With tens of thousands of nuclear weapons still housed in the former Soviet Union, UGA's Center for International Trade and Security is helping to prevent the spread of nuclear materials and weapons of mass destruction across the borders of former Soviet republics

B Y - R I C H A R D - H Y A T T

t's Sunday afternoon in Moscow and Ohotnyi Ryad is alive with people doing the dance of the young—giggling, singing, and flirting. They strum guitars, smoke strong cigarettes and drink bottles of Baltika beer large enough for two. Up the hill is Red Square, where Soviet dictators with faces as severe as their suits once stood on a balcony at the Kremlin as massive armies and a frightening array of military hardware passed in review. Up the hill is Lenin's tomb, which is still a shrine in post-Cold War Russia. Newlyweds visit on their wedding day and tourists line up by the thousands as though Comrade Lenin's embalmed remains were a theme park attraction.

U.S. and Kazak flags fly high in celebration of this July 2000 explosion, which sealed the last remaining tunnel of a nuclear testing facility in Kazakhstan. Top of page: The eradication of this missle silo, 155 miles south of Kiev, eliminated a site where weapons were once pointed at the U.S.

Gary Bertsch walks through Ohotnyi Ryad wearing a pair of wraparound sunglasses that shield him from the April sun. In his dual role as a political science professor and director of UGA's Center for International Trade and Security, Bertsch has traveled to Moscow many times for non-proliferation issues. The occasion for this trip is a conference timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of UGA's Nuclear Export Controls initiative in the former Soviet republics. Bertsch is joined by one of his capable young apprentices, UGA senior Jon Davis (see sidebar on p. 29), who could pass for one of these young Russian males who swig beer with one hand and squeeze their female companions with the other. Davis had visited Ohotnyi Ryad the day before and he wanted Bertsch to see the hordes of youths that congregate, Greenwich Village-style, at one of Moscow's most popular open-air malls. Meandering to a wall at the edge of Ohotnyi Ryad, Bertsch reflects on the scene and then issues a challenge—to himself and to his young student, but also to the U.S., to Russia, and to the world:

"We have to be sure these young people have a future." The future of Russia and other former Soviet republics is inextricably linked to the well-being of the entire planet because of the possibility that nuclear warheads or other weapons of mass destruction could cross former Soviet borders and fall into the hands of rogue nations, terrorist groups, or individuals bent on destruction far more catastrophic than 9/11.

Top: CITS staff members recently traveled to Moscow for a conference that was timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of UGA's nuclear export controls initiative. With his own Russian-born staff member translating, Bertsch (at right) advises managers of Russia's nuclear power plants on ways to ensure that weapons of mass destruction do not fall into the wrong hands. Bottom: Soldiers prepare to destroy a ballistic SS-19 missle from a military rocket base west of Kiev in 1997. Ukraine surrendered all the nuclear warheads from 130 such missles to Russia.

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, it had more than 40,000 nuclear weapons in its arsenal and enough uranium and plutonium on hand to produce 40,000 more. The value of these weapons of mass destruction to a terrorist like Osama bin Laden could escalate into the billions of dollars. That is a frightening prospect to the West, considering the poor economic conditions that exist in the former Soviet states.

For more than a decade, high-level officials in both Washington and Moscow have monitored the location and level of security surrounding every nuclear missile facility in the former Soviet states. But the problem is bigger than missile silos. Also of concern are the components needed to assemble such weapons, plus the possibility that intellectual and/or technology transfer could take place between individuals if the price is high enough.

Assisting the U.S. and Russia in their mission to maintain world peace is UGA's Center for International Trade and Security, which is headed by Bertsch with assistance from former high-ranking Soviet official Igor Khripunov and a cadre of young lieutenants—many still in school at UGA. CITS representatives have spent months at a time on the ground in former Soviet republics helping local officials do a better job of controlling the spread of nuclear materials and weapons of mass destruction.

"If you are wondering whether one small unit of a land grant university in the southern U.S. can make a significant contribution towards saving the world from nuclear holocaust, the answer is a resounding yes," says Bertsch, whose behind-the-scenes efforts are perhaps more recognized in the halls of the Russian Federation and in the U.S. Congress than at UGA. Many times, the person responsible for monitoring nuclear materials in the former Soviet Union is a low-level elected official or perhaps a fireman with little knowledge of what he or she is controlling.

"We're talking about people with enormous responsibility who may or may not have any training for this new and important job they've been entrusted with in the new Russia or the new Ukraine," says Bertsch. "Fortunately, most of these people have welcomed our assistance."

ertsch isn't sure how many times he has traveled to this part of the world. Growing up on a dairy farm in Idaho, his only connections with Russia were the dishes his grandparents served. He went to Idaho State University on a football scholarship and later earned his doctorate at the University of Oregon. He accepted a position at UGA in 1969. Before teaching his first class, he and his young family spent a year on a fellowship in Yugoslavia, where he observed first-hand the destruction that comes when religious, political, and social doctrines clash. Walking Moscow's busy streets this spring, Bertsch recalls CITS's early years at UGA.

"It's pleasing to see our work evolve, but it could have easily failed," he says. "We thought it was important so we did it very quietly. The University wasn't sure what we were up to."

At first, neither was Bertsch. Twenty-six years ago, he and his wife traveled to Moscow for the first time, crisscrossing Red Square with a feeling that someone was watching them. This was long before you could get a Big Mac in Moscow or CNN at the Marriott Tvershaya Hotel. Americans in Moscow were a real novelty back then. A Russian approached the Bertsches and asked where they were from in America. When they said Georgia, he smiled. "Oh, from Georgia . . . tell me about Billy Carter," the Russian said, wanting to know more about the beer-guzzling brother than the country's chief executive.

Bertsch also recalls a visit he made by himself in 1992, when government officials made his hotel arrangements. In Russian hotels, it was customary to leave your room key with an attendant on your floor. When you needed it back, you went to the key lady—who wore proper business attire the first time Bertsch saw her. On his second visit, she was dressed to kill in a cocktail dress. Later that night, she wore a negligee. "They were testing me," says Bertsch. "They wanted to get something on me, I suppose. Some Russian officials thought I was in the CIA. The CIA has talked to me, but I told them that I worked for the University of Georgia."

UGA is the leading American university actively working with former Soviet governments and agencies to control the export of materials used to build nuclear devices and other weapons of mass destruction. The Center for International Trade and Security started with no funding, no office space, and no credibility. It was staffed by graduate students, not diplomatic veterans with international résumés. In the past 10 years, the CITS staff has grown from two to more than 20. The hiring of Khripunov, a former member of the Russian Foreign Service, was crucial to the center's success, as was an eventual doubling of the budget. But more than eight out of every 10 dollars CITS raises comes from sources outside the University. The center's focus on real-world problems greatly benefits the upperclassmen and graduate students who make up its support staff and who actually do some of the grassroots diplomacy. In 10 years, Bertsch and his staff have convinced Russian officials that an American unit located half a world away is adept at helping them with the problem of nuclear export controls.

CITS doesn't represent the U.S. government. It represents the University of Georgia—which, according to Bertsch, actually helps rather than hinders. "Universities can do things that governments can't," he says. "We can work on the inside."

Russia is a country larger than most Americans can comprehend. It covers 6.6 million square miles, 89 regions, and eight time zones. If the U.S. land mass continued on west of California and didn't stop till Honolulu, it would be comparable in size to Russia. Adding to the problem of nuclear export controls is the delicate state of the Russian economy. In the past, its people had some money in their pockets but little to buy. Now its stores are well stocked, but most people can't afford to shop, especially in provinces outside Moscow. With a strapped economy, the temptation to deal under the table is greater than if everyone's pockets were filled with rubles. In a country that Nikita Khruschev said could "turn out missiles like sausages," that kind of threat is still all too real—and most often in Russia, though the Ukraine and other republics are also danger zones.

In 1998, an employee at one of Russia's premier labs was arrested for offering to sell designs of nuclear weapons for $3 million. Workers at an atomic energy facility were caught trying to steal nuclear materials. Two years ago, four sailors at a Russian nuclear submarine base were arrested with radioactive goods in their possession. Recently, a government official, two Greenpeace activists, and a TV crew of three went to a Russian plant where 3,000 tons of nuclear fuel is stored. Nobody stopped them. Their televised report startled and embarrassed the government.

The destruction of this Ukrainian silo was another step in joint efforts to rid the former Soviet republic of its nuclear arsenal. Ukraine inherited the world's third-largest nuclear arsenal with the Soviet collapse.

Money is at the root of the issue—which Bertsch has seen firsthand. He remembers a visit to a Russian military installation, where he asked the colonel in charge how long it had been since his soldiers were paid. "A long time," was all the officer would say. According to Bertsch, it had been three months—which is the kind of situation where bribes are a very real and frightening possibility. To combat this and other nuclear export controls problems, CITS personnel started a training program to acquaint inexperienced nuclear operatives with the dangers at hand. By raising awareness, says Bertsch, it's harder for a Sadaam Hussein to get his hands on nuclear components. "We want to help Russian officials understand what doing business with Iran means," says Bertsch. "They see them as a buyer of goods. We try to convince them to sell consumer goods but not dangerous materials."

he day before the exports conference convenes, Bertsch and Davis join CITS staff member Julia Khersonsky, who has arranged courtesy calls at organizations with whom they do business. With a Russian driver at the wheel, they visit the Russian Ministry of Atomic Energy, the Center for Export Controls, and the Center for Policy Studies. Business is discussed at every stop but not before hands are shaken vigorously and tea is poured into delicate china cups. These are Russian officials who have visited UGA, and they are friendly enough with Bertsch to inquire about his children and grandchildren.

For Professor Nikolai Ischenko, the rector of the professional training institute of the Ministry of Atomic Energy, his visit to UGA was a chance to go beyond the technical side of nuclear proliferation.

	Student ambassadors poised for career in government
	The culmination of Davis' UGA experience was a trip to Moscow to learn more about nuclear export controls. Thirty pairs of eyes are focused on UGA senior Jon Davis as he prepares to make the history of nuclear weaponry unfold for Ms. Powell's economics class at Cedar Shoals High School in Athens. "The Manhattan Project actually took place in several locations, including Tennessee," Davis tells his audience. "The Tennessee reference helps the students relate to the history of the nuclear weapons program by reminding them that, geographically speaking, they're not that far removed from the technology that developed the atomic bombs dropped on Japan in World War II," says Davis, who is one of 20 student interns at UGA's Center for International Trade and Security. Like the other juniors and seniors accepted for the coveted CITS student ambassador positions, Davis was asked to develop an hour-long presentation that would be beneficial to Athens-area high school students. "The student ambassador program gives high school students a deeper understanding of current issues that they may otherwise only briefly discuss in class," says Davis, an international affairs major from Suwanee who graduated in May. "It's an important program because I can remember how immediate my concerns were when I was in high school. In that sense, I guess you could consider my slide show and oral presentation on nuclear arms control an educational wakeup call for today's high school students—who need to be more attentive to international events in this post-9/11 world." The student ambassador program is the result of a partnership between UGA's Office of the Vice President for Public Service and Outreach and the Center for International Trade and Security. "When our student ambassadors go into the classroom and talk about the need for arms control," says CITS director Gary Bertsch, "high school students tend to remember that message better than something they read in a textbook—because of the way they heard it and, more importantly, who they heard it from." In the long run, the creators of this outreach project hope to prepare UGA students for leadership roles in government and/or politics. Case in point: Scott Behan, a former CITS intern who spent part of his college career in Kazakhstan working on nuclear export controls. Behan is now the youngest project manager in the U.S. Office of International Material Protection and Emergency Control in Washington. Case in point: Jon Davis, who visited Russia in April with faculty and staff members from the Center for International Trade and Security (see main story). For several days, he rubbed elbows with U.S. embassy officials, Russian scholars, and leaders of agencies designed to limit the spread of nuclear weapons. He was the only undergraduate at most of those sessions. Davis was supposed to be in Washington, D.C., to interview for a Scoville Peace Fellowship. He was one of seven finalists for this prestigious nine-month fellowship and only four would make it. Officials interviewed him over the phone from his hotel room in Moscow. Just in case they couldn't get through, Davis bought a Russian phone card so he could call the people in Washington. They called him. He was interviewed. He thanked them and then he hung up. Minutes later, before he left the room, they called back with good news—Davis has the fellowship, marking the second year in a row that a CITS student was named a Scoville Scholar. These are the kind of college students CITS is sending into classrooms, hoping they will encourage high school students to follow in their footsteps. "Most CITS interns have a heightened interest in international relations, but the program is open to UGA students from all areas of academic study," says CITS intern coordinator Terrell Austin (AB '90, MA '95). "One of our star speakers was a speech communication major, and she gave a great presentation!" —Katie Mitchell (ABJ '02)

"We were looking at the human and cultural side," he explains. "The human side is the most important part of this equation. Without this, the problem will never be solved."

In concert with CITS, Ischenko's institute trains the men and women who manage Russia's nuclear plants. More than 2,000 engineers and physicists study there every year. With the Russian-born Khersonsky translating, Bertsch lectures to a classroom filled with middle managers from plants throughout Russia. He describes issues that are too important to leave to governments.

A man with curly hair and an unruly mustache raises his hand. Alexander Kamyshov manages a power plant and he wants to know how much effort is being made to promote cooperation and better relations between countries. Despite efforts to control the spread of weapons of mass destruction, more nations have them today than before, he notes. "And if relationships fail, there will be problems," Kamyshov suggests. "Let's work on relations so more nations won't get backed into corners."

Later in the morning, Bertsch visits the Center for Export Controls, a Russian organization CITS helped found eight years ago.

"Our world is a very small world," says Anatoly Bulochnikov, who heads the center. "We should work together."

In the afternoon, the CITS contingent visits the Center for Policy Studies, which operates in a restored office building in Moscow's center city. Bertsch helped the staff learn to write grant requests—and, ironically, they now compete with CITS for funding from American foundations. As he does at every stop, Bertsch talks about UGA. "You all come to Athens," he tells the nuclear research personnel. "It's not next to New York or Washington. You just keep on coming south."

ary Bertsch could be at home teaching a class and enjoying the life of a college professor. Instead, he's fighting jet lag and stealing a nap in the lobby of a hotel where you can't spend a U.S. dollar. With support from co-founder Martin Hillenbrand—who was the United States' first ambassador to Hungary prior to becoming a UGA political science professor—Bertsch created the Center for International Trade and Security in the attic of Baldwin Hall. Even before the fall of the former Soviet Union, the staff was engaged in Russian studies.

It's an eclectic group, beginning with Khripunov, a former aide to Mikhail Gorbachev. Bertsch cites the recruitment of Khripunov—whose walls are dotted with photos of him with Soviet leaders from the pre-glasnost days—as a landmark achievement for CITS "because his presence opened doors in the Kremlin and around the world."

In addition to assisting in the deactivation of nearly 5,000 nuclear warheads, the U.S. Cooperative Threat Reduction program has helped to eliminate the above weapon systems in Russia, Ukraine, and Kazakhstan. Left to right: Intercontinental ballistic missles; intercontinental ballistic missle sites; submarine-launched ballistic missles and launcher; heavy bombers.

Mike Beck, a former graduate student in political science, was another important addition to the department. With command of the Russian language and wisdom beyond his years, Beck spent a year in Moscow in the early stages of the export controls initiative. A graduate of Clarke Central High School in Athens, Beck majored in Russian at Emory University before coming home for graduate school.

"I am a product of Gary Bertsch," says Beck. "Even in the 1990s, he was advising students to concentrate on Russia. I did, and the center has."

Friends kid Beck about being a spy.

"I'm not," he says with a wry smile, "but we do work in sensitive areas."

At 30, Scott Behan is the youngest project manager in the U.S. Office of International Material Protection and Emergency Control, a Department of Energy operation headquartered in Washington. It is a job that Behan, who learned to speak Russian as a high school student in Stone Mountain, would not have if it weren't for his involvement with CITS. In 1993, as a junior at UGA, he studied in Moscow. While there, he wrote CITS and volunteered to do research. As a senior, he took several classes with Bertsch—and, by coincidence, Behan is in Moscow at the same time as his former professor. He says Bertsch has helped people in Washington bridge the gap between theory and policy.

"Gary has developed a reputation in the non-proliferation world," says Behan, who also did export controls work in Kazakhstan while he was a UGA student. "In this field, you have people from universities in California, the Ivy League—and the University of Georgia. That's because of Gary."

Jon Davis and Behan were on the same New York-to-Moscow flight. Davis was a pre-med student at UGA and had done a stint as a Red & Black reporter when he began pestering Bertsch to let him intern with CITS.

"Dr. Bertsch and others are my role models," says Davis. "What I've learned about political science I've learned in the center. You can learn about diplomacy in a class but you don't see people practicing it."

Bertsch's classroom isn't defined—or confined—by walls.

"The best teachers are the ones with practical experience," he says. "The best researchers are those who have touched their subject. It's one thing to theorize. We've visited nuclear plants in Russia. We've seen the problems they deal with firsthand. We've seen security—and it's not so good. By seeing these things for ourselves, our teaching and our work is more meaningful, accurate, and useful."

This is a group that speaks a number of languages and dialects, any one of which is likely to emerge without warning when they get together for their weekly pizza pow-wow. Putting backpacks aside, they provide a supportive, but demanding audience for a grad student who is presenting a political science paper on Power Point—assuming that an electrical outlet can be found in technology-challenged Baldwin Hall.

o reach the Russian Senate building—where Russian scholars, scientists, and bureaucrats are gathering for a conference that marks UGA's 10 years of export controls management—attendees have to go through three doors. The first one gets them out of the weather. The second gives them time to shed their coats and, in the case of foreign visitors, to search for their passport. The third door is a security station staffed by an unsmiling young man whose military expression matches his uniform.

Seventeen people will speak at the conference; Gary Bertsch is 15th on the list. Before the meeting, he poses for a photograph under the red seal of the Russian Federation. Pictures taken, Bertsch walks away—but he hasn't taken five steps before a security officer appears, an earphone connecting him to an unseen superior. The omnipresent Khersonsky intervenes. The agent points to a briefcase on the floor. Bertsch had left it behind momentarily while greeting an old friend. Potential security breach explained, Khersonsky retrieves the briefcase and all is well again.

The conference is characterized by glowing reports of how the Russian government is fulfilling its promises to maintain control of nuclear material, with speakers proclaiming that "the building had been built." Several speakers refer in Russian to the tragedies of Sept. 11. One speaker points out that the United States needs new laws in this field—which is a salient point, given the nasty feud that's brewing between the federal government and South Carolina governor Jim Hodges. The feds want to transport six tons of heavily guarded plutonium suitable for use in H-bombs from their fortress-like nuclear arsenal in Rocky Flats, Colo., to the Savannah River site in South Carolina—where, if all goes to plan, it will be recycled into fuel for electricity-generating reactors. Gov. Hodges has sued the U.S. Energy Department, asking a federal court to block the plutonium shipments until studies can be conducted on the impact of such a process on public health and the environment.

But objective observers know that the post-Cold War Soviet republics constitute the most dire nuclear materials battlefield. In an essay published by the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, former U.S. Senator Sam Nunn—whose expertise in the field is recognized in the former Soviet republics—discussed how vital it is for the world to put the brakes on the spread of nuclear weapons. Nunn, along with Sen. Richard Lugar (R-Ind.), helped create the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Redirection Program, which has provided the Department of Defense with more than $2 billion for nuclear control expenditures.

"The end of the Cold War signaled that we are no longer enemies. September 11th made it clear that we must become friends," Nunn wrote. "Why? Because for the first time in more than 50 years, the likeliest nuclear, biological or chemical threats the United States and Russia face do not come from each other."

President George W. Bush and Russian President Vladimir Putin, in a joint press conference in November 2001, said that keeping weapons of mass destruction out of the hands of terrorists is their highest priority. Discussions continue, with money the primary obstacle. In his FY2003 budget, Bush allocated $417 million—down from previous years—for this effort.

Enrico Verdolin, the export control attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, says the Russian export laws read well—but have never been tested. "What kind of enforcement will there be?" he asks. "What kind of punishment will there be? Those things we don't know." A good law is on the books, he says. "Now it needs teeth that can only be brushed well by money and manpower."

ladmir Sidorenko walks Gary Bertsch toward a quaint café near the Russian Senate Building. The day before, Bertsch had presented him with a bulldog lapel pin and today Sidorenko has mementos to bestow in return. He helps his American friends order lunch, then invites everyone to visit a well-stocked salad bar. Back at the table, an icy bottle of Russian vodka has arrived. A shot glass is positioned next to every plate. Sidorenko, deputy director of the Center for Export Control, offers the first toast:

"To world peace!" he proclaims as glasses clink.

Between shots of vodka and more toasts there is serious talk about what is needed to keep nuclear materials out of the hands of terrorists and leaders of outlaw nations. But more than anything, there is laughter. After lunch, Bertsch grows serious.

"We lost a lot of time during the Cold War," he tells the group. "Now we have new opportunities to build friendships." Raising his shot glass, Bertsch offers a toast:

"To friendship! Let it begin with us!"

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