More nuclear reactors in Westeros

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After recording the latest Boiled Leather Audio Conversation with Tim Westmeyr (check it out!), in which we talked about parallels between the HBO mini-series Chernobyl and Game of Thrones, I had to rewatch the former. And I fell upon a few additional points that I wanted to share, because I think as storytelling devices, they are just way too interesting not to point out.

The first, overarching thing is the wider political significance of the event. The apt comparison here is the Red Wedding. Not because Chernobyl was a huge betrayal (although at least from some perspective it was), but because of how it reinforced weaknesses that were already there.

What am I talking about? The Red Wedding showed to everyone what bad actors, unreliable actors and generally awful people the Lannisters and Freys were. They won in the very short term, but already over the course of Feastdance, their whole legacy is starting to break apart from the ripple effects of that moment. People don't believe them, prepare to jump ship and contribute to the widely felt loss of legitimacy of the regime.

I think you can see where the analogy is going. Chernobyl didn't cause the downfall of the Soviet Union, but it exemplifies all the weaknesses of the regime, for all the world and, crucially, for their own people to see.

Another important thread of both stories is the question of the nature of power, exemplified by Varys' riddle in "A Clash of Kings". We all know the answer: Power resides where men believe it resides. The same sentiment is expressed by minister Scherbrina in the show: The power of the Soviet Union relies on the world thinking it has power. We know today it it really didn't; its economy was incredibly weak, its army much stronger on paper than in reality and, as became obvious after the collapse, the population wasn't invested in the system.

This is apparent in both stories. Once everyone loses faith in the source of power - the historic mission of the Soviet Union, the god-divined birth of a king -, that power breaks down fast. It comes down to the man with the sword, or the tank, to decide where to from there.

Another thread that the stories share is the cowardice of those at the top. In Chernobyl, it's most striking in the person of Gorbachev, who never really commits to the responsibility he has. When asked to condemn three men to death by ordering them into the contaminated waters, he never really says it - he gives his approval passively, and will do so again.

This cowardice can be seen in ASOIAF, too, where officers, knights and lords repeatedly enjoy the privileges of their positions yet balk when it comes to the uncomfortable duties that go with it. Think of Joffrey on the walls of King's Landing during the Battle of the Blackwater. A Stannis Baratehon doesn't come along too often.

Switching topics, we're coming to the issue of institutional identity. In "Chernobyl", the KGB identifies itself as a "circle of accountability, nothing more", which is, of course, utterly laughable. The KGB was an instrument of domestic terror, its existence predicated on the need to keep the population down.

Now, in Westeros, we have several cases of institutions that have an identity, an image of themselves, that has little bearing to reality. Like you have the odd committed socialist who strives to do better by the people, by and large, you will encounter more people like the Kiev party chief ("I'm in charge", he gloats) or a knight like Manfred Dondarrion. These people know much about their rights, where they should be thinking of their duties instead.

Another parallel is the unlikelihood of the apocalypse. Yes, in hindsight its clear what led to the catastrophe in Chernobyl and how pigheaded many reactions were. The same holds true of the wide-spread disbelief concerning the Others. However, one has to keep in mind how unlikely catastrophe is, and how many false alarms and bullshit-stories the people in charge must have suffered before.

In the story, of course, the people "in the know" are usually the heroes. Legasov and Khomyuk in Chernobyl, Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly in ASOIAF are clearly the good guys, the ones to be adored and emulated. But it's not exactly like either of them is the most credible messenger, a problem that the novel actually starts with. It's Gared's execution: Even upright Eddard Stark couldn't give less of a fuck about the story, and in an eerie parallel, Legasov also dismissed the warnings by Volkov about AZ-5 prior to the story. It's perfectly understandable: why make yourself a moron about something as unlikely? And yet, sometimes, that spells doom.

But this ignorance isn't restricted to our main protagonists. As evidenced in the first scene of Chernobyl's fourth episode, if you tell people of the impending apocalypse, you encounter disbelief and a refusal to leave. "Why should I flee from something I cannot see?" asks the old female farmer, and the soldier doesn't think of anything better than to shoot her cow. The same ignorance can be seen by many people in ASOIAF, who believe that the war and impending White Walker apocalypse will touch other people, but not them.

The common soldiers also share the ignorance. How can you not think of Septon Meribald's monologue about the feudal levies fighting in causes they don't understand when you see the Soviet soldiers performing duties they have no understanding of, either. In both cases, an oppressive system has fostered a culture of obeying orders without question, so the orders are carried out. It may be beneficial, or not. The soldiers don't know.

Another leitmotif entirely is the expectation of material rewards and promotions for conducting acts you know are wrong. This is all over the place in ASOIAF, where people lie, cajole and betray to get the advancements they seek, mostly by proxy of royal favor. In Chernobyl, we see it with Dyatlov, Fomin and Bryukhanov, who expect promotions when they complete the bureaucratic hurdle of a safety test and ignore all kinds of restrictions and regulations to achieve this goal.

The sheer pettiness of the aspirations and actions these people have and take in juxtaposition to the stark consequences of their actions. Neither of them got their promotions, but the risks they took for some small advancement in the Soviet hierarchy are utterly unrelated to the rewards they could expect.

And then, of course, there's the phony trial at the end. ASOAIF is a story not exactly short of phony trials, and Tyrion Lannister is at the center of the most infamous of them. They're show trials in every sense, not there to determine guilt but to render and legitimize a verdict that's preordained.

Soviet justice is the same. The result of the trial in Chernobyl's fifth episode is clear from the start. It's all staged, from the mannerisms of the people involved to the silence the accused are condemned to (Tyrion could relate to Dyatlov's anger, I'm sure).

Therefore, the comparison between the two stories makes more sense than at first glance. I am curious as to whether this is because these stories tackle central themes that reverberate through time and storytelling traditions, or whether there's now simply a market for this kind of thing. If you have any idea or opinion, I'd love to know.