What I'm Reading

Today marks 40 years since the Chernobyl disaster. I was 8 years old then, living in Bulgaria, and like most people here, I learned much later what had actually happened in those first critical days. At the time, there was no warning, no iodine distribution, no clear guidance. Just silence. The authorities in the Soviet Union and across the Eastern Bloc, including our own, chose control of information over protection of people.

That decision had consequences. Radioactive clouds did not respect borders or party lines. They passed over our borders while people went about their daily lives. Children played outside, families consumed contaminated food, and May Day parades went ahead as planned. The risk was known to those in power, but it was not shared. That breach of trust is, in my view, as serious as the technical failure at the reactor itself.

What stands out today is not only the scale of the accident, but the instinct to hide it. Chernobyl exposed a system where preserving authority mattered more than transparency. And that instinct is not confined to the past. Even now, governments (democratic or not) are tempted to downplay risks, delay bad news, or manage perception instead of reality. The tools have changed, but the reflex is familiar.

The lesson is straightforward: when information is controlled, people pay the price. Whether we are talking about nuclear safety, public health, or environmental risks, early disclosure and accountability are not optional. They're the first line of protection. Trust, once broken, is hard to rebuild. And without trust, even the right decisions come too late or are not believed.

Chernobyl should not be treated as a closed chapter from the Cold War. It's a reminder that systems fail, but cover-ups make failure catastrophic. For countries like mine, which lived through both the accident and the silence that followed, that memory should make us less tolerant of secrecy and more demanding of those in power, regardless of ideology.