The G-8 summit will be remembered for many things. One of them is that the Indian government couldn't coherently answer the question the entire world is asking: what does India intend to do, as one of the globe's fastest growing economies and its fifth biggest emitter of greenhouse gases, to cut its emissions? How long will its elite hide behind its poor to resist this demand? The Indian government only pays lip service to environmental protection and reversing climate change. It routinely sanctions countless hazardous industrial/mining projects, promotes luxury consumption by the rich, allows deforestation and pollution of rivers, dilutes environmental clearance norms, and fails to remedy the adverse effects of large dams, chemical factories, and harmful activities along the coast. However, under public pressure, the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF) in 1994 instituted Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) for major projects, including public hearings. But this has been subverted and become a farce. An army of "consultants" has mushroomed, who extol hazardous projects. Public hearings are conducted with cynical collusion between state pollution control boards, project sponsors and the district authorities. I witnessed this last week at a public hearing for four Russian-designed reactors of the Koodankulam Nuclear Power Station (KNPS), proposed to be built by the Nuclear Power Corporation (NPC) at India's Southern tip. Ironically, Units 1 & 2, both of 1,000 MW, and costing a huge Rs 13,171 crores, are already three-fourths of the way through construction — without EIA, or public hearing. If approved, KNPS will be India's largest nuclear-power centre, 10 times bigger than other atomic stations (barring one). It's certainly one of India's most hated electricity plants. The anti-project sentiment at the June 2 hearing at Tirunelveli bore ample testimony to this. Over 2,000 people from Tirunelveli, Tuticorin and Kanyakumari districts attended it. The hearing took place in intimidating conditions — 1,500 policemen, tight security barriers, nasty riot gear, and water-cannons. Yet, hundreds vociferously demanded that they be allowed to speak. Under MoEF guidelines, the EIA report summary must be widely publicised in the local language. This didn't happen. The collector claimed that a Tamil translation was available at designated offices. But none of those present had seen it. Nor could he produce it. The collector, say MoEF rules, must conduct the hearing in "a systematic, time-bound and transparent manner, ensuring widest possible public participation ... Every person ... shall be granted the opportunity to seek information or clarifications ... The proceedings accurately reflecting all the views and concerns expressed shall be ... read over ... in the vernacular language." This didn't happen. Two hours into the process, after 10 people had spoken, the collector abruptly closed the hearing — although there was no violence or rowdiness. This gross violation of due process further enraged the local people. They want the hearing to be resumed after MoEF requirements are fulfilled, including circulation of the EIA in Tamil. The people hate KNPS — because they are literate, worldly-wise and aware of the hazards of nuclear power. The project's sponsors don't even acknowledge that nuclear power is fraught with radioactive waste, routine radioactivity releases, and possible catastrophic accidents like Chernobyl. It's one thing to claim hazards can be overcome; it's another to deny their very existence. Koodankulam concentrates all the problems associated with nuclear power — in a magnified form. It will generate large amounts of highly radioactive spent fuel. The EIA doesn't mention this. It greatly underestimates the routine releases of radioisotopes and exposure of occupational workers to high doses of radiation — a silent, invisible poison that causes cancers and genetic deformities. Like all reactor types — and Koodankulam, like Chernobyl, is a Russian design — KNPS can undergo a core meltdown, with devastating consequences for Tamil Nadu, Kerala, even Sri Lanka. KNPS poses four additional problems. It's being built at the edge of the Gulf of Mannar, one of the world's richest marine biodiversity areas, with 3,600 species. The plant's thermal discharges are liable to adversely affect this precious reserve. They will be much hotter than the 70C (above the incoming temperature) norm. Second, three large settlements lie within 5 km of the plant: Koodankulam (pop. 20,000), Idinthakarai (pop. 12,000), and a Tsunami (rehabilitation) Colony (pop. 2,000-plus). Its location violates the Department of Atomic Energy's siting norms and a Tamil Nadu government Order of 1988, which declares a 1.6-km radius around the plant "prohibited". Next, a 5-km radius, is a "sterilised area", where "the density of population should be small ... ." Finally, in 16-km radius, "the population should not exceed 10,000." Third, the plant is being built in a seriously water-stressed area. It originally planned to bring fresh water from a dam, 65 km away. But in the face of popular resistance, the idea was dropped. It will now daily desalinate 48 million litres of seawater — an exorbitantly expensive, unproved technology. This will send electricity costs through the roof. Finally, even without this additional expense, the optimistically estimated cost of Koodankulam's power is Rs3.08 per unit. But power from the nearby Neyveli thermal power station will cost less than Rs1.75. The Koodankulam estimate excludes the costs of decommissioning reactors (which are one-third to one-half their capital costs). This is a rotten bargain. Southern Tamil Nadu has become India's wind energy capital — with hundreds of megawatts of renewable, cheap and safe energy. Koodankulam was a political bargain, signed during the USSR's last days, to symbolically reaffirm Indo-Soviet friendship. It remains just that. There are less toxic and expensive ways of expressing friendship. Koodankulam must be scrapped.