Clouds of Uncertainty

By Pico Iyer

For Bhopal and Union Carbide, the tragedy continues

The Union Carbide pesticide plant in the central Indian city of Bhopal looked as if it were being prepared for a war. All day long, giant Indian Air Force MI-8 helicopters swooped down into the area, while special Indian Army units trained in chemical warfare were airlifted to the local airport and positioned within the 72-acre compound. Around the city, more than 2,000 paramilitary troops and armed police officers were moved in to lend emergency assistance. Meanwhile, thousands of civilians were fleeing the city.

A week after 45 tons of methyl isocyanate leaked out of the plant, leaving more than 2,500 people dead in the worst industrial disaster ever, the facility was preparing to resume operations temporarily. About 15 tons of the deadly chemical still remained in storage tank No. 619. If it were allowed to stay there indefinitely, it could turn into gas and start leaking again. After much deliberation, a team of top Indian and American scientists decided that the safest solution was to reopen the facility for five days or so, just long enough to process the excess methyl isocyanate into pesticide. As thin trails of black smoke once again began to curl out of the plant's smokestacks, 30 workers walked past the paramilitary forces guarding the main gate and reported back to work.

While Bhopal was full of frantic activity, an air of funereal quiet hung over Union Carbide's sprawling headquarters in Danbury, Conn. Flags were flying at half-mast; Christmas parties had been canceled. "Nobody is feeling very festive around here," said a company official. Indeed, the survivors of the tragedy and those being accused of responsibility for it were distinctly hard pressed last week. Both groups remained haunted by the prospect of delayed repercussions: the 200,000 residents of Bhopal who had inhaled the gas faced lingering fears and possible long-term medical effects, while Union Carbide had to face the complex financial and legal fallout from the disaster. Even as the Indian Central Bureau of Investigation set into motion its official inquiry, U.S. lawyers descended on the stricken city to help its residents file multibillion-dollar lawsuits against Union Carbide (see box).

As the countdown to the factory's reopening continued, state officials took drastic precautions to prevent a recurrence of the fatal leak. Throughout the detoxification process, which was to be undertaken only during daylight hours, a helicopter was to circle 200 ft. above the plant. At even the slightest sign of a gas escape, the pilot, protected by a special oxygen mask, would release up to 317 gal. of water to degrade the lethal chemical. If more water were needed, two more helicopters would come to the rescue. All around the facility, blinking lights were set up to help guide the pilots, and the army was to be kept on alert. To dramatize his confidence in the safety of the operation, Arjun Singh, chief minister of Madhya Pradesh, vowed to remain inside the plant for the duration of the process, and to post his senior advisers just outside.

None of those precautions, however, were sufficient to assuage the fears of many Bhopal residents. Even as policemen bearing megaphones cried, "No danger, no danger!" tens of thousands of people left town in a hurry. Dressed in their best clothes, they packed belongings, withdrew money from banks and crowded into, and often on top of, buses and trains. Bicycles, bullock carts, three-wheel scooters and rickshas clogged the streets. With the detoxification still nearly 36 hours away, an estimated 200,000 of the city's 672,000 residents had fled.

Meanwhile, Union Carbide representatives were working to heal the damage done to the company's good name by the disaster. The head office of its Indian subsidiary in Bombay announced that it was rushing medical supplies, doctors and chemical experts to help the survivors. The home office in Danbury promised to set up an orphanage for the more than 500 children left parentless by the disaster. In addition, the company, which had annual profits of $79 million last year on sales of $9 billion, offered $1 million to a relief fund. But state officials were by no means satisfied. Said Chief Minister Singh when offered the money: "There is no question of accepting this token gesture."

That hostility had been evident when local authorities briefly placed Union Carbide Chairman Warren Anderson under house arrest as soon as he arrived in Bhopal to inspect the damage. Upon returning to the U.S. last week, Anderson insisted that neither he nor his company was responsible for the tragedy. But, he said, "Union Carbide has a moral responsibility in this matter, and we are not ducking it." Anderson said he would consider returning to India to stand trial on charges of crimes including "criminal conspiracy," which under Indian law carries a maximum penalty of death. One hopeful sign for the firm was that the two Indian colleagues who had been jailed with Anderson were released last week on $7,500 bail each.

Union Carbide also made public a report compiled two years ago by three company inspectors. On a tour of the Bhopal plant in May 1982, the team had discovered ten potentially major safety deficiencies, as well as a number of other irregularities. These included a pressure relief valve on a gas storage tank that would be unable to stop a "runaway reaction" and a possibility of "accidental overfilling" of a tank holding the lethal chemical. All--or none--of those ten problems may have contributed to the recent tragedy. Company officials insisted that nine of the deficiencies had been corrected by last June. A safety valve on a methyl isocyanate storage tank was still malfunctioning, they conceded, but it was nowhere near the tank that caused the disastrous leak. The firm did acknowledge that no U.S. supervisor had visited the Bhopal plant since the 1982 inspection, and no major audit of the facility had been undertaken in more than two years.

In Bhopal, meanwhile, the scene at Hamidia Hospital remained tense. When Ashok Bhaba, a local politician, accused two senior doctors of discharging a patient prematurely, a scuffle broke out, and 900 young doctors went on a 21-hour strike in support of their two superiors. At almost the same time, Mother Teresa visited the hospital, and the city, to bring spiritual comfort. As news of the factory's resumption began to spread, even patients who could hardly walk checked out of the hospital and joined the mass exodus. Wards that had been overflowing just one week earlier were left almost empty.

Doctors in Bhopal were growing increasingly concerned about the long-term effects of the chemical. Many of the early victims of the poison gas were suffering from secondary infections, especially pneumonia. Even soldiers who had arrived in the city 30 hours after the gas escaped began to develop swollen eyes and debilitating coughs. Indeed, at times last week it seemed that the Bhopal tragedy might never end. When refugees from the city arrived in the neighboring state of Uttar Pradesh, they were suspected of carrying fatally contagious diseases. In many cases, family and friends shunned them. --By Pico Iyer.

Reported by Dean Brelis/Bhopal and Peter Stoler/New York

With reporting by Dean Brelis, Peter Stoler