On 13 September 1987, the Brazilian city of Goiânia experienced one of the world’s most severe radiological accidents outside a nuclear facility, an event triggered not by war or power generation, but by an abandoned medical device and a chain of ordinary human decisions.
The origins of the disaster lay in the closure of the Instituto Goiano de Radioterapia (IGR), a private radiotherapy clinic that had ceased operations in the location in 1985 and shifted to another premises but failed to properly dispose of its radiotherapy unit. Inside that machine was a sealed capsule containing cesium-137, a radioactive isotope used in cancer treatment. The clinic building was left unsecured, and the responsibility for the radioactive source became entangled in administrative disputes between IGR and the owner of the building, leaving the unit unattended for years.
On September 11, 1986, the Court of Goiás stated it had knowledge of the abandoned radioactive material in the building and appointed a guard to secure the place.
Four months before the theft, on May 4, 1987, Saura Taniguti, then director of Ipasgo, the institute of insurance for civil servants, used police force to prevent one of the owners of IGR, Carlos Figueiredo Bezerril, from removing the radioactive material that had been left behind.
Figueiredo then warned the president of Ipasgo, Lício Teixeira Borges, of the consequences of the radioactive substance only to be ignored. Meanwhile, the owners of IGR wrote several letters to the National Nuclear Energy Commission (CNEN) about the teletherapy unit at an abandoned site, but they could not remove the equipment on their own once a court order prevented them from doing so.
On September 13, 1987, the guard tasked with protecting the site did not show up for work.
On September 13, 1987, two scavengers, Roberto dos Santos Alves and Wagner Mota Pereira, entered the abandoned clinic searching for scrap metal. They dismantled the heavy teletherapy unit and removed what they believed to be valuable components. The machine was transported on a wheelbarrow through residential streets to Alves’ home. Neither man was aware that the core of the device contained radioactive material.
Over the following days, the men attempted to extract metal from the unit. During this process, the protective shielding around the radioactive source was damaged. Inside was a small steel capsule containing cesium-137 chloride, a powdery, water-soluble substance that emits intense gamma radiation and glows blue in the dark. Fascinated by the luminous material, Alves showed it to friends and neighbors, unknowingly beginning a cascade of contamination.
The capsule was eventually sold to a scrapyard owned by Devair Alves Ferreira, located several kilometers away. Ferreira, intrigued by the glowing powder, handled it extensively and distributed fragments to family members, friends, and employees. His wife, Maria Gabriela Ferreira, and other relatives came into direct contact with the substance. Small amounts were rubbed onto skin, carried in pockets, and spread onto household surfaces. The radioactive material traveled unknowingly through multiple homes, workplaces, and public areas as people moved about their daily lives.
One of the most tragic victims was Ferreira’s six-year-old niece, Leide das Neves Ferreira, who played with the glowing powder and consumed food contaminated by cesium particles. The components were sold to another scrapyard owner. Over time, individuals who had handled the material began to fall ill, experiencing nausea, vomiting, dizziness, hair loss, and radiation burns. These early symptoms were not immediately recognized as radiation sickness.
Concerned by the growing number of unexplained illnesses, Maria Gabriela Ferreira eventually suspected the capsule was responsible. On September 28, 1987, she took the remaining material to a local public health office. This action marked the first official recognition that Goiânia was facing a radiological emergency.
Authorities quickly confirmed that the material was highly radioactive. Emergency protocols were activated, and specialists from Brazil’s nuclear regulatory agencies, supported by international experts, were deployed. Entire neighborhoods were cordoned off. Residents were evacuated, and a mass screening operation was established at the city’s Olympic stadium, where thousands of people were scanned for radioactive contamination.
In total, more than 112,000 people were tested for radiation exposure. Approximately 249 individuals were confirmed to be contaminated, either externally or internally. Dozens required hospitalization.
Despite intensive medical care, four people died from acute radiation sickness in the weeks that followed:
Leide das Neves Ferreira (6 years old) - developed severe symptoms and died on October 23, 1987.
Maria Gabriela Ferreira (37) - wife of the scrapyard owner, succumbed of radiation effects on the same day as her niece.
Israel Batista dos Santos (22) - employee at scrapyard, died on October 27, 1987.
Admilson Alves de Souza (18) - was an employee at the scrapyard, died from internal damage on October 28, 1987.
Devair Alves Ferreira survived the acute phase but suffered long-term health consequences and died several years later.
Medical teams treated exposed patients using supportive care and specific interventions, including Prussian blue, a compound that binds cesium in the gastrointestinal tract and accelerates its elimination from the body. Long-term monitoring programs were established to study the health effects of radiation exposure on affected individuals.
The environmental cleanup of Goiânia was extensive and unprecedented for an urban radiological accident. Contaminated homes were demolished, topsoil was removed, and personal belongings, including furniture, clothing, and household items were confiscated and disposed of as radioactive waste. Streets, buildings, and drainage systems were chemically treated to reduce contamination. In total, thousands of cubic meters of radioactive waste were generated and transported to secure storage facilities outside the city.
Beyond the physical contamination, the accident had lasting social consequences. Residents of Goiânia faced stigma, economic disruption, and fear, with agricultural products from the region temporarily rejected by other states. Public confidence in radiation safety was severely shaken.
In the aftermath, legal investigations examined how a dangerous radioactive source had been abandoned without safeguards. The incident prompted reforms in radioactive source control and international efforts to address so-called “orphan sources”, radioactive materials that fall outside regulatory oversight.
The Goiânia accident remains a defining case study in radiological safety. It demonstrated how a single unsecured medical device, combined with lack of awareness and delayed detection, could lead to widespread human and environmental harm. Decades later, the event continues to inform global radiation protection policies and emergency response planning, serving as a stark reminder of the hidden risks posed by improperly managed medical technology.
