Arctic newsbytes




December 11, 1998 (Associated Press): The work is steady, but the living is bleak
by Sarah Mae Brown


The Russian nickel factory is in an isolated area north of the Arctic Circle. Its 86,000 workers are willing to sacrifice.

NORILSK, Russia -- Freezing winds send snow squalls and factory smoke drifting across the endless tundra of this bleak mining outpost. But the largest nickel mine in the world does offer something rare in Russia these days: a reliable paycheck. Norilsk Nickel, a sprawling collection of nickel mines and hulking smelters, is the sole reason 230,000 Russians have come here, making the city the world's largest north of the Arctic Circle. It is also why they are willing to put up with endless Siberian winters, limited contact with the outside world, and the absence of many human comforts.

"Just look around you. All of Russian industry has ground to a halt and we are still here, and we are paying our wages on time," boasted Alexander Bururhin, head engineer at Norilsk Nickel. "As difficult as life is here, our workers know that they have it much

In geographical terms, Norilsk is actually part of the Russian landmass. But in psychological terms it is as isolated as any island.

The city, established in 1933 by Joseph Stalin as a prison camp, is about 150 miles north of the Arctic Circle. A flight from Moscow is a five-hour journey to the northeast, and there are no roads to or from Norilsk. "My children have never seen a live cow or a field of potatoes," said factory worker Sasha Bodanin, a 20-year veteran of Norilsk. "They have no idea what it feels like to strip off your clothes and go for a swim on a summer day, to feel the hot sun on your back."

The ground is covered with snow for all but the brief summer months. Even then, there is no farming because the soil is packed with nickel and other heavy metals.

The mines and smelters, which operate 24 hours a day, ring the high-rise apartments that form the center of the city. There are food and clothing stores, a few restaurants and bars, and a movie theater, but the diversions are few.

The Norilsk operation has 86,000 workers. When the workday finishes, miners are covered in grime, their throats and eyes often burning. They board rickety buses in the freezing darkness and head home to run-down Soviet-era apartments, only to rise in the morning darkness the next day to do it all over again. "I understand now that I will never leave here, although I dream of it," Galina Yeremeeva, 25, said as she prepared to board an elevator that would take her into a mine. Attracted by the high wages, Yeremeeva's parents came here in 1980, when she was just 7 years old. Like most, they hoped to make good money, save some of it and eventually leave.

But the collapse of the Soviet Union and the ensuing economic turmoil meant that they have not been saving anything; they are just barely getting by.

"Prices are so high here. Everything must be shipped in from the mainland," said Yeremeeva. "I spend most of my earnings just feeding my family."

Health problems are rampant. The environmental group Greenpeace says acid rain and toxic smoke from the factory's furnaces have effectively killed the forest for up to 60 miles to the southeast of town.

Yet the plant continues to churn out about 200,000 tons of nickel a year, roughly 20 percent of the world supply.

The company, controlled by business tycoon Vladimir Potanin, reported losses of $257 million in the first half of this year and has been hard hit by falling nickel prices.

The operation is also burdened by the cost of supporting the town -- about $200 million a year for the schools, hospitals and housing.

"This is the Soviet legacy we inherited. It is not profitable for us, but it's clear that if we didn't support the town, then Norilsk would cease to exist," said Bururhin, the head engineer.

For the workers, moving to a new city and finding another job and a place to live seem like monumental obstacles. It is a daunting prospect to venture elsewhere in Russia, where millions of workers get paid months late, if at all.

"We are caught in a cycle of subsistence," said miner Irina Baldovsko. "We would all leave if we had any other options, but we are trapped by circumstances."

1998 Philadelphia Newspapers Inc.



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