Digest for other years
September
2001
Russian Science and the World
(WWW Monthly Digest)
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    CONTRA COSTA TIMES / September 9 - 11, 2001
    A decade of Russian science
    • Andrea Widener, Jim Ketsdever

    Ten years after the end of the Cold War, the status of Russia's once-mighty nuclear industry has become a global concern - specifically finding ways to redirect the work of Russian nuclear scientists to prevent the spread of weapons to rogue nations and terrorists. Times reporter Andrea Widener and photographer Jim Ketsdever traveled to Russia in March and April to learn more, and in five Russian cities they talked to nearly 100 people - students, secretaries, researchers and government officials - about how their lives and work have changed. Widener's trip was funded through the Pew Fellowships in International Journalism. More information, including links and additional profiles of Russian scientists, is available on the Web at www.BayArea.com/contracostatimes

    The State of Science

Russian doctoral and post-doctoral science degrees awarded: 1989: 33,734; 1995: 14,313; 1999: 15,204;
Research and development (R&D) personnel per 10,000 employees:
1992: 213
1995: 160
1999: 137
Percent of gross domestic product spent on R&D: 1990: 2.03; 1995: 1.79; 1999: 1.06;
Source of Russian R&D dollars, 1999:
Government: 49.9 percent Funds from abroad: 16.9 percent Business sector: 15.7 percent Internal institute funds: 10.4 percent
Most respected Russian professions in 1999 (ranked by percent of respondents):
Businessman: 50
Politician: 21
Physician: 18
Skilled worker: 17
Journalist: 15
Tradesman: 14
Artist, actor, writer: 13
Teacher: 9
Farmer: 9
Scientist: 5
Military: 4
Engineer: 2
Don't know: 21
Source: "Russian Science and Technology at a Glance, 2000"
* * *

    One emigre's optimistic view
Published Tuesday, September 11, 2001

Alexandre Telnov, who left to study here six years ago, says Russia's strong science education system will help it recover Alexandre Telnov knows plenty of Russian scientists working in the United States.
In fact, it took just a few minutes for this ardent young man with straight, pale blond hair and lots to say to find two Russian colleagues at the Stanford Linear Accelerator Center. He pulled them aside to chat about the state of Russian science.
All three are from Akademgorodok, a southwestern Siberian city packed with research institutes and high-level scientists. Telnov left his hometown six years ago to study high energy physics at UC Berkeley and Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory, nearly 6,000 miles away.
When he first left, people would ask, "How can you go study in California where it is sunny all of the time?" Telnov remembered.
But Telnov, who goes by the nickname Sasha, came for more than just the weather. He decided studying in the United States would allow him to do more serious research more quickly.
And it shows. Although his round cheeks make him look younger, Telnov seems older than his 26 years, and he has the responsibilities of someone older. He said he's already had the opportunity to take on responsibility in the massive Babar project, a Stanford Linear Accelerator Center project looking at subatomic particles. That's something that wouldn't be possible in Russia, both because there aren't big international projects there and because Russian education focuses on theory rather than practice. Telnov has a whole host of issues with both Russian and Western science, and he ticked them off the hand-written list he pulled from his pocket.
Respect for both Russian science and the prestigious Academy of Sciences has fallen. Few businesses are jumping up to sponsor research. Russia is unlikely to host a major international research project anytime soon, because a host country usually pays at least half the costs. Taken together, these problems have driven scientists out of Russia.
"I don't think these people are lost forever to Russia as scientists", Telnov said.
He said science in Russia can recover because its students have a strong base in science - stronger than what he hears about the U.S. system - and a more open peer-review process.
"I tend to be optimistic about the future of Russia", he said. "Even though we have a not-so-good government that is mismanaging the country, I think eventually Russia will begin a normal development". And Telnov still hasn't decided whether or not he will return to Russia.
* * *
Nuclear cities face uncertainty
Published Tuesday, September 10, 2001

Their poverty has prompted proliferation fears; foreign programs to boost their economies have had spotty success. Still encircled by tall fences 10 years after the Cold War ended, Russia's 10 nuclear weapons cities have brand new names but an uncertain future.
These closed cities in Russia's most remote regions were once the heart of the nuclear weapons industry, with an elite status that made them sealed enclaves of science and culture.
Now the cities' 760,000 residents are underpaid - at times, unpaid - and must rely on backyard gardens for food because store shelves are often bare.
Along with their counterparts in missile, biological and chemical weapons cities, these homes of nuclear know-how present the most daunting challenge facing governments and nuclear watchdog groups.
Fears that scientists and other weapons workers, desperate to support their families, will take their knowledge and bomb-making materials to countries such as Iran, Iraq and North Korea, have fueled efforts to employ scientists and economically strengthen these cities, with spotty success. The one U.S. program specifically designed to help the secret cities' transition from weapons work to mainstream industry has faced years of precarious funding and support.
"In Russia, there is a complicated situation", said Alexander Pikayev, who studies nonproliferation issues at the Carnegie Moscow Center. "There is no money to support (weapons scientists) to continue their activities. There is no money to convert them to civilian proposals".

Life behind the fence

Until recent years, Russia's nuclear cities didn't appear on maps. They were known only by post box numbers in nearby towns, such as Tomsk-7 or Arzamas-16. Residents were not allowed to leave to visit their families or travel. No foreigners were permitted inside. The cities and their research institutions were swept up in the stirrings of democracy and capitalism that accompanied the collapse of the Soviet Union. They changed their names, held their first city elections and encouraged entrepreneurship. They allowed Westerners inside the fences for the first time. Several established close ties with U.S. laboratory towns, which have much in common with their Russian counterparts. Snezhinsk is home to a laboratory like its sister city of Livermore, site of Lawrence Livermore Lab.
The end of the Cold War was also a time of pain. Gone were the perks and comfortable salaries of old. Russia's budget for its nuclear weapons facilities is one-seventh of what it was 10 years ago. Its average weapons assembly worker earns $56 per month.
"There is a lot of resentment of the difficult economic times", said Eileen Vergino, deputy director of the Livermore lab's Center for Global Security Research and a sister cities leader who has visited Snezhinsk a dozen times. Dire conditions at these cities and throughout Russia's nuclear complex panicked many international observers.
"We were literally worried about these people picking up stakes and going to bad places", explained Laura Holgate, who heads Russian nuclear programs for the Nuclear Threat Initiative, formed by Ted Turner to fight the spread of weapons of mass destruction.
In the early 1990s, the United States and Europe set up stopgap programs to keep scientists from taking their knowledge to rogue states, and there have only been a few isolated cases of that happening. But the larger issue remains: Russia has too many nuclear sector employees - at 75,000 more than twice as many as the United States - and no money to convert them to peacetime work.

Using resources

As the United States did a decade ago, Russia's Ministry of Atomic Energy (MinAtom) plans to convert its nuclear program from active weapons production to maintenance. It expects to shut three of six assembly plants by 2005. In all, half the nuclear work force - 35,000 people - will be out of work.
For closed cities, especially those where plants are shuttered, this means massive unemployment. MinAtom has plans to help these cities by, for example, encouraging industry to develop software products or medical devices, said Alexander Antonov, head of the agency's department of conversion.
"The main idea is to use the incredible intellectual resources that are in the closed cities", said Antonov from MinAtom's Moscow offices. "We have to organize a favorable environment for them to work".
But MinAtom has little money. Because of this, Russians say they welcomed working with the United States on the Nuclear Cities Initiative, the only program specifically designed to help conversion of nuclear cities.
This Department of Energy initiative aims to strengthen city governments, help weapons institutes turn to industrial work, and encourage entrepreneurship among Russia's well-trained, but market-illiterate, citizens.
In three cities - Sarov, Snezhinsk and Zheleznogorsk - the initiative has opened business development and computing centers, funded training on proposal writing and career changes, and sponsored city leadership training.
In its most touted success, the initiative moved a mile-long concrete fence inside the closed city of Sarov, opening up former weapons disassembly buildings to industrial development. Already, a kidney dialysis equipment maker has moved into this area.
But the program has fallen short of its goals during its three years, directly creating 370 jobs instead of thousands and drawing criticism in the United States and Russia. The General Accounting Office has called the program ineffective, and a recent National Security Council review recommended dropping some elements and merging the rest with other initiatives.
The two major sticking points are money and access.
Funding for the Nuclear Cities Initiative has gone up and down constantly since it began in 1998, peaking at $30 million a year. President Bush's budget for 2002 bottomed out at $6 million, although Congress will likely give the program more. That is much less than the $550 million program managers had expected over a five- to seven-year period.
Russians say sporadic funding tests their commitment to continue working with the United States. Worse, very little money - they say only $1 million total, although initiative officials dispute that - has gone to cities and instead goes to U.S. labs and the Department of Energy, which runs the initiative.
Initiative officials say start-up years are hard and require more money for management. Now that the program is established, more money will go to create jobs in cities.
"In my opinion, we have not given it time to work". Said Ken Baker, head of Russia nonproliferation programs at Energy. "The main thing is that we're in there. We're in Russian closed cities. It cannot be oversold right now".

The stickiest problem may be access

After a decade of relative openness, a new federal security service -- the successor to the KGB - and the cities are again clamping down. Foreign visitors must have approval to enter a closed city 45 days before their trip, a point critics say scares potential business investors. Even that notice doesn't get them in every time - GAO investigators didn't get into any closed cities, and neither did this reporter. U.S. lab researchers who have been visiting for nearly a decade are now having problems.
"We have to figure out how to do this differently", said Rep. Ellen Tauscher, D-Alamo, a strong supporter of nonproliferation programs who has visited Snezhinsk.
Many, including Tauscher, argue that opening the cities to business is essential to their turnaround. But the cities don't necessarily want to open. Staying closed has protected them from some of the widespread corruption and instability that has gripped the rest of Russia.
"They are safer and more stable in some ways", said Oleg Bukharin, a researcher at Princeton University's Center for Energy and Environmental Studies. MinAtom officials don't think access is a problem. Researchers enter these cities every day, Antonov said, and they are far more open than during the Cold War. They say having too many visitors turns into a form of "nuclear tourism" rather than meaningful visits.
Despite access fights, Baker said an overarching agreement should be completed soon, although that settlement has been weeks away for five months. The agreement would allow businesses and lab researchers into the cities to work on the serious threat that remains. Until these programs begin to work, officials in Russia and the United States alike agree the threat of closed cities' researchers continuing to work on weapons, either for Russia or rogue countries, hasn't waned.
"We are there trying to do not just a job for Russia and the United States but for the world", said Energy's Baker. "It is like a low-cost insurance policy for national security".
* * *
Nuclear legacy
Published Sunday, September 9, 2001

Proliferation worries persist

AKADEMGORODOK, Russia -- To uncover the impact of nuclear nonproliferation programs here, drive south past solitary ice-fishers, empty bus stops and leafless Siberian birch forests to a muddy field where rusting metal machines lie like old Datsuns in a mechanic's back yard. Then wait for the shaking to begin.
Amid the thick mud and slush-filled puddles typical of April in southwest Siberia, Boris Glinsky said he and fellow researchers could build machines 10 times the size of the large one now rumbling like a small, nonstop earthquake.
All they need is a sponsor, said the project's patriarch, with his spiky shock of thick, white hair and ready smile, maybe someone from the West to fund their ideas.
Here at the Bystrovka Vibroseismic Test Site, of more than 30 machines that shake the earth to map its surface and test detectors for nuclear test ban treaties, only a dozen still work. The money to maintain them ran out first, followed closely by funds for scientists' wages, now less than $56 a month on average.
"Everything was much easier under the Soviet power", Glinsky said.
While crumbling infrastructure and below-poverty salaries are prevalent throughout Russian science, 21 of the 31 scientists working on these massive machines are former weapons scientists. That makes their future a global concern.
The fall of the Soviet Union in 1991 left a political and financial maelstrom that surged over the country's colossal nuclear weapons industry. Never before had a world power, bolstered by a 35,000-strong nuclear weapon stockpile and unknown stores of chemical and biological weapons, been forced by withering federal coffers to abandon its weapons development work force.
At the time of the breakup, 100,000 Russian scientists, engineers and other officials had access to nuclear weapons information.
Panicked world observers feared the worst: desperate weapons scientists taking their knowledge to aspiring weapons nations such as Iran or Iraq, unpaid guards stealing from the untallied stores of uranium and plutonium, entire nuclear weapons cities collapsing as financial support disappeared.
What keeps these vibrating machines running is international funding, first envisioned during those frightening years after the crash, that turns weapons researchers such as these Siberian geologists to basic science and trains them in Western grant-writing and entrepreneurship. It is one of a half dozen U.S.-supported efforts that protect nuclear materials and prop up Russian weapons designers.
Although small compared to other defense initiatives, with $1 billion in U.S. spending a year, these cooperative programs have been the bedrock of efforts to prevent the spread of chemical, biological and nuclear weapons and technologies.
Nearly a decade after the breakup of the Soviet Unionleft weapons programs in limbo, the Russian economy and U.S.-Russian relations continue to sputter. That has left the U.S. struggling to define its role in rescuing Russian weapons scientists and halting the spread of weapons of mass destruction.
"It is much easier when you have a hostile relationship", said Kenneth Luongo, director of the Russian American Nuclear Security Advisory Council, a joint nonprofit nuclear think tank. "When you are trying to help nurse a wounded country back to health, it is not so easy".
In most of Russia, the infamous bread lines or empty shelves in stores are no longer common, but most citizens have little or no money. In 1999, Russia's gross domestic product had shrunk 45 percent from 1991 levels, and is now smaller than that of Los Angeles County. Even at 12.4 percent, Russia's unemployment rate is largely believed to be unrealistically low because of underemployment.
Those economic problems - as well as rampant health problems reflected in a death rate almost double the birth rate, in part because of widespread alcoholism - have impacted weapons scientists, who once held an lite status in society.
Cooperative program supporters - including some U.S. and Russian nonproliferation experts, U.S. nuclear scientists, and former and current members of Congress - say these programs are the only serious effort to fight what may be the most menacing national security threat: the spread of weapons to rogue nations and terrorists.
Opposition often comes down to a matter of trust. Most congressional opponents fear any aid will free Russia to spend its own meager resources on developing weapons of mass destruction, while others fight any U.S. money going overseas. Russian critics doubt U.S. motives, saying their goal is to gather intelligence and steal the country's best minds.
From both sides, the most outwardly successful programs are those dealing with tangibles: cutting up submarines, transforming weapons-ready fuel into less dangerous material, and securing Russian weapons storage and design areas. Pushes to prevent weapon makers from taking their knowledge to developing-weapons states are more controversial, and their success is harder to prove.
"We won, but we are not the only treasure trove of secrets", said Rep. Ellen Tauscher, D-Alamo, who has been an outspoken supporter of these programs.
Despite this support, President Bush's proposed budget cut nonproliferation programs by $100 million. Hardest hit is money for Russian weapons scientists. While Congress has restored much of that, annual fluctuations in budgets and plans have some Russian officials wondering if they should continue to open weapons facilities to U.S. scientists.
There is no disagreement, however, that the security threat remains unresolved.
"We need to get out and tell people that the work of dealing with the legacy of the Cold War is not done. It simply is not done", said Jesse James, a senior associate at the Stimson Center, a Washington, D.C.-based arms-control research group.

A nuclear history

At the entrance to Russia's founding nuclear laboratory stands a somewhat startling 10-foot-tall likeness of Igor Kurchatov's head, complete with his distinctive long, rectangular beard. The Soviet nuclear program began in earnest at this institute named for Kurchatov, the father of Russia's weapons program, whose presence looms as large as the statue in what was once the birch-forested outskirts of Moscow.
"Everything that turned out to be a massive nuclear industry started here", said Victor Tufyaev, a technician in a tight white lab coat.
The lab's control room has been preserved since the moment of that first chain reaction, down to the notebooks on the tables, the chair where Kurchatov sat, the black-and-white wall clock, which still marks 6 p.m. Even the reactor is still running 54 years later.
"You'll have to help us get this in the Guinness Book", joked V.S. Dikazev, the lab's head of nuclear safety. In 1946, a year after two nuclear bombs devastated Japanese cities, Russia created its first plutonium here in the country's first nuclear reactor.
Fed by the best of Russia's scientists, generous funding and help from U.S.-based spies, the Russian program soon caught up with the United States'. It even surpassed the United States in the total number of people working on weapons projects, and the number of bombs created.
"During 10 years, we finished research from the nuclear bomb to the hydrogen bomb. It is one example of bad competition", said Dikazev, who wore a green and white pin with Lawrence Livermore Laboratory's logo, a gift from a previous lab visitor. "Now we are collaborators".
Once the Soviet Union collapsed, many Americans, hearing stories of bread lines and worthless rubles, assumed the nuclear threat had disappeared. But American experts knew the Soviet security system relied on guards and gates, keeping both scientists and weapons behind closed doors. That system faltered when guards weren't paid and gates weren't maintained. The country didn't have a system to track the amount or movement of nuclear materials or protect them adequately.
Amid this chaos, some U.S. leaders quickly established a connection with Russian weapons scientists. U.S. and Soviet scientists first met as technical advisers to arms control talks.
In February 1992, directors of U.S. weapons labs visited two secret Russian cities known only by their post box numbers in nearby towns: Arzamas-16 and Chelyabinsk-70. Few, if any, Americans had visited these remote Russian weapons lab cities.
"There was a lot of the feeling, at the end of the Cold War, that we could all work together", remembered John Nuckolls, then director of Lawrence Livermore Laboratory, who visited both historical and scientific sites during that frigid winter.
That same year, then-Sen. Sam Nunn, D-Ga., and Sen. Richard Lugar, R-Ind., sponsored legislation creating the Cooperative Threat Reduction programs to address the basics: dismantling weapons and protecting and storing nuclear materials. It later expanded to include conversion of military and nuclear facilities and other efforts from the departments of Defense, State, Commerce and Energy.
Supporting weapons scientists was then, and remains now, a small part of this monumental task. But as U.S. scientists learned that their Russian colleagues were not being paid for months at a time, fear grew that these scientists could be wooed by high-paying jobs in rogue nations.
The first real effort to address this threat was the International Science and Technology Center (ISTC), a collaboration between the United States, the European Commission, Japan and other nations that fund science projects in Russia and other former Soviet countries. ISTC money from the United States supports the Siberian geologists in their shaking research on the rolling plains. A sister project operates in Ukraine.
Since then, other civilian science programs have been started. The Initiatives for Proliferation Prevention aim to make applied science projects attractive for Western business investment. It then hands projects over to the U.S. Industry Coalition, a U.S. government-funded nonprofit group that helps businesses work in Russia.
A Department of Energy program to help Russia's 10 closed nuclear weapons cities turn to civilian endeavors has come under the most criticism by both Russians and Americans. This 3-year-old effort, called the Nuclear Cities Initiative, has gone through multiple reviews and has seen its budget swing drastically - from $6 million to $30 million - during its short lifetime because critics say it is ineffective and its funds go to U.S. labs rather than Russian researchers.
After a rocky start, ISTC is now the most accepted of these programs, which says a lot in light of touchy U.S.-Russia relations.
"When the Russian government for several months failed to pay the salaries of its nuclear scientists, for several months they survived on ISTC grants", said Alexander Pikayev, who studies the nuclear threat at the Carnegie Moscow Center.

Digest continuation for September 2001 (part 2)
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