the 2nd and 3rd reactors of the power plant as those needed to operate. He had access to all the places within the 30km zone. “I would work inside the reactors for 12 hours,” Muradyan recalls. “They [the doctors] would check our radiation levels and tell us how long to stay in various locations.” 

Murdayan’s job at the power plant was not the only task he performed there: soon he was made to check the radiation levels in the abandoned city of Pripyat, the ghostly images of which forever stayed in Murdyan’s memory. The 16-year-old city, being one of the most beautiful places in the Soviet Union, was already blockaded from all sides with barbed wire. “No one was there,” Muradyan says. “We [he and his assistant] would move there by special armed cars so the radiation could not harm us that much. Everything was highly radiated there, everything.” 

Muradyan stayed in Chernobyl for about one month. However, he was called back in September because the power plant needed safety specialists. It was during his second visit when he witnessed the horrifying impact of radiation. “I remember a person died in the roof in between the second and the third reactors,” says Muradyan. “Exact minutes were set for a soldier to run and bring the corpse. The body crumbled because of the radiation, and the soldier had to collect it with a shovel.” 

After his service in Chernobyl, Muradyan returned to Armenia and worked at the Metsamor Nuclear Power Plant until 2014. Before he left Chernobyl, he was given a bonus and bequeathed with the order “Friendship of Nations.” “Back then we were treated very well,” he says. “I used to receive a pension equal to 3000 rubles. Some officials would not even have that much salary.” 

One day in August 1986, cooks from the Metsamor Nucle Power Plant Shoghik Gorodchikova (maiden surname Asatryan), who is now 75, and Hasmik Yerznkyan, 73, were called by their managers and told that they would be sent to Chernobyl. “They told us that we have to go and assist the people working there,” recalls Gorodchikova. “They did not say anything about the radiation and its consequences.” 

Khdr Muradyan. 

Khdr Muradyan (left) and his colleagues in Pripyat. 

Khdr Muradyan (right) and his colleague in Pripyat.

“They even promised they would raise our salaries and will give this and that if we just go,” Yerznkyan adds. 

Upon their arrival, Yerznkyan and Gorodchikova were placed in the abandoned kindergarten in Chernobyl. “When we arrived, I saw people in white clothes, and with masks covering their mouths,” recalls Yerznkyan. “I was very surprised. Then they gathered us and warned us not to eat fruits and vegetables, not to touch things.”

“Every morning we had to walk to one of the schools that were serving as a cafeteria,” continues Gorodchikova. 

After working in Chernobyl for one month, the cooks were sent back to Armenia. “A year later, in 1987, our directorate decided to send us again,” Yerznkyan says. “They said we were already experienced and could work there.” 

This time Gorodchikova and Yerznkyan were tasked to work in the 19th cafeteria that was situated next to the damaged reactor. “I remember we used to follow how soldiers from helicopters poured sand and boulders on the damaged reactor,” says Yerznkyan. “It smelled horrible. I even remember that some of them died while performing that task.” 

“This time they would take us to the cafeteria by special cars,” Gorodchikova recalls, “and they would constantly clean those cars with special chemical substances.” 

No one could smell or see the radiation. It was very hard for these young women to realize the dangers of that invisible monster. They simply remember being told not to go outside...

Hasmik Yerznkyan.

Shoghik Gorodchikova. 

From Serving Nine Months to the “Chernobyl Union of Armenia” 

Gevorg Vardanyan, lawyer and the head of “Chernobyl Union of Armenia” is the only Armenian who stayed in the Chernobyl zone for about nine months. Back then, a 19-year old soldier, Vardanyan would never have imagined that his so-called business trip to Moscow with his commander would end up in Chernobyl. “I only realized I was in Chernobyl when people in the bus put on masks after the big sign reading ‘Chernobyl’ appeared in front of us,” recalls Vardanyan. “I had heard about the disaster, but I did not know the details.”

Upon arrival, Vardanyan was assigned to supervise food storage and organize food transportation to liquidators within the restricted zone. He was already a platoon leader and had the trust of his commanders to perform such duties. 

During his nine-month service in Chernobyl, Vardanyan witnessed many things, and even today remembers the strictness and cruelty of state authorities: “I remember there were many houses in the city of Chernobyl. People were evacuated, and soldiers were guarding the houses so that no one would enter. They were very strict about that. Once a soldier had taken a TV so he and his friends could watch it during their free time. The state decided to sentence him to 10 years of imprisonment so that others see and do not repeat the same mistake.” 

Vardanyan stayed in the abandoned nursing home that had been transformed into a military unit. Every day he would witness how people’s health condition was getting worse. “Every morning, before the start of the working day, the soldiers would line up for a check-up,” says Vardanyan. “When looking at their faces you could see that they were not feeling good. Their faces were pale, and most of them wanted to sleep. Sometimes they would fall in front of my eyes.” 

The invisibility of radiation was a disaster itself. Young soldiers like Vardanyan could not realize the severity of the contamination. “I used to wear a military form, but every time entering a highly radiated zone, I had to put on a mask,” Vardanyan recalls. “But, you know, it was very hot, and after 10 minutes I would get angry and throw it away.”

During his service, Vardanyan saw on several occasions where some people agreed to work in extremely radiated areas just because they wanted to get out of the Chernobyl as soon as possible. “The ones refusing to work were being punished,” he says. “The authorities would sentence them, or isolate them from the others. I was involved in paperwork, and I witnessed all of that.” 

In his eighth month of service, Vardanyan started to feel ill. The skin of his fingers became so thin that he could not even wear his clothes. He also started to have nosebleeds. “The doctors examined me and said that I have to leave Chernobyl immediately,” Vardanyan recalls. “But only one month was left until the completion of my service in the army, and I decided to stay.”

At the beginning of 1987, Vardanyan returned to Armenia and pursued a career as a lawyer. Currently, he is the head of the Chernobyl Union of Armenia since 2003, the only organization that supports those who participated in the liquidation actions in Chernobyl. 

Chernobyl Union is not unique to Armenia: after the disaster many national Chernobyl unions were founded within the former Soviet republics. 

Founded in 1989, the organization aimed to bring together all the Armenians who took part in the Chernobyl clean-up. According to Gevorg Vardanyan, the primary goal of the Union was to register people who became disabled after Chernobyl, gather all the information about their health conditions and be able to raise questions about their social protection. 

Unfortunately, today, many issues regarding the social protection of Chernobyl participants in Armenia remain unresolved. “These people have serious health and financial issues,” explains Vardayan. “Many of them have even left the country because the protection of Chernobyl participants is much better in Russia and other former republics of the Soviet Union.” 

Gevorg Vardanyan.

Gevor Vardanyan's Chernobyl certificate. 

Gevorg Vardanyan (left) in Chernobyl. 

Medal for liquidation actions.