Environment: The Great Nuclear Debate

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The atomic industry — and a vast majority of nuclear scientists — believes that so drastic a step would be utterly unwarranted; there has simply never been a disastrous accident in U.S. commercial atomic power plants. That is not by chance. Each "nuke," as the power stations are called, must be designed to withstand the worst earthquakes, floods or other "acts of God" ever recorded in its area. Every piece of equipment is supposed to meet the stiffest quality controls anywhere in civilian industry. If any component fails, layer after layer of "redundant" safety features are ready to be activated. Last month the Federal Government released the final version of an exhaustive statistical study of reactor safety by a team under M.I.T. Nuclear Physicist Norman C. Rasmussen. A major conclusion: 100 U.S. nuclear plants would have an accident involving 1,000 or more deaths only once in a million years — hardly the odds to justify a moratorium on nuclear energy.

Yet critics dismiss the study on several grounds, ranging from disagreements with Rasmussen's analytical methods to the impossibility of working into equations the possibility of human error by plant operators or the likelihood of sabotage. Then there is the disturbing frequency of small accidents. Last year alone, for instance, some 1,400 "abnormal occurrences" in nukes were reported to the federal Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Most involved routine mechanical difficulties or slight infringements of federal rules — proof, says NRC Chairman and former Apollo 8 Astronaut William Anders, that "our inspectors are nitpickers." But to the critics, the plethora of defects simply validates Murphy's Law — if anything can go wrong, it will.

Murphy struck most convincingly last March at the Tennessee Valley Authority's huge Browns Ferry nuclear plant near Decatur, Ala. A technician, using a candle to search for air leaks in an area where electric cables converge beneath the control room, was startled when the candle ignited some polyurethane foam surrounding the cables. As the blaze spread, the power plant's electrical system went haywire: instruments that had been shut off clicked back on; some that had been switched on turned off. Many of the redundant safety systems were disabled. There was no meltdown — a tribute to the ingenuity of the plant's operators — but it was a close call.

In addition, highly damaging criticism has come from, of all places, the staunchest advocate of the peaceful atom — the old Atomic Energy Commission, which early this year was split into the NRC and the Energy Research and Development Administration. Antinuclear groups have reams of internal AEC memos and reports that were either leaked directly to them by dissident scientists or obtained under the Freedom of Information Act. Some of the documents call attention to defective equipment, others to faulty procedures, and still others to laxity in the federal regulatory system. Indeed, the evidence of past bureaucratic cover-ups and bumbling has led Nader to denounce nuclear power as "our technological Viet Nam."

Many of the troubles are being solved by the NRC's tightening of safety standards. But accidental meltdowns are not the only worries of nuclear opponents. Among other concerns: