When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the worry in the West was what would happen to that country’s thousands of nuclear weapons. Would “loose” nukes fall into the hands of terrorists, rogue states, criminals – and plunge the world into a nuclear nightmare?

Fortunately, scientists and technical experts in both the U.S. and the former Soviet Union rolled up their sleeves to manage and contain the nuclear problem in the dissolving Communist country.

One of the leaders in this relationship was Stanford engineering professor Siegfried Hecker, who served as a director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory before coming to Stanford as a senior fellow at the Center for International Security and Cooperation. He is a world-renowned expert in plutonium science, global threat reduction and nuclear security.

Hecker cited one 1992 meeting with Russian scientists in Moscow who were clearly concerned about the risks. In his new book, Doomed to Cooperate: How American and Russian scientists joined forces to avert some of the greatest post-Cold War nuclear dangers, Hecker quoted one Russian expert as saying, “We now need to be concerned about terrorism.”

Earning both scientific and political trust was a key, said Hecker, also a senior fellow at Stanford’s Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies. The Russians were proud of their scientific accomplishments and highly competent in the nuclear business – and they sought to show this to the Americans scientists, who became very confident in their Russian counterparts’ technical capabilities as they learned more about their nuclear complex and toured the labs.

Economic collapse, political turmoil

But the nuclear experts faced an immense problem. The Soviets had about 39,000 nuclear weapons in their country and in Eastern Europe and about 1.5 million kilograms of plutonium and highly enriched uranium (the fuel for nuclear bombs), Hecker said. Consider that the bomb that the U.S. dropped on the Japanese city of Nagasaki in 1945 was only six kilograms of plutonium, he added. Meanwhile, the U.S. had about 25,000 nuclear weapons in the early 1990s.

Hecker and the rest of the Americans were deeply concerned about the one million-plus Russians who worked in nuclear facilities. Many faced severe financial pressure in an imploding society and thus constituted a huge potential security risk.

“The challenge that Russia faced with its economy collapsing was enormous,” he said in an interview.

The Russian scientists, Hecker said, were motivated to act responsibly because they realized the awful destruction that a single nuclear bomb could wreak. Hecker noted that one Russian scientist told him, “We arrived in the nuclear century all in one boat, and a movement by anyone will affect everyone.” Hecker noted, “Therefore, you know, we were doomed to work together to cooperate.”

All of this depended on the two governments involved easing nuclear tensions while allowing the scientists to collaborate. In short order, the scientists developed mutual respect and trust to address the loose nukes scenario.

The George H.W. Bush administration launched nuclear initiatives to put the Russian government at ease. For example, it took the nuclear weapons off U.S. Navy surface ships and some of its nuclear weapons off alert to allow the Russians to do the same. The U.S. Congress passed the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Reduction legislation, which helped fund some of the loose nuke containment efforts.

While those were positive measures, Hecker said, it was ultimately the cooperation among scientists, what they called lab-to-lab-cooperation, that allowed the two former superpower enemies to “get past the sensitivity barriers” and make “the world a safer place.”

Since the end of the Cold War, no significant nuclear event has occurred as a result of the dissolution of the Soviet Union and its nuclear complex, Hecker noted.

Lesson: cooperation counts

One lesson from it all, Hecker said, is that government policymakers need to understand that scientists and engineers can work together and make progress toward solving difficult, dangerous problems.

“We don’t want to lose the next generation from understanding what can actually be done by working together,” he said.  “So, we want to demonstrate to them, Look, this is what was done when the scientists were interested and enthusiastic and when the government gave us enough room to be able to do that.”

Hecker said this scientific cooperation extended to several thousand scientists and engineers at the Russian sites and at U.S. nuclear labs – primarily the three defense labs: Lawrence Livermore, Los Alamos, and Sandia national laboratories. Many technical exchanges and visits between scientists in Russia and the United States took place.

He recalled visiting some of the nuclear sites in Russian cities shrouded by mystery. “These cities were so secret, they didn’t even appear on Soviet maps.”

Change of threat

When the Soviet Union collapsed, the nature of the nuclear threat changed, Hecker said. The threat before was one of mutual annihilation, but now the threat changed to what would happen if nuclear assets were lost, stolen or somehow evaded the control of the government.

“From an American perspective we referred to these as the ‘four loose nuclear dangers,'” he said.

This included securing the loose nukes in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe; preventing nuclear materials or bomb fuel from getting into the wrong hands; the human element involving the people who worked in the Soviet nuclear complex; and finally, the “loose exports” problem of someone trying to sell nuclear materials or technical components to overseas groups like terrorists or rogue nations.

For Hecker, this is not just an American story. It is about a selfless reconciliation with a longtime enemy for the greater global good, a relationship not corrupted by ideological or nationalistic differences, but one reflective of mutual interests of the highest order.

“The primary reason,” he said, “why we didn’t have a nuclear catastrophe was the Russian nuclear workers and the Russian nuclear officials. Their dedication, their professionalism, their patriotism for their country was so strong that it carried them through these times in the 1990s when they often didn’t get paid for six months at a time … The nuclear complex did its job through the most trying times. And it was a time when the U.S. government took crucial conciliatory measures with the new Russian Federation and gave us scientists the support to help make the world a safer place.”

If provoked, many Americans might well back nuclear attacks on foes like Iran and al Qaeda, according to new collaborative research from CISAC senior fellow Scott Sagan and Dartmouth professor Benjamin Valentino.

You can read more about their latest public opinion polling data, and its implications for the debate surrounding President Obama's upcoming visit to Hiroshima, in a column they co-authored for the Wall Street Journal.

[[{"fid":"221894","view_mode":"crop_870xauto","fields":{"format":"crop_870xauto","field_file_image_description[und][0][value]":"Herbert Abrams","field_file_image_alt_text[und][0][value]":"Herbert Abrams","field_file_image_title_text[und][0][value]":"Herbert Abrams","field_credit[und][0][value]":"","field_caption[und][0][value]":"Herbert Abrams","field_related_image_aspect[und][0][value]":"","thumbnails":"crop_870xauto"},"type":"media","attributes":{"alt":"Herbert Abrams","title":"Herbert Abrams","width":"870","style":"width: 400px; height: 500px; float: right; margin-left: 15px","class":"media-element file-crop-870xauto"}}]]Renowned radiologist Herbert Leroy Abrams, who co-founded the Nobel Prize-winning organization International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War, died Jan. 20 at his Palo Alto home. He was 95.

Abrams was a professor emeritus of radiology at Stanford University, a senior fellow at Stanford's Freeman Spogli Institute for International Studies, and an affiliated faculty member at the Center for International Security and Cooperation (CISAC).

Abrams' illustrious, multi-faceted career embraced what he called the "four dimensions of bio-medicine" – patient care, research, teaching and advocacy.

"For as long as I have known him, I could only describe Herb Abrams as a class act," said Sanjiv "Sam" Gambhir, professor and chair of radiology at Stanford. "It is upon the shoulders of giants such as Herb that we ourselves stand today at the cutting edge of radiology."

Former U.S. Secretary of Defense and CISAC colleague William J. Perry praised Abrams for his "wisdom and carefully chosen words" in his advocacy for better control of nuclear weapons.

"The forces maintaining nuclear weapons and creating the danger that we might use them are very powerful and very hard to stop, and Herb and the International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War were an early voice of sanity in this field, " Perry said.

Visionary pioneer in radiology

Born in 1920 in New York to immigrant parents, Abrams declined to go into the family hardware business. He graduated from Cornell University in 1941 and earned his medical degree from Long Island College of Medicine in 1946.

According to his family, Abrams had planned to become a psychiatrist until he was captivated by radiological imaging, which provided the road map for virtually all surgical and many medical therapies.

Abrams, his wife, Marilyn, and daughter, Nancy, moved to the West Coast in 1948.  Their son, John, was born a year later. Abrams completed his residency in radiology at Stanford in 1952 and joined the faculty as an assistant professor in the department in 1954.

While Abrams rose to become director of diagnostic radiology at Stanford, he and Marilyn raised their children in the Bay Area during what his children say he often called "The Golden Years" – rich with deep friendships, youthful exuberance, guitar-playing, family adventures, and professional success.

Abrams was an internationally known authority on cardiovascular radiology and wrote more than 190 articles and seven books on cardiovascular disease and health policy.

For many years he served as editor-in-chief of Postgraduate Radiology, and he was founding editor-in-chief of the journal Cardiovascular and Interventional Radiology.

In 1961 he published Angiography, the first comprehensive volume on the subject, which now is in its fourth edition (edited by Stanley Baum) under the title Abrams' Angiography: Vascular and Interventional Radiology.

"Under his guidance, Stanford pioneered in the fields of coronary artery imaging and the diagnosis of adult and congenital heart diseases, as well as vascular diseases, such as renal artery narrowing as a cause of hypertension," said Lewis Wexler, professor emeritus of radiology at Stanford, who was a resident under Abrams.   

"For many years, I referred to him as 'Dr. Abrams,' even though he requested a less formal address," Wexler added.  "I think I waited until I was a full professor before I called him 'Herb.' His wife and a number of his old friends from San Francisco called him 'Hoppy,' an endearment that aptly describes his energy, excitement and ability to jump effortlessly from discussing radiology [to discussing] health policy, politics, religion, art and music."

The Boston years

In 1967, with their children pursuing their own paths, Abrams and his wife moved to Boston, where he became the Philip H. Cook Professor of Radiology at Harvard Medical School and radiologist-in-chief at Brigham and Women's Hospital and at the Dana Farber Cancer Center.  The intellectual environment of Boston invigorated him and he devoted himself to building a great radiology department, a new research institute, and an outstanding teaching center.  During their time in Boston he and Marilyn also began a long love affair with Martha's Vineyard, where they built a house in 1975.

Steven Seltzer, chair of the Department of Radiology at Brigham and Women's Hospital, who holds the Philip Cook professorship at Harvard Medical School, which Abrams previously held, remembers his longtime mentor as a visionary who helped broaden the scope of radiology as a discipline.

When Seltzer arrived at Brigham and Women's in 1976 to do his radiology residency in what was then a very small department, he recalled being "incredibly impressed with the professional growth opportunities and the values and quality of the program that Abrams was building." He added that radiology was "still growing up" at that time and that Abrams had a vision that began during his years at Stanford and developed during his years in Boston.

"He was a very determined man. I fully bought into that vision. I thought this is a good person to have as a mentor and a role model, because I also aspired to live in a world that had similar characteristics that Herb had dreamed of," Seltzer said.

As a mentor and teacher, Seltzer remembered, Abrams pursued and demanded excellence and sometimes exhibited impatience.  During the time that Seltzer held the post of chief resident in radiology at Brigham and Women's, the hospital scored one of the first CT scanners in the city. The device operated 18 hours a day, seven days a week, and was staffed by residents after hours and on weekends. This was in addition to the residents' regular on-call duties. When the residents balked, Seltzer approached his boss and questioned the fairness of the arrangement and suggested that the residents be compensated with a stipend. "He just looked at me and said, 'Steve, you're doing this. This is your responsibility, and you need to get the residents comfortable with it.'"

During their 40-year relationship, Seltzer got to know another side of Abrams, whose approach to being a grandfather and great-grandfather was far different from the "tough love" he doled out to his students.

Anti-nuclear advocacy

Toward the end of the Boston years, in the early eighties, Abrams developed a keen interest in the effects of ionizing radiation and nuclear weapons and the problems of accidental or inadvertent nuclear war, which led to the next phase of his career as an anti-nuclear activist.

"He leveraged his training in radiology to become one of the leading experts on the health effects of low-dose radiation," said David Relman, professor of medicine at Stanford and current co-director of CISAC.

"It's a problem that doesn't get as much attention as the catastrophic effects of a nuclear blast, but the long-term consequences of low-dose radiation was something that Herb … helped promote as a serious issue, worthy of attention and study," Relman added.

Abrams discussed the threats posed by radiation in a story published in the Spring 1986 issue of Stanford Medicine magazine. He said that, for physicians, nuclear weapons and nuclear war were "the central health issue of the 20th century."

"We need to educate not only our colleagues and our students, but our constituents – the patients  – and ultimately policymakers about the consequences of nuclear war," Abrams said in the article. "Medical students are seldom taught about the effects of radiation. It's important because there have been radiation disasters unrelated to nuclear weapons, and there will be more in the future."

He was founding vice president of International Physicians for the Prevention of Nuclear War (IPPNW), which won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1985, just five years after the organization was established. He also served for many years on the national board of directors and as national co-chair of Physicians for Social Responsibility (PSR), a U.S. affiliate of IPPNW.

"His contributions were huge," said Scott Sagan, Caroline S.G. Munro professor of political science at Stanford. Sagan added that under Abrams' leadership the IPPNW "did yeoman's work to try to educate the public and world leaders about the consequences of nuclear war at a time when many, including some in the Reagan administration, were minimizing the consequences of nuclear weapons use."

Abrams returned to Stanford in 1985 as a professor of radiology, but spent most of his time in research at CISAC, working to link various disciplines and philosophies in the political, international and academic arenas to create a better understanding of international security during the nuclear age.

Presidential disability

In the 1990s Abrams began to focus on presidential disability and its potential impact on decision-making.

In 1992 he published The President Has Been Shot: Disability, Confusion and the 25th Amendment, which brought together important issues at the intersection of medicine, politics and humanism.

"[H]is contributions to our intellectual life and to our knowledge of the presidency and so much more were significant and lasting," said CISAC co-founder John Lewis, who invited Abrams to join CISAC after he returned to Stanford.

Near the end of his long life, Abrams wrote about the effects of aging, not only on leaders but also on himself.

Sagan said Abrams "continued to make both scholarly and policy contributions" even toward the end of his long career.

"Herb lectured every year at Stanford on how the physical and psychological health of leaders influenced their decision-making about war and peace," Sagan said.

CISAC co-director Amy Zegart said Abrams "was vibrant to the end," attending seminars and "asking hard-hitting questions."

"He had an incredible mind and an incredible heart, and I think everybody saw both of those things in him, which is why he was such a bedrock of our community for such a long time," Zegart said.

A vibrant family life

Always at the core of Abrams' life was bringing together his family to travel, to ski, to play tennis, and to celebrate birthdays and holidays. 

On his 95^th birthday Abrams played four-generation tennis with his son, grandson, and great-grandson on Martha's Vineyard, where his family spent summers for 45 years. Until the last month of his life, he played doubles three times a week.

In addition to Marilyn, to whom he was married for 73 years, daughter Nancy (Richard Eilbert), of Lincoln, Mass. and son John (Christine) of West Tisbury, Mass. ,Abrams is survived by three grandchildren (Pinto and Sophie Abrams, and Natasha Eilbert) and three great-grandchildren (Kalib, Silas, and Axel Abrams).

Memorial donations in memory of Abrams may be made to Physicians for Social Responsibility 1111 14^th St. NW, Suite 700, Washington, DC, 20005, or by visiting that organization's website at www.PSR.org.

A service to celebrate his life will be held on the Stanford campus on March 19; details will be announced.

The Department of Energy's long-term plan for dealing with material contaminated with plutonium and heavier elements from the U.S. weapons program is to bury it underground at the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant in southeastern New Mexico.

The Energy Department's plan aims to safeguard nuclear material for the next 10,000 years. But three Stanford nuclear scientists point out in a new commentary article in the journal Nature that the Waste Isolation Pilot Plant (WIPP) was not designed to hold as much plutonium as is now being considered for disposal there. And, in fact, the site has seen two accidents in recent years.

"These accidents during the first 15 years of operation really illustrate the challenge of predicting the behavior of the repository over 10,000 years," said Rod Ewing, the Frank Stanton Professor in Nuclear Security at Stanford and a senior fellow at the Center for International Security and Cooperation.

What's more, there's more plutonium proposed for disposal at WIPP in the future, a result of treaties with the former Soviet Union and now Russia to decrease the number of nuclear weapons by dismantling them.

A recent assessment of what to do with the plutonium from dismantled weapons has proposed that the material be diluted and disposed of at WIPP. But this analysis does not include a revision of the safety analysis for the site, wrote Ewing and his two Stanford co-authors in the Department of Geological Sciences, postdoctoral scholar Cameron Tracy and graduate student Megan Dustin.

They call on the U.S. Department of Energy, which operates WIPP, to take another look at the safety assessment of the site. Particular emphasis should be on the estimates of drilling activity in the oil-rich Permian Basin, where WIPP is located, and on the effects of such a huge increase in the plutonium inventory for the pilot plant.

"The current regulatory period of 10,000 years is short relative to the 24,100-year half-life of plutonium-239, let alone that of its decay product, uranium-235, which has a half-life of 700 million years," the researchers wrote.

"We cannot be certain that future inhabitants of the area will even know WIPP is there," they added. As a result, it is important to understand the impact of future drilling in the area.

The waste is stored 2,150 feet below the surface in hundreds of thousands of plastic-lined steel drums in rooms carved out of a 250-million-year-old salt bed. The repository is at about half of its planned capacity and slated to be sealed in 2033.

The researchers question some of the assumptions used in the safety studies. For example, to determine the odds of oil drilling in the future, the study uses a 100-year historical average drill rate, even though drilling has intensified in recent decades, throwing this assumption into question.

The Stanford experts also suggest more attention to how the buried materials may interact with each other, particularly with salty brine, over centuries. A single storage drum may contain a variety of materials, such as lab coats, gloves and laboratory instruments; thus, the chemistry is complex.

Ewing said that the complacency that led to the accidents at WIPP can also occur in the safety analysis. Therefore, he advises, it is important to carefully review the safety analysis as new strategies for more plutonium disposal are considered.

U.S. national security faces rising challenges from insider threats and organizational rigidity, a Stanford professor says.

Amy Zegart, co-director of the Center for International Security and Cooperation at Stanford and a senior fellow at the Hoover Institution, wrote in a new study that in the past five years, seemingly trustworthy U.S. military and intelligence insiders have been responsible for a number of national security incidents, including the WikiLeaks publications and the 2009 attack at Fort Hood in Texas that killed 13 and injured more than 30.

She defines "insider threats" as people who use their authorized access to do harm to the security of the United States. They could range from mentally ill people to "coldly calculating officials" who betray critical national security secrets.

In her research, which relies upon declassified investigations by the U.S. military, FBI and Congress, Zegart analyzes the Fort Hood attack and one facet of the insider threat universe – Islamist terrorists.

In this case, a self-radicalized Army psychiatrist named Nidal Hasan walked into a Fort Hood facility in 2009 and fired 200 rounds, killing 13 people and wounding dozens of others. The shooting spree remains the worst terrorist attack on American soil since 9/11 and the worst mass murder at a military site in American history, she added.

Insights and lessons learned

Zegart's study of insider and surprise attacks as well as academic research into the theory of organizations led her to some key insights about why the Army failed to prevent Hasan's attack when clues were clear:

Image

In the Fort Hood case, she said, bureaucratic procedures kept red flags about Hasan in different places, making them harder to detect.

• Career incentives and organizational cultures often backfire. As Zegart wrote, several researchers found that "misaligned incentives and cultures" played major roles in undermining safety before the Challenger space shuttle disaster.

Zegart's earlier research on 9/11 found the same dynamic played a role in the FBI's manhunt for two 9/11 hijackers just 19 days before their attack. Because the FBI's culture prized convicting criminals after the fact rather than preventing disasters beforehand, the search for two would-be terrorists received the lowest priority and was handled by one of the least experienced agents in the New York office.

• Organizations matter more than most people think. Robust structures, processes and cultures that were effective in earlier periods for other tasks proved maladaptive after 9/11.

In the case of the Fort Hood attack, the evidence suggests that government investigations, which focused on individual errors and political correctness (disciplining or investigating a Muslim American in the military) identified only some of the root causes, missing key organizational failures.

Hasan slipped through the cracks not only because people made mistakes or were prone to political correctness, but also because defense organizations "worked in their usual ways," according to Zegart.

Adapting to a new threat

In terms of organizational weaknesses, Hasan's Fort Hood attack signaled a new challenge for the U.S. military: rethinking what "force protection" truly means, Zegart said. Before 9/11, force protection reflected a physical protection or hardening of potential targets from an outside attack. Now, force protection has evolved to mean that the threats could come from within the Defense Department and from Americans, she added.

"For half a century, the department's structure, systems, policies and culture had been oriented to think about protecting forces from the outside, not the inside," Zegart wrote.

In the case of Hasan, the Defense Department failed in three different ways to identify him as a threat: through the disciplinary system, the performance evaluation system and the counter-terrorism investigatory system run jointly with the FBI through Joint Terrorism Task Forces.

"Organizational factors played a significant role in explaining why the Pentagon could not stop Nidal Hasan in time. Despite 9/11 and a rising number of homegrown Jihadi terrorist attacks, the Defense Department struggled to adapt to insider terrorist threats," Zegart wrote.

Difficult to change

Another problem was that the Pentagon faced substantial manpower shortages in the medical corps – especially among psychiatrists. So the Defense Department responded to incentives and promoted Hasan, despite his increasingly poor performance and erratic behavior.

In addition, Zegart found the Defense Department official who investigated Hasan prior to the attack saw nothing amiss because he was the wrong person for the job – he was trained to ferret out waste, fraud and abuse, not counterterrorism, which is why he did not know how to look for signs of radicalization or counterintelligence risk.

"In sum, the Pentagon's force protection, discipline, promotion and counter-terrorism investigatory systems all missed this insider threat because they were designed for other purposes in earlier times, and deep-seated organizational incentives and cultures made it difficult for officials to change what they normally did," she wrote.

Zegart acknowledges the difficulties of learning lessons from tragedies like 9/11, the NASA space shuttle accidents and the 2009 Fort Hood shooting.

"People and organizations often remember what they should forget and forget what they should remember," she said, adding that policymakers tend to attribute failure to people and policies. While seemingly hidden at times, the organizational roots of disaster are much more important than many think, she added.