Getting rid of the chemical weapons at the Umatilla Chemical Depot will be a boon to community safety. Still, the startup of the Umatilla incinerator scheduled for next week has to make even the staunchest defenders of incineration at least a little nervous.

After the court decision Monday that cleared the way for startup, it looked possible that the $395 million plant already would be operating by the time today's Herald hit porches and paper boxes around the Mid-Columbia.

Now, the start has been delayed at least until next week because of problems found Tuesday with a ventilation system.

Uneasiness about the advent of burning is understandable. After all, 7.4 million pounds of deadly nerve and mustard agents -- 12 percent of the nation's stockpile -- are destined for incineration at Umatilla.

If not for years of effort by officials representing federal, state, county and city governments, school districts and hospitals, that uneasiness would be real fear.

For all its discord, the process leading to the Umatilla incinerator's start is part of the reason to have faith in the incineration project. The checks and balances required to satisfy state and local concerns prior to startup not only will make plant operations safer, but also improve planning for an emergency.

The Chemical Stockpile Emergency Preparedness Program -- a multiagency group that plans as if the chances for a leak were likely instead of remote -- has brought more than $129.7 million to the state, tribes and counties surrounding the depot. Residents of Umatilla and Morrow counties, living in the most likely paths of any accidental toxic release, have benefited most.

The money has provided schools and hospitals with rooms that will stay safe from a plume of deadly chemicals, paid for outreach programs that have aimed to teach everyone in harm's way what to do if there's ever a serious leak, funded scores of mock emergencies, trained hundreds of emergency workers and purchased millions of dollars worth of hazardous waste suits, mobile treatment centers and other equipment.

All the fuss might seem a little overboard to personnel transferred to Umatilla from Johnston Atoll near Hawaii, where incineration of one arsenal was completed in 2000, or from Tooele, Utah, where almost 6.7 tons of chemical agents have been destroyed.

But while there's comfort in the Army's experiences elsewhere, stronger assurance comes from the occasionally hostile and often political run-up to this startup.

The attempts of anti-burning activists to get an injunction, for example, no doubt frustrated incinerator officials, but it's far better to hear all voices than to silence opposition. The nuclear production sites of the former Soviet Union -- where deadly leftovers continue to endanger surrounding populations -- are terrifying examples of centralized control over public health and safety.

At Umatilla, additional improvements in operational practices and the safety of equipment are sure to be needed once the plant is running. Tuesday's decision to delay restart is testimony to the serious approach of the Army and its contractor, Washington Group International, to public safety.

But it's also clear the odds of identifying everything required to keep us safe has been much improved by the messy political process behind the highly technical cleanup.