The Boxing Day tsunami hit Thailand’s Andaman coast just after 9.30am on December 26 2004. The first place to suffer significant damage was Phuket, and the next two hours saw village after resort get battered or decimated by the towering waves thundering in from the Sumatra fault line, 1000km away. The entire coastline from Ranong to Satun was affected, but not all of it with the same intensity: the worst-hit province was Phang Nga, where 4200 people were recorded dead or missing, many of them in the resort of Khao Lak; over 2000 suffered a similar fate on Ko Phi Phi; and more than 900 died on the beaches of Phuket, especially on Patong and Kamala. There were 8212 fatalities in all, a third of them holidaymakers. Another 6000 people were made homeless and some 150,000 lost their jobs, mostly in the tourism and fishing industries. By the end of that day, nearly a quarter of a million people in a dozen countries around the Indian Ocean had lost their lives in the worst natural disaster in recorded history.
Many homes, shops and hotels were quite swiftly rebuilt, but the emotional and social legacy of the tsunami endures and most residents along the Andaman coast have a story of terror and bereavement to tell. It’s no surprise that many survivors are now afraid of the sea: fearing ghosts, some longtail boatmen won’t motor solo past where villages once stood, and hundreds of hotel staff have since sought new jobs in the northern city of Chiang Mai, as far from the sea as they could go.
Immediately after the tsunami, many were surprised when then prime minister Thaksin Shinawatra declined offers of aid from foreign governments. But help poured in instead from the Thai government and from royal foundations and local and foreign NGOs and individuals. Of the many projects established to help support and rebuild affected communities, the majority have now completed their task; others have evolved into longer-term NGO ventures, including an English-teaching programme in Khao Lak, and the community-based tourism company Andaman Discoveries in Khuraburi.
Generosity and altruism were not the only responses to the disaster, however. Almost every tsunami-affected community talks of dishonourable practice and corruption, experiences which have caused bitterness and rifts. Many allegations concern donated money and goods being held back by the local leaders charged with distributing them, and in some cases big business interests muscled in on land deemed “ownerless” because the paperwork had been lost to the waves. Most small businesses had no insurance, and government compensation was inconsistently awarded and invariably lacking. In a country where most family enterprises scrape by season to season, it’s sobering to contemplate the number of tsunami victims who simply picked up and started over.
Determined not to be caught unawares again, in the unlikely event of Thailand being struck by a second tsunami, the government has created a tsunami early-warning system that relays public announcements from towers all the way down the Andaman coast. They have also mapped out evacuation routes, flagged by innumerable “Tsunami Hazard Zone” signs in all the big resorts. For their part, Phuket authorities have remodelled stretches of Ao Patong’s beachfront as a building-free zone, creating a park that doubles as a tsunami memorial. Krabi officials now require all new buildings to be constructed at least 30m inland from a high-tide boundary, and they even forbid the use of sunloungers below that point. In Khao Lak, a beached police boat has become an eloquent memorial: it rests where it was hurtled by the wave, 2km inland, on the other side of the highway.