ScAm

Map by Dolly Holmes April 2020, ScientificAmerican.com 61

entire villages. Tens of square kilometers of land sank under the

water because of rupture and submergence; the beautiful island

of Trinket broke into three pieces. Official numbers put the

human toll on the Nicobars at 3,449 missing or dead, but esti-

mates from independent researchers were as high as 10,000. (The

population was 42,068 according to the 2001 census, with about

26,000 being ethnic Nicobarese.) Some 125,000 domestic ani-

mals were killed, and more than 6,000 hectares of coconut plan-

tations, 40,000 hectares of coral reefs and almost three quarters

of the houses were destroyed.

Tradition saved a few people. The chief of the village of Munak

on Kamorta Island remembered ancestors’ warnings about the

aftermath of a colossal earthquake and urged the villagers to flee

from the beach. Fortunately for them, the island has an elevated

hinterland; no one from Munak died. And incredibly, many from

Chowra Island were able to swim back after having been swept

away by the giant waves.

The magnitude of the catastrophe led to a massive hu man i-

tar i an response. More than $14 billion was mobilized, 39 percent

of which came from voluntary private donations, to help tsunami

victims around the Bay of Bengal and elsewhere. The Indian gov-

ernment—which had inherited the Nicobar Islands from the Brit-

ish Empire in 1947—launched a rescue-and-relief operation, and

aid agencies arrived in force. Over the ensuing months and years

these benefactors inundated an essentially isolated society with

packaged foods, a wide range of electronic and consumer goods,

and enormous cash handouts.

It might seem that such a generous effort would have left the

Nicobarese far better off than before the tsunami. But the cultur-

ally insensitive aid undermined what was historically a resilient

society with centuries-old institutions for independent and dem-

ocratic decision-making. It ended up bringing a formerly close-

knit community to the point of disintegration, with many of its

members beset by alcoholism, diabetes and other formerly alien

ailments. Now, 15 years later, the desperate plight of the islanders

raises questions about the effectiveness of humanitarian aid that

is driven by the priorities of donors rather than of recipients.

Every year the world experiences approximately 350 natural

disasters, which harm millions of people. Over the past three

decades nation-states and nongovernmental organizations

(NGOs) have aimed to reduce the im pact of these tragedies

through prevention, mitigation and preparedness. Unfortunately,

however, governments and other actors often regard indigenous

cultures “as being inferior, primitive, irrelevant, something to be

eradicated or transformed,” according to an assessment by the

United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs. These

communities become especially vulnerable during disasters, with

economically and politically dominant sections of modern society

imposing ideologically motivated changes on them, forever alien-

ating them from their culture and territory.

W

e are two aNthropologists whose studies of

the Nicobarese, conducted independently,

span two decades and have given us deep

insight into the society and culture before and

after the tsunami. Singh conducted his field-

work between 1999 and 2009, whereas Saini has been studying

the indigenous peoples since 2010.

The Nicobarese migrated to the archipelago from the Malay

Peninsula thousands of years ago and speak an Austro-Asiatic

language. Before the tsunami they subsisted by hunting, forag-

ing, raising pigs, and fishing in the rich coral reefs surrounding

the islands. Some extended families, called tuhets or kamuanses,

grew crops such as tubers, oranges, sugarcane, lemons, ba nan as,

yams, papaya, jackfruit and, especially, coconuts, many of which

they traded with outsiders. The entire family, made up of three

or more generations, tended the orchards together, singing, jok-

ing and enjoying toddy; work and leisure were integrated. Social

capital—how much help one could summon from friends and

neighbors in times of need—varied and was considered a signif-

icant form of wealth. But social codes ensured that no one suf-

fered from want.

For centuries ships sailing between India and China anchored

at the Nicobars to replenish food and other supplies during their

long voyages. In 1756 Danish settlers colonized the archipelago,

eventually giving way to the Austrians, the British, the Japanese

(during World War II), the British again and then the Indians.

None of these occupations left a significant mark on the indige-

nous culture. In 1956 India introduced legislation limiting entry

to the islands to administrators, military personnel and select

businessmen and settlers. The Nicobarese began drying coconut

flesh into copra, which they bartered with private traders or local

cooperatives for rice, sugar, kerosene, cloth and other goods not

produced on the islands. Cash rarely changed hands.

But when Singh reached the archipelago three weeks after

the 2004 catastrophe, nothing was as it had been in the past. The

coastline was unrecognizable, with the sea washing over the

remains of many villages. Smashed corals, downed trees and

other debris impeded access by boat, and SUVs got stuck in

swamps, requiring arduous treks.

More jarring, however, was what had happened to the people.

The Indian armed forces had evacuated almost 29,000 survivors—

roughly 20,000 of whom were Nicobarese, including everyone

from six of the smaller islands, such as Trinket, Chowra and Bom-

THAILAND

CAMBODIA

V I E T N A M

INDONESIA

MYAN

MA

R

LA

OS

M

AL

AY

SIA

Nicobar Islands

Earthquake epicenter

(December 26, 2004)

Andaman Islands

Sum

atr

a

Ba

y^

of^

Be

nga

l

An

da

m

an

S

ea

NICOBAR ISLANDS lie on a major fault line that slipped on

December 26, 2004, generating a devastating tsunami. It killed

thousands of indigenous Nicobarese and ravaged their villages.

© 2020 Scientific American