Today is the 20th anniversary of Chernobyl. I was 16 when it happened, headed for college in the Fall. I took a part time summer job working for FPIRG. The job was advertised as fighting to stop nuclear power, but involved folding flyers into thirds for mailing. Today, most of what I know about Chernobyl is from the wonderful lady who does my eyebrows, who is from Ukraine, and from Martin Cruz Smith’s mystery novel, Wolves Eat Dogs. The paper this morning tells a similar story. A tragic occurrence caused by official inepitude and lack of accountability, compounded by more government lies. Photographs were doctored to hide the radioactive glow. Scientists were forced into the dangerous zone, and contracted radiation poisoning. Most horribly, the government did not tell people about the incident. Instead, it allowed millions of Ukrainians to celebrate May Day outside in towns near the reactor, including Kiev, while radioactive particles floated through the air. A few days later, the government began to acknowledge that there was an accident, then that the accident was dangerous, then that people had died, then that more people would die. There are many legacies of Chernobyl. One that seems particularly worth remembering today is that a secretive government is a dangerous government.