The True Story Behind Brazil’s Radioactive Emergency

Not all radiological or nuclear disasters involve massive nuclear plant meltdowns. Stemming from abandoned radioactive medical equipment, the Goiânia accident of 1987 began invisibly and affected hundreds of people before public officials even became aware of any danger.

In late 1985, the Instituto Goiano de Radioterapia, a private radiotherapy clinic in Goiânia, Brazil, shut down and moved. The institute left behind a cesium-137 teletherapy unit used for cancer treatment but didn’t properly notify licensing authorities about the abandoned technology. The clinic was subsequently partly demolished and the device was left unsecured for nearly two years.

On September 13, 1987, two scavengers, Roberto dos Santos Alves and Wagner Mota Pereira, broke into the abandoned institute, looking for scrap metal and anything else they could sell. They found the radiotherapy machine, which had text and warning symbols on it they didn't understand. They dismantled part of the machine and removed a valuable-looking stainless-steel canister, which they brought back to Alves’ home nearby.

That evening, Alves and Pereira began vomiting but assumed their illness was due to something they ate. Two days later, medical providers diagnosed the diarrhea, dizziness and hand swelling Pereira developed as an allergic reaction to food. While Pereira rested, Alves worked to take apart the canister. On September 18, he succeeded in prying open the container and removing a ruptured lead capsule, which he then quickly sold to local junkyard owner Devair Ferreira.

That evening, Ferreira noticed a blue glow emanating from the capsule in his garage. He brought it into his house, thinking the pretty, powdery substance inside the capsule—radioactive cesium chloride—might be valuable or even supernatural.

Over the next few days, Ferreira and his wife, Maria Gabriela, admired the phosphorescent substance and shared it with family, friends and neighbors. People rubbed the glowing powder on their skin, allowed children to play with it and passed fragments between households. Ferreira also sold pieces of the capsule to another junkyard, further spreading the contamination.

Those who handled the cesium powder quickly fell ill with nausea, vomiting, skin lesions, hair loss and other symptoms that physicians initially thought were due to a tropical disease. Maria Gabriela, however, was convinced the powder was “killing her family,” so she collected pieces of the capsule and left them in a bag on a doctor’s desk on September 28, 1987.

The following day, a visiting medical physicist probed the suspicious bag with a radiation detector, kicking off a chain of events that finally revealed a widespread radiological disaster that had contaminated areas 100 miles away.

The Olympic Stadium in the city became a triage site for those potentially contaminated. By February 1988, health officials screened more than 100,000 people, and 249 people showed significant signs of contamination. Dozens received treatment and four died from the exposure, including Maria Gabriela Ferreira, her 6-year-old niece and two junkyard employees.

Beyond the medical toll, whole city sections were decontaminated and multiple contaminated homes were demolished. Goiânia and its people were heavily stigmatized for years. Brazil later overhauled its radiological safety laws to ensure such disasters don’t happen again.

The site has since remained a focal point for public memory, continuing to draw activists and community members who gather there to protest, commemorate the victims and advocate for stronger nuclear safety measures.