When Fermilab found that tritium had accidentally leaked from one of its experiments, staff immediately drew up a plan to allay concerns. Robert P Crease explains why things worked out
Small leaks of radioactive material can be the death knell for large scientific facilities. It’s happened twice already. Following releases of non-hazardous amounts of tritium, the Brookhaven National Laboratory (BNL) was forced to shut its High Flux Beam Reactor (HFBR) in 1997, while the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory (LBNL) had to close its National Tritium Labeling Facility in 2001.
Fortunately, things don’t always turn out badly. Consider the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory (Fermilab) near Chicago, which has for many decades been America’s premier high-energy physics research facility. In 2005, an experiment there also leaked tritium, but the way the lab handled the situation meant that nothing had to close. Thanks to a grant from the National Science Foundation, I’ve been trying to find out why such successes happen.
Running on grace
Fermilab, which opened in 1971, has had a hugely successful history. But its relationship with the local community got off to a shaky start. In 1967, to acquire land for the lab, the State of Illinois used a US legal manoeuvre called “eminent domain” to displace homeowners, angering neighbours. More trouble came in 1988, when the US Department of Energy (DOE) considered Fermilab as a possible site for the 87 km circumference Superconducting Supercollider (SSC), which would require acquiring more land.
Some locals formed a protest group called CATCH (Citizens Against The Collider Here). It was an aggressive organization whose members accused Illinois officials of being “secretive, arrogant, and insensitive”, and of wanting to saddle the area with radiation, traffic and lower property values. While Illinois officials were making the bid to host the SSC, the lab was the focus of protests. The controversy ended when the DOE chose to site the machine in Waxahachie, Texas. (The SSC was cancelled in 1993, incomplete.)
Aware of the local anger, Fermilab decided to revamp its public relations. In 1989, it replaced its Office of Public Information with a “Department of Public Affairs” reporting to the lab director. Judy Jackson, who became the department’s head, sought professional consultants, and organized a diverse group of community members with different backgrounds, including a CATCH founder, to examine Fermilab’s community engagement practices.
Brookhaven’s closure of the HFBR in 1997 was a wake-up call for US labs, including Fermilab itself. Aware that the reactor had been shut by a cocktail of politics, activism and media scare stories, the DOE organized a “Lessons learned” conference in Gaithersburg, Maryland, a year later. When Jackson came to the podium her first slide read simply: “Brookhaven’s experience: There but for the grace of God…”
Then, in 2005, Fermilab discovered that one of its own experiments leaked tritium.
Tritium tale
All accelerators produce tritium in particle collisions at target areas or beam dumps. Much dissipates in air, though some replaces ordinary hydrogen atoms to make tritiated water, which is hard to control. Geographically, Fermilab is fortunate, being located over almost impermeable clay. Compacted and thick, the clay’s a nuisance for gardeners and construction crews but a godsend to Fermilab, for bathtub-like structures built in it easily contain the tritium.
The target area of one experimental site – Neutrinos at the Main Injector (NuMI) – was dug in bedrock beneath the clay. Then, during routine environmental monitoring in November 2005, Fermilab staff found a (barely) measurable amount of tritium in a creek that flowed offsite. Tritium from NuMI was mixing with unexpectedly high amounts of water vapour seeping through the bedrock, creating tritiated water that went into a sump. This was being pumped out and making its way into surface water.
The idea was that employees, neighbours, the media, local officials and groups would all be informed simultaneously, so that everybody would hear the news first from Fermilab rather than other sources.
Jackson’s department drew up a plan that would see letters delivered by hand to community members from lab director Pier Oddone, who would also pen an article in the Friday 9 December edition of the daily online newspaper Fermilab Today. The idea was that employees, neighbours, the media, local officials and groups would all be informed simultaneously, so that everybody would first hear the news from Fermilab rather than other sources.
Life after the leak: lessons from the closure of the High Flux Beam Reactor
Disaster struck when a sudden snowstorm threatened to delay the letters from reaching recipients. But the lab sent staff out anyway, knowing that local residents simply had to hear of the plan before that issue of Fermilab Today. When published, it appeared as normal, with a story about a “Toys for Tots” Christmas collection, a list of lab events and the cafeteria menu (including roasted-veggie panini).
Oddone’s “Director’s corner” column was in its usual spot on the right, but attentive readers would have noticed that it had appeared a few days early (it normally came out on a Tuesday). As well as mentioning the letter that had been hand-delivered to the community, Oddone said that there had been “a small tritium release” as a result of “normal accelerator operations”, but that it was “well below federal drinking water standards”.
His column provided a link to a webpage for more information and Jackson’s phone number in her department. That web page also listed Jackson’s office phone number, and said it would link to any subsequent media coverage of the episode. Oddone’s message seemed to be appropriate publicity about a finding that was not a health or environment hazard; it was a communication essentially saying: “Here’s something that’s happening at Fermilab.”
For years Jackson marvelled at how smoothly everything turned out. Politicians were supportive, the media fair and community members were largely appreciative of the extent to which Fermilab had gone to keep them informed. “Don’t try this at home,” she’d tell people, meaning don’t try to muddle through without having a plan drawn up with the help of a consultant. “If you do it wrong, it’s worse than not doing it at all.”
The critical point
Fermilab’s successful navigation of the unexpected tritium emission cannot be traced to any one factor. But two lessons stand out from the 10 or so other episodes I’ve found around that time when major research instruments leaked tritium. One is the importance of having a strong community group that wasn’t just a token effort but a serious exercise that involved local activists. The group discouraged activist sharpshooting and political posturing, thereby allowing genuine dialogue about issues of concern.
A second lesson is what I call “quantum of response”, by which I mean that the size of one’s response must be appropriate to the threat rather than over- or underplaying it. Back in the late 1990s, the DOE had responded to the Brookhaven leak with dramatic measures – press conferences were held, statements issued and, incredibly, the lab’s contractor was fired. Instead of reassuring community members, those actions terrified many.
It’s insane to fire a contractor that had been successful for half a century because of something that posed no threat to health or the environment. All it did was suggest that something far worse was happening that the DOE wasn’t talking about. One Brookhaven activist called the leak a “canary” presaging the lab’s admission of more environmental catastrophes.
Angels & Demons, Tom Hanks and Peter Higgs: how CERN sold its story to the world
The Fermilab lesson is two decades old now. The onset of social media since then makes it easy to form and consolidate terrified people by promoting and amplifying inflammatory messages, which will be harder to address. Moreover, tritium leaks are only one kind of episode that can spark community concerns at research laboratories.
Sometimes accelerator beams have gone awry, or experimental stations have malfunctioned in a way that releases radiation. Activists have accused accelerators at Brookhaven and CERN of possibly creating strangelets or black holes that might destroy the world. Fermilab’s current woes stemming from its recent Performance Evaluation and Measurement Plan may raise yet another set of community relations issues.
Whatever the calamity, a lab’s response should not be improvised but based on a carefully worked-out plan. In the 21st century, “God’s grace” may be a weak force. Studying previous episodes, and seeking lessons to be learned from them, is a stronger one.
