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It was on the day after that we realized how wide-spread and terrible the Asian tsunami’s impact had been across much of South and Southeast Asia. As news reports and analyses poured in via satellite television and websites, it became clear that this would be one of the biggest disasters in memory.
It was also the first truly globalized disaster of our times. The powerful seismic waves, emanating on the morning of December 26, 2004 from the bottom of the sea close to Indonesia’s Sumatra Island, literally shook the world. (In May 2005, scientists reported that the earthquake had lasted close to ten minutes, whereas most major earthquakes last no more than a few seconds; it caused the entire planet to vibrate by at least a few centimeters).
The day after, as I was watching the horror of the tsunami unfold in the media, an Indian environmentalist colleague sent a brief text message to my mobile phone reading: “Reminds us who’s in charge”.
If that was the intended message, it sure was delivered with a mighty punch. But as our memories fade over time, and as Asia recovers from one of the biggest blows in recent years, we must raise these questions: Is everyone who heard or felt the message heeding its important lessons? What have we learned from the tsunami, at the tremendously high cost that affected countries paid?
A Defining Moment
The Asian tsunami was a defining moment for individuals, institutions and nations around the Indian Ocean rim. A year after the killer waves rose and receded, the dead were buried and debris cleared, the disaster continues to challenge families, communities, aid agencies, and governments in all the affected countries.
Because the earthquake—measuring 9.3 on the Richter scale—happened out at sea, the resulting waves radiated in all directions, eventually reaching the shores of over a dozen countries in Asia and eastern Africa. Due to proximity, they wreaked a great deal more havoc in Asia: Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Thailand, and India were hit the hardest, with Malaysia, Maldives, and Myanmar (Burma) also affected.
But the Boxing Day tremors reverberated well beyond these countries. It was not just the nationals of these countries who suffered, but also thousands of others who had flocked to their tourist resorts.
As the first anniversary approaches, there is renewed interest in what happened after the disaster. In a year that also recorded a string of other major disasters, including hurricanes Katrina and Rita, and the earthquake in northern Pakistan, coping with disasters has been a recurrent theme.
For much of affected Asia, the tsunami’s initial shock, horror and anguish have now given way to a whole range of other, equally powerful sentiments: frustration, dismay and, anger at the slow pace of recovery.
This is not surprising given the sheer scale of the process, involving tens of millions of people. Federal and local governments, as well as international and national charities have all found that the tsunami challenged their disaster preparedness, relief operation plans, and logistics systems. The recovery, in particular, has been a test of good governance for governments, charities, and aid agencies—a test that many have flunked.
From the time the humanitarian crisis was contained, focus turned to how the massive outpouring of donations could be harnessed to help affected families rebuild their shattered lives and livelihoods. As months passed, we saw a wave of community complaints and media reports about neglect, discrimination, mismanagement, waste, excessive bureaucracy and, yes, corruption—that many-headed monster which raises its ugly head in good times and bad.
These allegations have been made in most of the distressed Asian countries. None has a perfect record, though some have handled the recovery process much better than others. Sadly, Sri Lanka, where I am based, has an appalling “report card”, I would personally give it only a D minus, a bare minimum pass.
Sri Lankans have watched with mounting dismay how bickering politicians, war-mongering generals, and bungling officials squandered away opportunities to make lasting peace and rebuild their war-torn country.
The multitude of well-meaning but ill-coordinated international charities that descended on the island often aggravated existing disparities and problems. (For example, over 20 different Red Cross groups from different countries were involved in Sri Lanka’s recovery effort, each having its own agenda.)
It was the local charities and good Samaritans, sometimes aided by their international counterparts, who provided the basic services to affected people and reduced further suffering. As the year ended, thousands were still languishing in temporary shelters, and less than 10 per cent of the required 80,000 new houses had been completed.
Long Term Lessons
As Asia’s longest year in recent memory draws to an end, pressure is slowly easing on emergency and short-term needs. Asia can, and should, now address the long term lessons of the tsunami.
Developing effective early warning systems is an urgent priority. The Indian Ocean rim countries, in Asia and Africa, lack a well coordinated, regionally operated tsunami warning system that the Pacific countries have operated successfully for decades. United Nations agencies and development donors are now working on filling this gap. In their typical style, they have spent much of the year holding various meetings to further study, define, discuss, and agree on what needs to be done. From the growing volume of reports it seems that a state-of-the-art, high tech solution is being planned.
Of course, where saving lives is involved, the best tools of science and technology must indeed be mobilized. But the most advanced early warning system in the world can do only half the job: it can alert governments and other centers of power (e.g. military) of an impending disaster. The bigger challenge is to disseminate that warning to large numbers of people spread across vast areas in the shortest possible time.
It’s still not clear how Asia’s wielders of power will handle this crucial second stage. (It is now established that several governments and militaries in the Indian Ocean region did, in fact, receive some advance warning of the Asian Tsunami—in some cases a crucial hour or two—but none acted with the swiftness and resolve it demanded. Loss of life could have been reduced significantly if they did.) This requires a coordinated, collaborative plan with the region’s radio and television broadcasters whose outreach to communities is unparalleled.
Even if early warnings are received and disseminated effectively, the best such information can do is to trigger a quick evacuation of the areas in danger. There is no known defense against nature’s fury expressed in tsunamis, hurricanes, and cyclones.
Or is there? This is a question that deserves more attention. Because, buried beneath the tons of rubble was an important lesson; sometimes the best defense against natural disasters can be nature itself—if we manage our natural resources well.
In the days and weeks following the Asian tsunami, scientists, environmentalists, and divers from across the region reported an interesting phenomenon: areas with mangrove forests or coral or sand reefs had suffered considerably less damage and lost fewer lives. In contrast, nearby areas without these natural barriers were impacted more heavily.
Nature’s “Shock Absorbers”?
These natural formations act as splendid bulwarks against the wrath of the sea, although they cannot block out tsunamis, they can certainly reduce their impact. This phenomenon is now called the “greenbelt effect”.
Mangroves grow in thickets along tropical coastlines. Their complicated root systems help to bind the shore together, effectively providing a shield against the waves. They offer protection from storm winds, cyclones, waves, and floods by enabling overflowing water to be absorbed into the expanse of the mangrove forest. When a tsunami arrives, mangroves can “brake” its killer momentum.
The renowned biologist Dr M. S. Swaminathan, father of India’s green revolution, notes how mangroves in southern India’s Pitchavaram and Muthupet regions had acted like a shield and bore the brunt of the tsunami. “The impact was mitigated and lives and property of the communities inhabiting the region were saved,” he reported shortly after the disaster.
The United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) also acknowledged that the tsunami’s damage could have been reduced if more coastal areas had maintained their protective shields of mangrove swamps and coral reefs. Pasi Rinne, who headed UNEP’s tsunami response team, said the swamps and reefs not already destroyed by humans may have reduced some of the damage caused by the tsunami.
“These act as shock absorbers for the types of flooding and the tsunami that we saw,” said Simon Cripps, head of the World Wildlife Fund’s (WWF) global marine program. “It wouldn't have been able to stop it completely, of course, but we've seen areas already...where there were mangroves, there was substantially less damage.”
WWF cited the example of the Marriott Hotel in Phuket, southern Thailand, which was built next to a turtle nesting beach under strict environmental guidelines. The hotel was located back from the beach, and development of the waterfront was severely restricted, so mangrove swamps were preserved. When the tsunami came, there was little damage to this hotel; many others in the area were devastated.
Not the First Time
The Asian tsunami was not the first time this lesson was demonstrated. When a cyclone wreaked havoc in the eastern Indian state of Orissa in 1999, the same “greenbelt effect” was reported. Environmental activists felt vindicated: their years of struggle against tourism and fisheries development projects seemed to be justified.
After a major cyclone battered and flooded large areas of Vietnam in 1997, the Red Cross started community-based replanting of mangroves as a defense against future disasters.
But the lessons of Orissa and Vietnam were soon forgotten. Much of the mangrove forest in tropical coast countries like Bangladesh, India, Philippines, and Sri Lanka continued to be cleared in recent years for tourism development or shrimp farming projects. We have been busy trading our ecological safety-net for just a few more dollars, euros, and yens.
Meanwhile, coral reefs across Asia are under pressure from destructive fishing practices, coral bleaching (due to global warming), and the extraction of coral as a source of lime for the building industry.
British author and undersea explorer Sir Arthur C. Clarke, a resident of Sri Lanka since 1956, has witnessed this damage for years. Shortly after the tsunami he wrote, “For half a century, I have watched with mounting dismay how coral reefs and mangrove forests were plundered. I have long been calling for greater protection for Sri Lanka’s reefs. For each person who heeded my call, there were many who did not. Fuelled by a combination of poverty, indifference and official apathy, coral mining has continued to destroy these ‘rainforests of the sea’—thus eroding our natural defense.”
The value of natural barriers is not only in disaster mitigation. As sea levels rise, and as extreme weather events intensify due to global warming, these will become important elements of coping strategies for coastal countries and communities.
Sir Arthur Clarke offers the last word: “The best tribute we can pay to all who perished or suffered in this disaster is to heed the powerful lessons it offers us. Nature has spoken loud and clear, and we ignore her at our peril.”
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