Chernobyl: a beautiful introduction to an ugly set of facts

During this (hopefully short-lived) lull in new cinematic releases due to our COVID-induced irregular civic life, it seems a good opportunity to recall some recent quality work that some of us might have missed. If you did not catch it upon original release last year, Chernobyl might be one of the best things to come to the screen since, well, Chernobyl.

Currently available on DVD and streaming services, this five-part HBO miniseries dramatizes the meltdown of the now infamous 1980s Soviet nuclear power plant. The name has since become synonymous with man-made disaster, yet relatively few people are probably aware of the scale of the catastrophe and the even greater menace of what might have been.

With masterful restraint and human sensitivity, Chernobyl offers what is in many ways a truly beautiful introduction to an ugly set of facts.

Essentially a meditation on concentrations of power, the miniseries raises the curtain not only on the power of science and politics, but also on the profoundly concentrated power of personal sacrifice that is sometimes required when these go profoundly askew.

I honestly do not feel the need to say much about the series, as its sheer quality speaks for itself. If you are at all inclined, I simply urge you to watch it.

But for those who might like a little more convincing, I will offer this fairly personal (and somewhat idiosyncratic) appraisal.

When I was in graduate school I had the opportunity to attend a three-week seminar in Krakow, Poland, dedicated to disseminating the principles of Catholic social teaching. Two-thirds of the three dozen attendees came from Central and Eastern European countries – Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Lithuania, Ukraine – and between formal discussions and excursions to places like John Paul II’s birthplace and Auschwitz, I made some great friends and listened to their stories.

Several were just old enough to remember the last days of Soviet occupation, and those who were not certainly had parents and grandparents who were, and themselves had grown up amid the transitions of openness to the West. One friend recalled as a child holding a place all day in line at the grocery store, for instance, so that he and his family might secure something to eat.

Something that really surprised me was how enthusiastic many were about the United States. The enthusiasm was not naive – these were politically and philosophically astute individuals who could recognize a problem when they saw it – rather, from their perspective, the U.S. represented the great antithesis to their countries’ Cold War subjugators.

Symbolically, then, the U.S. stood for freedom, the dignity of individuals, and, if I dare say it today, a certain kind of honesty in politics.

If this last sounds ridiculous (and believe me, I tremble as I say it), watch Chernobyl. Assuming the Cold War really had to boil down to global hegemony by one of these two superpowers, for my part I too am glad it turned out to be America.

Politics to one side, there is a more seasonal reason the miniseries might be of interest, namely, its moving depiction of a kind of secular martyrdom.

On the surface it might seem strange to associate Eastertide with events in a modern regime officially antagonistic to Christianity, but the connection is not totally arbitrary. Rather, in the witness of tens of thousands of ordinary citizens who risked their lives to curtail the potentially continental-scale implications of this disaster, we might discern human-sized images of that love which gives up everything that others might live.

For reasons perhaps entirely beyond their control, many of these persons might have been barred from celebrating the Resurrection. But as they voluntarily walk into a radioactive hell for the sake of the common good, I cannot help but hope they will number amongst its beneficiaries.

Pope Francis has recently announced a plenary indulgence for those workers who continue to work at the front lines providing care amid pandemic. How fitting then, perhaps, to hold before our gaze these past servants of civic health and appreciate in a fresh way the often unsung sacrifice that goes into maintaining that precarious and in many ways extraordinary predicament, regular life.