I am half blind because of Chornobyl, and I want more nuclear power.
On April 25, 1986, my mother crossed into the USSR on a two-week work trip. She was six months pregnant. The following day, reactor 4 of the Chornobyl nuclear power plant exploded, triggering the worst nuclear disaster in history.
The Soviet authorities acknowledged nothing. My mother travelled through Ukraine for two weeks, unaware. Three months later, I was born with congenital glaucoma. It is thanks to her stubbornness and a skilled doctor in Romania that I have any vision at all today, and was lucky enough to build a fulfilling life and a career in filmmaking.
Around the time I turned 30, I travelled to Ukraine and Belarus to make a film about people like me, others living with the legacy of Chornobyl. The trip changed my life and set the course for the following decade. That's where I met Helena, who became my co-director and creative partner on several projects that followed.
We met extraordinary people carrying that legacy. In Gomel, Belarus, I met an ophthalmologist who had been studying glaucoma since before the disaster. She told me that after 1986, congenital glaucoma cases rose tenfold. The Soviet authorities, and later the Belarusian government, suppressed her work, because her findings, alongside other studies linking illness to the disaster, pointed directly to an institutional responsibility they had no intention of accepting.
I also met Dima, a musician who had the same illness as me but lost his vision as a teenager because in late-1990s Belarus there was virtually no care available for those affected. Dima doesn't talk politics. In Belarus, you can't, not really. Instead he focuses on what he can control: his family, his music, the community that loves him deeply. He has a good heart and a full life, and he carries it all with a grace I genuinely admire. But I can't help thinking about how different his life might have been had he been born somewhere else, somewhere free, with the same chances I had. Same illness. Different country. Different outcome.
Helena and I made Everything Will Not Be Fine, a personal film about the legacy of Chornobyl and how people born under its shadow live today. Though the film is intimate in focus, we spent four years on research: travelling to the exclusion zone multiple times, speaking to doctors, scientists, and people involved in the cleanup.
What that research confirmed is this: Chornobyl wouldn't have happened in a free society. And even if it had, it should never have become the catastrophe it was.
The accident began with a flawed reactor design the Soviet system refused to acknowledge or correct. When the explosion happened, fear, the defining trait of totalitarian systems where no one wants to deliver bad news upward, delayed the disaster response for critical days. Then, once the scale became impossible to conceal, the authorities did everything they could to minimise and lie about the consequences. A 1991 international assessment, produced in close collaboration with Soviet authorities, concluded that health impacts were limited. That report has since been contested by numerous independent health experts who argue its methodology was shaped more by politics than science. The IAEA knew what it was working with. It went along anyway, because Western nuclear powers had their own industries to protect.
The people who paid for all of this were ordinary people. They always are.
Since Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the situation has taken on a darker dimension. Russian forces occupied the Chornobyl exclusion zone in the early weeks of the war, causing significant damage and destroying safety equipment. In 2024, a Russian drone struck the sarcophagus covering reactor 4. Russian attacks have also repeatedly hit electrical infrastructure in the zone, which is needed to keep monitoring and cooling systems operational. This is not incidental. It is a pattern.
It is also no accident that for years before the invasion, Russia aggressively lobbied Western governments to buy its oil and gas, and those governments obliged. The result is that some European countries are still funding this war through their energy bills.
And yet I am still for nuclear power. I believe it can be a safe and reliable energy source in a society that values truth and accountability. The lesson of Chornobyl is not that nuclear is dangerous. It's that authoritarianism is.
The tragedy of Chornobyl has shaped my life in ways I am still understanding. But it also led me to Ukraine, to lasting friendships, and to a sense of purpose, the belief that documenting these lives and keeping this history honest is worth doing, however small the contribution. You do what you can, with what you have, from where you stand.
40 years on, that still feels like enough of a reason.
(pictured, Helena and me, Pripyat and a couple of stills from our film - Everything will not be fine - 2020)