Can Kazakhstan Bury Its Soviet, Nuclear Past?

KURCHATOV, Kazakhstan—In the remote steppe grasslands of Kazakhstan where, decades ago, Soviet military scientists detonated 456 nuclear bombs, tourists from around the world can don white hazmat suits, masks, and rubber boots and pay guides around $1,000 for a one-day tour of the testing complex where the former Soviet Union established itself as a nuclear superpower beginning in the late 1940s.

The Semipalatinsk Test Site, known as the Polygon, helped usher in the nuclear age—and exposed a reported half million to 1.5 million people to high doses of radiation. But today, locals fish and swim in a nearby lake, graze their cattle and horses on the land, pick wild strawberries, and hunt rabbits. Walking around the site, one sees mounds of trash, discarded liquor bottles, and charred traces of campfires. There are no checkpoints, no fences, and no signs warning that the 7,065-square-mile territory remains radioactive.

It’s a perilous situation that some critics have blamed on Kazakhstan’s neglect and even greed—a combination of government ineptitude, lack of money to secure the enormous territory, and a desire to open the site up for business by leasing the land for mining.


The author stands on the nuclear bombing test fields in Kazakhstan.


The author stands on the nuclear bombing test fields in Kazakhstan.

Cheryl L. Reed, the author, stands on the nuclear bomb test fields in Kazakhstan on Sept. 13, 2022, wearing a hazmat suit as protection against radiation.Cheryl L. Reed for Foreign Policy

KURCHATOV, Kazakhstan—In the remote steppe grasslands of Kazakhstan where, decades ago, Soviet military scientists detonated 456 nuclear bombs, tourists from around the world can don white hazmat suits, masks, and rubber boots and pay guides around $1,000 for a one-day tour of the testing complex where the former Soviet Union established itself as a nuclear superpower beginning in the late 1940s.

The Semipalatinsk Test Site, known as the Polygon, helped usher in the nuclear age—and exposed a reported half million to 1.5 million people to high doses of radiation. But today, locals fish and swim in a nearby lake, graze their cattle and horses on the land, pick wild strawberries, and hunt rabbits. Walking around the site, one sees mounds of trash, discarded liquor bottles, and charred traces of campfires. There are no checkpoints, no fences, and no signs warning that the 7,065-square-mile territory remains radioactive.

It’s a perilous situation that some critics have blamed on Kazakhstan’s neglect and even greed—a combination of government ineptitude, lack of money to secure the enormous territory, and a desire to open the site up for business by leasing the land for mining.

Some people even believe the neglect arose from the government wanting to push away disturbing memories of a time when Kazakhstan was at the mercy of Moscow’s atomic whims. In recent years, it has gotten so bad that looters have begun ripping up the remains of the bombing fields for rebar, pipes, and cables they can resell, erasing visible reminders of the site’s history—and of the risks it continues to pose.

“I think it’s an issue of money, an issue of will, and an issue of trying to forget the past,” said Magdalena Stawkowski, assistant professor of cultural and medical anthropology at the University of South Carolina. “It’s easier to simply ignore the situation and do something else with the land rather than securitizing it. There’s no money in securitizing anything.”

But regardless, Russian President Vladimir Putin’s threats over the past year to use nuclear weapons in Ukraine have only highlighted the dangers of letting a territory like the Polygon be forgotten.


U.S. newspaper headlines in 1949 after then-U.S. President Harry Truman announced that the Soviet Union had conducted its first nuclear weapons test.U.S. newspaper headlines in 1949 after then-U.S. President Harry Truman announced that the Soviet Union had conducted its first nuclear weapons test.


U.S. newspaper headlines in 1949 after then-U.S. President Harry Truman announced that the Soviet Union had conducted its first nuclear weapons test.

Left: A selection of U.S. newspaper headlines are seen on Sept. 24, 1949, after then-U.S. President Harry Truman announced that the Soviet Union had conducted its first nuclear weapons test. Right: The blast at the Semipalatinsk Test Site is seen in Kazakhstan on Aug. 29, 1949.Keystone/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

Today, the Polygon is on many so-called dark tourism lists along with other notable historical sites known for their death, tragedy, and suffering, such as Alcatraz near San Francisco, the Catacombs in Paris, and the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant and its abandoned city of Pripyat.

But the Polygon is not just a tourist destination. Although the site was closed to testing bombs in 1991, the area still serves as a giant laboratory for scientists around the world who examine the effects of radiation exposure on everything from plants and animals to underground and surface waterways as well as nearby populations and their descendants. Kazakhstan’s Institute of Radiation Safety and Ecology, which runs the complex, also cooperates with foreign organizations, such as the International Atomic Energy Agency and many others, and hosts scientific conferences as well as publishes research articles.

At the top of the Polygon is the small city of Kurchatov, which is the administrative and research headquarters for the former bombing test fields. Many of Kurchatov’s residents work for the Institute of Radiation Safety and Ecology or its parent organization, the National Nuclear Center (NNC), which oversees research on the Polygon, including its two nuclear reactors that are used for scientific research.

The city is named after Soviet physicist Igor Kurchatov, who ran the nuclear tests there and is considered the father of the Soviet Union’s atomic bomb. There’s a large statue of him in town as well as others at the headquarters, a strange honorific given the immense memorial to the victims of radiation in the nearby city of Semey.

Kurchatov’s main industry of radiation research is housed amid a sprawling compound of laboratories and administrative buildings that cover more than 51 acres in the city. The nearest bombing site was 31 miles from Kurchatov, but radiation fallout still affected the residents there and in other villages surrounding the Polygon. From 1949 to 1989, the Soviets exploded more than 50 megatons of nuclear weapons at Semipalatinsk, the equivalent of 3,333 bombs the size of the one dropped on Hiroshima, according to documents distributed by the National Nuclear Center.


A gas mask on a broken fence marks the former nuclear testing boundary near Kurchatov.

A gas mask on a broken fence marks the former nuclear testing boundary near Kurchatov.

A broken fence ornamented with a gas mask marks the former nuclear testing boundary near Kurchatov in the Kazakh steppes on Nov. 1, 2007. John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images



A MiG fighter is seen on display near the Semipalatinsk Test Site.

A MiG fighter is seen on display near the Semipalatinsk Test Site.

A MiG fighter is seen on display near the Semipalatinsk Test Site on Nov. 1, 2007, marking the legacy of Soviet domination. John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images

Despite ongoing research on radiation in the area, few precautions are required to visit the Polygon compared with similar sites around the world. Before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, when I visited Chernobyl’s exclusion zone, spread over 1,000 square miles, I had to provide my passport in advance and pass through several checkpoints, including two where machines checked for signs of radiation on clothes and shoes. There were fences, signs warning of radiation, and guards and military patrolling the area.

Access to former nuclear bombing sites in the United States is also strictly controlled. White Sands Missile Range’s Trinity Site in New Mexico, where the world’s first nuclear bomb was exploded, is only open two days a year. The Nevada Test Site, where 928 nuclear bombs were detonated, is open once a month for a tightly controlled tour.

Yet last September, when I visited Semipalatinsk, a tour guide applied for my permit, which was free. We never saw any guards.

As we walked along the steep banks of the Atomic Lake, a 328-feet deep crater lake formed from a nuclear explosion, our Geiger counters continually beeped at radioactive ranges 13 times above normal. Because the greatest danger at the lake is kicking up radioactive dust on clothes or inhaling the dust, we were completely covered by our hooded suits and wore masks.


The Atomic Lake is seen in Kazakhstan.The Atomic Lake is seen in Kazakhstan.


The Atomic Lake is seen in Kazakhstan.

The Atomic Lake at the Polygon nuclear bombing test fields is seen in Kazakhstan on Sept. 3, 2022. The lake was created with an explosion nine times greater than the one in Hiroshima.Cheryl L. Reed for Foreign Policy

We wandered the radioactive and contaminated grounds of the experimental fields, exploring rocket silos, crater lakes, and underground bunkers and command centers. But we also saw structures reduced to rubble as well as the bulldozers and cranes of looters, who were either unaware of or unbothered by the radiation.

“It’s beyond our capabilities to guard the territory,” said Assan Aidarkhanov, director of the Institute of Radiation Safety and Ecology. “We talk to people and say that such activities might not be safe. But it’s not our responsibility.”

Securing the Polygon is largely the responsibility of three regional governments that consider the bombing territory as “reserve lands,” Aidarkhanov said. “But I’m not sure how the whole area is patrolled.” When asked if he thought the government was trying to forget about the site’s past, Aidarkhanov refused to comment.

The government leases “clean lands” in the Polygon to various companies that mine coal, gold, and other minerals. But some of those industries are operating in or near areas that the government labels “dirty lands,” such as the coal plant near the Atomic Lake.

“People shouldn’t be allowed to dig in this stuff. It’s kind of like digging in the Red Forest,” Stawkowski said, referring to the highly radioactive territory near the Chernobyl nuclear reactor. “It’s a soup of contaminants.”

At a minimum, Stawkowski said, the NNC should erect fences around the most radioactive areas and post warning signs. She and other researchers believe the center should disseminate maps to farmers, so they know which areas are safe to graze cattle and horses.

“The National Nuclear Center’s goal for the Polygon is ultimately to open for business,” Stawkowski said. “But you cannot clean up radiation. Plutonium [one of the elements used in nuclear weapons] has a half-life of 24,000 years.”


A hospital built by the Soviets in 1978 near the Polygon test site is seen.A hospital built by the Soviets in 1978 near the Polygon test site is seen.


A hospital built by the Soviets in 1978 near the Polygon test site is seen.

A hospital built by the Soviets in 1978 near the Polygon test site is seen on Nov. 3, 2007. The hospital’s director says 20 percent of the patients have symptoms related to radiation disease.John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images

Radiation from the bombings has long contaminated crops, land, and livestock as well as caused severe health problems. Stawkowski and other researchers have found higher incidents of rare cancers among those who live near the Polygon.

It’s not an isolated problem. Kazakhstan is the world’s top producer of uranium, supplying nearly half the global total. Many villages and towns are built on top of uranium mine tailings, Stawkowski said. Experts estimate the country holds 230 million tons of radioactive waste in 529 locations.

For some, losing the Polygon’s past poses great danger. “This Soviet legacy must be preserved,” said Dmitriy Kalmykov, development director at the EcoMuseum, a nearby environmental museum that focuses on the dangers of pollution and radiation. Kalmykov once dreamed of setting up a museum at the Polygon where visitors could learn about the perils of nuclear weapons. “But I’m afraid it may be too late,” he said. “The biggest materials are being dismantled now. No one is interested in changing the situation.”

There is one small museum on the Institute of Radiation Safety and Ecology’s grounds, but it houses only a small number of artifacts left by the Russians. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the Russians packed up most of their equipment and research data and took it back to Moscow to the regret of scientists at Kurchatov.

Ironically, getting access to the museum is far more difficult than visiting the testing site. I had to apply to Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Energy, submit copies of my passport, and provide an explanation for my visit. After weeks of emails, the Institute of Radiation Safety and Ecology granted an official invitation for an hour-and-a-half tour that carried the signatures of six top institute and NNC officials.


Abandoned buildings that once housed Soviet atomic bomb construction workers are seen in Kazakhstan.Abandoned buildings that once housed Soviet atomic bomb construction workers are seen in Kazakhstan.


Abandoned buildings that once housed Soviet atomic bomb construction workers are seen in Kazakhstan.

Abandoned, dilapidated apartment buildings, which once housed people who worked on the Soviet Union’s construction of the atomic bombs, dominate the landscape in Kurchatov, Kazakhstan, on Nov. 1, 2007.John van Hasselt/Corbis via Getty Images

On the appointed day, I was escorted around the museum’s large room by a translator, two scientists, and a woman in pink go-go boots who never spoke but appeared to write down everything we said. A catalogue of photos depicted mushroom clouds of various sizes from bombings. A large diorama showed how the Soviets created simulated towns with houses, bridges, an underground metro station, cars, and military equipment to test how they would fare from the impact of explosions. At one of the control panels, I was able to push buttons that set off a mock explosion.

The museum briefly addressed the radiation’s fallout on local communities. On display were jars of animals preserved in fluid that had suffered mutations as well as a small photo of a man with facial deformities from radiation.

The artifacts and photos on display provided a glimpse into why some Kazakhs in the region see the Polygon as a painful reminder of a Soviet past in which they were largely governed by Russians who did not consider how radiation fallout would affect the lives of thousands of Kazakhs.

“Most villagers only know that they saw a mushroom cloud and then people came to take their blood,” said Kaisha Atakhanova, a biologist in nearby Karaganda who specializes in the genetic effects of nuclear radiation. “They call themselves ‘white mice’ because scientists have studied them so much.”

Atakhanova, who grew up near the Polygon and had several family members die of cancer, doesn’t care if the bombing site is destroyed. “The Soviets took all their secrets. So much information is not open. We’ll never know … how much of the land is polluted.”

Yet as Kazakhs debate the value of preserving the site, Moscow hasn’t forgotten about its nuclear legacy in the country. On Dec. 2, 2022, Russia tested a new missile-defense system rocket, launching it just 300 miles south of the Polygon.

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