Troops Who Cleaned Up Radioactive Islands Can’t Get Medical Care
The Enewetak Cleanup Veterans' Saga: A Tragic aspect of Ignored Sacrifices
Tim Snider's arrival on Enewetak Atoll in the Pacific Ocean could easily be the prologue to a dark comedy film. Armed with safety gear meant to guard against plutonium poisoning, Snider, a young Air Force radiation technician, posed for the cameras in his bright yellow suit and respirator. But the film crew's next order turned this scene into an absurd punchline: return all the safety gear. Thus began a tragicomic tale that unfolded over years of neglect, exposing Enewetak Cleanup Veterans to a toxic legacy they never bargained for.
A tale this bizarre could only be set in the backdrop of Enewetak Atoll, where between 1977 and 1980, around 4,000 troops embarked on what would become the largest nuclear cleanup operation undertaken by the U.S. military. Their job? To clean up the radioactive fallout from decades of nuclear tests. The irony was inescapable - while nuclear tests were being conducted, safety seemed paramount; during the cleanup, not so much.
Among those who participated, many didn't even have the luxury of a full set of clothing, let alone proper safety gear. Snider's story wasn't unique. Most cleaned up the atoll wearing cutoff shorts and a floppy sun hat, a mockery of protection in the face of a hazardous environment.
Fast forward to today, and the legacy of this cleanup reads like a Shakespearean tragedy with a dash of farce. Snider, now 58, bears the physical scars of his stint on Enewetak: tumors on his ribs, spine, and skull. And he's not alone. A chorus of veterans echoes his plight - plagued by health problems ranging from brittle bones to cancer, all while their children suffer birth defects and their ranks dwindle due to death or illness.
The military's official stance? There's no connection between these illnesses and the cleanup. Radiation exposure during the work was supposedly well within recommended limits, and safety precautions were allegedly top-notch. Thus, the government washes its hands of any responsibility for the veterans' medical care, as if uttering "Et tu, Brute?"
In a storyline that could rival Kafka, Congress recognized the harm to troops from radiation during the original atomic tests in the 1950s but conveniently forgot about the men who cleaned up the mess decades later. A disconnect so profound that it reeks of a familiar pattern - the government's evasion of responsibility for nuclear blunders.
Congressional denial wasn't limited to oversight. The saga becomes even more absurd as veterans attempted, unsuccessfully, to obtain medical benefits through the Atomic Veterans Healthcare Parity Act. As the battle rages on, cancer cases continue to surface like plot twists in a suspense thriller. The question on everyone's lips: How much longer can these veterans wait?
Yet, amidst this bleak narrative, the most perplexing aspect is the military's portrayal of the cleanup as a triumph. Safety was touted as a new standard, an assurance of health, and yet documents from the time paint a drastically different picture. Troops replaced professional nuclear workers, not out of necessity but to save money. And safety measures? They became a casualty of budget cuts, with missing protective equipment and cut-rate monitoring systems.
As documents were declassified over the years, they revealed a staggering tale of disregard for the troops' well-being. Respirators were denied, air samplers broke, and radiation badge data proved as reliable as a weather forecast in a hurricane. While officials publicly downplayed radiation risks, internal documents reveal they harbored private concerns about "plutonium problems" and areas highly contaminated.
The victims of this tragicomic debacle, the Enewetak cleanup crews, were left without a formal health study, their ailments attributed to an invisible enemy that conveniently left no paper trail. In their quest for justice, veterans discovered kindred spirits among their ranks. A Facebook network united them, revealing similar stories of deteriorating health and unrelenting suffering.
As the curtain falls on this macabre play, the Enewetak Cleanup Veterans remain stuck in a limbo of denial and indifference. Their cries for medical benefits ring in the ears of those who hold power, demanding acknowledgment of the sacrifices they made. Yet, the audience is left with a bitter taste, wondering if the curtain will ever rise on a resolution to this tragicomedy that defies belief and exposes a systemic failure of responsibility.
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