The Neris as a Front Line: Smuggling, Radiation, and Evacuation by River
Today, the very same river is viewed simultaneously as a migration corridor for wild salmon, as a possible evacuation route for a capital city, and as a channel for discharging future man-made risks from Belarus’s nuclear program. These scenarios are incompatible, and a choice must be made now.
Together with the salmon, we tell the story of how decisions made in Minsk and Vilnius – from the construction of nuclear power plants and spent fuel storage facilities to plans for straightening the riverbed and “military logistics” – overlap with the river ecosystem. The salmon in this text is not a metaphor but a biological indicator: if it disappears, it means the river ceases to be a river, it dies, regardless of how convenient it may seem to states.
I am a simple wild salmon. For thousands of years, ever since the glacier retreated, I have been swimming upstream along the river that would later be called the Neman, spawning in the upper reaches of its tributaries.
The Neris is the largest of these tributaries. Further upstream, it is called the Viliya.
Humans are my main problem.
BEFORE HUMANS
About ten thousand years ago (right after the glacier), the Neris in the area of present-day Vilnius flowed differently: its channel ran near Ozas, under the Compensa concert hall, behind the Park Town office complex, and merged with its tributary Vilnia just below what is now Sakura Park on the embankment near the White Bridge. Over time, the riverbed changed, and what remained is still called the Old Channel by locals.
An urban legend emerged claiming that Duke Jogaila redirected the river to bring it closer to his palace and Gediminas’ Tower. However, there are no historical references to such construction, and the legend may have arisen from changes to the course of the Vilnia river (not to be confused with the Viliya), which was redirected between two hills – Gediminas Hill and the Hill of Three Crosses – to protect the donjon (Gediminas’ Tower) from the north. Before that, the river that gave Vilnius its name flowed across what is now Cathedral Square. Even today, the street curves there just as the river once did.
DURING HUMAN TIMES
This took place in relatively eco-friendly medieval times, and despite the change in the riverbed, the salmon somehow found its way again up the Vilnia tributary, where it still spawns today and even appears in photographs.
The real disaster for rivers and for salmon began when Soviet cities started to grow and demanded vast amounts of water and electricity. It was then that the upper reaches of the Viliya were blocked by the dam of the Vileyka Reservoir to supply Minsk with water, and the Neman River was blocked by a dam to create a hydroelectric and pumped-storage power plant.
During the construction of both hydropower hubs – the Kaunas and the Vileyka ones – no fish bypass channels were built. The upper reaches of both rivers became inaccessible to salmon, and the fish disappeared there. It was a stroke of luck for Belarus’s Red Book that the Neris flows into the Neman downstream of the dam. That is why in Vilnius and further upstream – in Belarus – spawning salmon can still be seen.
HOW THE RIVER UNITES PEOPLE
Interestingly, human economic activity on the river is not limited to dams. Smuggling is an example of a surprising form of international cooperation. Today, when balloons dominate the headlines, we forget that smugglers once experimented with another element – water – launching rafts made of cigarettes.
One such raft went down in history thanks to a beaver, long before “beaver-kurwa” became a meme: a beaver felled a tree into the river and blocked the contraband’s path.
Thus, the river becomes a tool for uniting nations: Belarusians send Lithuanians voluntary white death, and no one downstream seems eager to refuse it. According to various studies, between 18% and 26% of cigarettes in Lithuania are Belarusian – and none of them are imported officially.
HOW THE RIVER DIVIDES PEOPLE
Today, the border between Belarus and Lithuania is a border between worlds – and between peace and war. Where does the Viliya end and the Neris begin? On the map, it is clear, but on social media some Lithuanians hint that the Neris begins in Lake Narach, which they call Narutis.
Perhaps it once was so: the Narach lake group used to be one vast lake-sea, and the Narachanka River was fuller. But much water has flowed away since then – literally and figuratively – and now the Viliya stretches right up to the tree felled by a beaver and to the state border.
Perhaps in pursuit of that lost water, some Lithuanians inflate fears that Belarusians will come to reclaim Vilnius led by Zianon Pazniak. But that is not what should be feared.
SALMON: THE BELARUSIAN THREAT
Just 30 kilometers upstream from the Lithuanian border in Belarus, a small tributary with a beautiful Lithuanian name, Polpa/Paupe (upė means “river” in Lithuanian), flows into the main river. This small river is a time bomb.
On its banks stand both the nuclear power plant itself and the cooling pools for spent nuclear fuel. Five years after the reactors begin operating, spent fuel assemblies are unloaded into these pools filled with water taken from the river. The reactor began operating in 2021, so the first doses of radiation will soon begin entering the pool water.
If a leak occurs, it will be the Polpa River that carries contamination into the Viliya, then into the Neris, and then sequentially into the three largest cities of Lithuania – Vilnius, Kaunas, and Klaipėda – turning it into a natural man-made disaster.
Martin Lowe, cultural activist, organizer of the UK civil campaign “Stop the Nuclear Waste Trains”
For several years we have been campaigning on the issue of transporting spent nuclear fuel rods in the UK. Extracting and transporting these materials requires specialized handling and transport, which in turn creates many additional risks. It is important to remember that these rods will remain extremely hot and highly radioactive for many years.
We must also consider that sending them to Russia will increase its plutonium stockpiles. In addition, there are serious concerns about radioactive contamination from nuclear waste facilities in Russia and Belarus. Similar problems exist here as well – in Sellafield, Cumbria.
Given the extreme risks associated with moving spent fuel rods, the prevailing approach today is to place them in dry interim storage facilities.
Lithuania was already on the brink of a nuclear catastrophe in 1983. At that time, an RBMK-type reactor literally did what later happened in Chernobyl (see INSAG-7, p. 23, point 4). Specialists managed to prevent it and called it the “end effect.”
The reactors at the Belarusian NPP are said to be somewhat different and safer. However, the first reactor was dropped during installation, and the second was hit against a pole during transport. With such an approach to construction and operation, even a salmon can see that building yet another nuclear facility is a bad idea.
How does an NPP work? Uranium fissions, heats up, and decays. Hot uranium is cooled with water, which turns into steam and spins turbines. Eventually, there is too little fissile material left, and the fuel is unloaded. But it is still hot and extremely radioactive, so it must be cooled in pools for several years.
Later, Russia takes the partially cooled fuel, extracts plutonium for nuclear weapons, and returns the useless but no less radioactive waste. Belarus must then decide how and where to bury this radioactive garbage for centuries, without causing disasters like the 1957 Kyshtym catastrophe or the 1982 Andreeva Bay accident.
The inconvenient location of the Belarusian NPP near the country’s western border, and Russia’s location far to the east, adds extra risks to this entire transport chain.
A leak at any stage would not kill the salmon outright, says biologist Inessa Bolotina, but it would not bring it any joy either:
Radiation affects fish much like it affects other living beings – it all depends on the dose. Higher doses can lead to global tragic consequences. Increased radiation generally worsens reproductive ability: egg mortality increases, fry mortality rises, and adult fish immunity weakens.
There is also the issue of warm water from the NPP. Salmon spawn only in autumn, and the temperature must be low for successful spawning and for fry to hatch closer to spring. The NPP may exacerbate climate-change-related effects, making conditions even less favorable for such sensitive species as salmon.
Does the NPP affect salmon in other ways? An expert who asked to remain anonymous explains:
The danger was that according to the project, the cooling water from the NPP was to be discharged via the Polpa River, which flows right next to the plant, into the Viliya, mixing there and returning to natural temperature only after 8–11 kilometers downstream.
This is a long distance, given that the Viliya is no longer a large river and salmon also spawn there. We submitted objections, including to the Ministry of Natural Resources, which repeated our arguments. As a result, during construction the NPP planned and built additional cooling systems – pools with fountains.
So far, we do not observe water temperature deterioration, and nothing terrible is happening.
So let us assume Lukashenko has learned not to drop reactors on the ground or hit poles, that there will be no leaks, temperatures will remain normal, and no hippopotamuses will appear in the river. Does that mean the salmon is saved?
The danger came from an unexpected direction.
SALMON: THE LITHUANIAN THREAT
Some Lithuanian politicians seriously fear not only different river names but also a potential attack on the capital from Belarus. From the border to the Vilnius airport runway is 28 kilometers.
Vilnius Mayor Valdas Benkunskas announced that Vilnius residents could be evacuated via the Neris River.
At first glance, the idea seems logical: the river conveniently flows from the border inland. Get into a boat and go – the current will carry you. It is unclear, however, what to do if an attack occurs in winter, as in Ukraine. Even if the river is not frozen, boating in February is hardly pleasant.
And even if Vilnius somehow had as many boats as the Titanic had lifeboats – enough for half the population – still, let us take a calculator and do the math.
Canadian Indigenous tribes measured length in salmon. Our co-author salmon is smaller; we will measure in meters. The Neris flows west at about 1 meter per second. From Gediminas’ Tower to central Kaunas is about 174,000 meters. If there are no angry beavers, shallows, or other obstacles, evacuation by drifting would take 174,000 seconds – 48 hours.
Even if the flow were tripled, people would still have to spend almost a full winter day on rafts, boats, and ships, with minimal food and toilets. Let us allocate the classic 2 square meters per person for these two days – no luxury, we are playing war.
The river width allows no more than 20 meters of vessels side by side due to the fairway. This means a convoy of boats and rafts stretching 30-40 kilometers.
Now imagine that traffic jam of vessels tens of kilometers long. Then answer three questions:
Where would all these boats be stored before the war?
How long would a pier need to be to board 350,000 people in reasonable time?
How would all these boats be brought to the piers quickly?
For now, these questions hang in the air – like Belarusian-Lithuanian smuggling balloons.
There is also one small detail often forgotten: Belarus can regulate the water level of the Neris via the Vileyka hydropower hub. According to diagrams by Dr. Gintaras Valiuškevičius, Associate Professor of Hydrology and Climatology at Vilnius University, reducing discharge through the Vileyka dam by 60% lowers the Neris flow near Vilnius by 15%.
In other words, for a short time – exactly during an evacuation – Belarus could fully close the dam and lower the river level by 25%.
BUT WHAT ABOUT THE FISH?
This brings us back to the salmon. On the website of Lithuania’s Inland Waterways Directorate, the discussed project states that six bottlenecks and six rapids must be removed. Based on bathymetric measurements, this would require excavating about one million cubic meters of sediment at a cost of roughly €20 million.
This cannot be done if the Neris is to remain part of the Natura 2000 network, as any excavation could trigger EU sanctions. Scientists from the Faculty of Chemistry and Geosciences, as well as experts in hydrology, climatology, physical geography, landscape management, geology, and cartography, issued a statement criticizing the plans of the Inland Waterways Directorate as ineffective and harmful to nature.
And the salmon?
Our anonymous biologist believes salmon would probably adapt to a changed riverbed – but hopes more in public hearings:
In Lithuania, as in a normal country, all projects are discussed. There are public hearings, people can ask questions – and they will.
TO HELL WITH THE SALMON? WHY PROTECT IT AT ALL?
If salmon can adapt, why should we care about some fish when humans are in danger?
First of all, ill-conceived evacuation plans or useless nuclear megaprojects can distract from real solutions. People may start believing that evacuation via the Neris or building a few more nuclear plants is a panacea, though it clearly is not. Entire countries can waste resources on seductive but useless “projects of the century” instead of addressing truly important tasks.
But why is salmon important for humans? Humans are said to be the crown of creation. Even without lofty pathos, it must be admitted that compared to humanity’s survival, the survival of a fish seems insignificant.
But is humanity facing extinction right now? And why, then, does biodiversity matter?
There are two answers.
First: species extinction is almost irreversible. Restoring a species is extremely difficult, sometimes impossible. If salmon disappears and we later decide we need it, bringing it back will be very hard. It is easier not to let it disappear.
Inessa Bolotina:
From wild species, we create domesticated ones that we later use. Farmed salmon breeds were developed from wild salmon and are now cultivated in aquaculture. Today salmon is available in every store. Therefore, wild salmon is important at least as a genetic resource.
Second: wild salmon is the “canary in the coal mine” – a signal that things are still okay. Its disappearance is a signal that things are very bad.We should check ourselves against it like a doomsday clock: are we doing everything right with the Neris – or the Viliya?
The anonymous biologist also notes that salmon itself can become a tourism magnet: in countries like Finland, hotels, fishing and souvenir shops grow around such rivers, jobs appear, and previously deserted areas come alive economically.
As Karl-Wilhelm Koch of the German group Unabhängige Grüne Linke notes:
“Protecting rivers is becoming an inevitable topic for our own survival.”
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