As mentioned before, Japanese communities have designated emergency evacuation centers for displaced communities. In most cases IDPs may stay in these shelters for a couple of weeks while local governments build temporary housing units or finds them alternative accommodation. But in 2011, with some 200,000 homes destroyed or seriously damaged, [1] it was expected the relocation process would take longer. To make matters worse, like in Sri Lanka, most Japanese households in the worst hit areas had no earthquake insurance which also covers tsunami damage, although after the 1995 Kobe earthquake, the government tried to get more people to buy earthquake insurance. But many resisted because land is more highly valued in Japan than buildings, particularly if they're made of wood, and insurance payouts take into account the depreciating value of the house. In 2011, in Miyagi and Iwate, the two prefectures that suffered the most damage, 33 percent and 12 percent had cover respectively. [2]
Even though temporary shelters offered none of the comforts and conveniences of their destroyed homes, they provided more stability and privacy to Japanese tsunami survivors unlike the tents that Sri Lankan IDPs had to move into for several months. GoSL did not have the economic capital to build some 80,000 temporary shelters in a few weeks and about a month after the disaster I visited a ‘tent city’ erected close to the Galle town center with a doctor known to my land lady, who was going there to distribute some clothes to the IDPs there. I also came to know IDPs at another site closer to home, and this chapter documents many aspects of how displacement impacts adults as well as children. The chapter also highlights the need for raising awareness of on-coming tsunamis among coastal dwellers and some of the issues and problems that relief providers may face in efforts to rebuild livelihoods in the developing world.
Most IDPs occupying the 50 or so tents in the tent city near the Galle town center were fisher folk who used to live in Magalle, Devata, and Katugoda, three of the most devastated villages in the district. When the doctor told a volunteer the purpose of his visit, the man called all the children to line up. I turned to talk to a woman. A few weeks before, this woman, Susima, had lived near the sea with her husband and four children. Her parents, seven siblings, and their families also lived close by. Her husband worked as a laborer in the nearby cement factory. Other men in the family went to sea. A couple of the women ran small tea stands by the roadside.
That morning, Susima was sitting on the bed, with her infant at her breast, when she noticed water coming into the room and looked out. She fled with the baby and a seven-year-old son toward the cement factory, but lost both when a wave slammed into her face. After the tsunami subsided, she found her son under the same bush she had grabbed onto. She never saw the infant again. Their former dwellings stood in a heap in the middle of the road. Some family members were dead. The survivors were now living in tents in this camp. She finished her story saying, “You know, Miss, if we had been notified even two minutes before this invasion, we wouldn’t have lost so many lives even if we lost our possessions. But that didn’t happen.” Other people around us nodded in agreement.
But how could authorities have warned the people when they themselves had no clue of the impending catastrophe? Still, there had been warning signs, if only people knew how to read them. A fisherman told me he and his brother saw the sea had receded three or four miles offshore. But not knowing that this phenomenon signaled an approaching tsunami and that they should have rushed far inland, they and many others stood there looking, until it was too late. I also heard from an acquaintance about three fishermen from the east who had fled to Colombo a couple of days before the tsunami because they noticed unusual happenings in the middle of the sea: The water seemed to be boiling and sea snakes that usually dwell in the bottom had come to the surface. Feeling intuitively these happenings spelled disaster, the men came to stay with relatives in Colombo but neighbors they alerted did not. After the catastrophe a World Conservation Union representative said people in the east were facing a big problem because sea snakes had invaded the land. [3]
As might be expected, after the disaster, any and every unusual sighting in the sea caused panic among the people. Once in our village, a security guard at a nearby hotel saw “the ocean separating into two and smoke rising from the middle” and hundreds of people fled to the temple in panic. My land lady and I heard and saw the commotion, but after looking up and down the road and not seeing police or emergency vehicles, she decided it was a false alarm and we remained at home. So it was, and afterwards various jokes made their rounds in the village. One fellow told the security guard, “The next time you see smoke coming from the sea, run and get a bucket of water to throw on it!”
Amidst all the laughter, however, false alarms sent coastal dwellers fleeing in panic several times during my research, highlighting the fact that people must be educated to identify correctly indicators of approaching tsunami such as the receding sea, unusual noises coming from the ocean, sea snakes coming to the surface, and domesticated and wild animals fleeing the coast. As scholars note, these signs may provide the first and even the only alerts if a tsunami early warning system is not activated in time because earthquake damage has interrupted communication links relaying information between scientists and officials, or between officials and the general population. [4] Natural signs also allow people to confirm official warnings.
But with no such knowledge in Sri Lanka, thousands were confined to tents. When Susima finished her story, the doctor was still busy handing out T-shirts and dresses, so I asked to see the inside of her tent. When I removed my sandals, wiped my feet on a sandy mat, and stepped in, it took a minute for my eyes to get accustomed to the darkness inside. A mosquito net hung over a mattress lying on the ground sheet, and a few odds and ends were strewn about.
Only some people in Magalle had received mosquito nets. This was a particularly worrisome problem because puddles of stagnant rain water among the debris become breeding grounds for mosquitoes and the World Health Organization warned that mosquito-born diseases like malaria and typhoid might easily spread among IDPs. But tsunami victims in some areas refused to allow cleaning crews to remove debris because the government had yet to evaluate their losses, and they did not want any evidence removed. Fortunately, serious epidemics did not arise in Sri Lanka because relief providers distributed clean drinking water from the very beginning, and the large number of refugee camps set up by the government enabled doctors to isolate patients who developed diseases.
In Susima’s tent, a curtain behind the mattress was the only private space. She said the lack of privacy was particularly embarrassing for females, especially adolescent girls. That disasters too have a gendered terrain was already shown in the higher number of deaths of females, and here was more evidence. The media also reported that women and girls living in tents were increasingly subject to sexual abuse. [5] But when I asked a police inspector in Galle about the issue, he said they had had zero allegations. A few villagers also told me that because the occupants in tent camps generally came from the same village, incidents of rape would be rare. Two researchers, Shermal Wijewardene and Nimanthi Rajasingham, report that most women they talked to also made similar claims; but that hospitals and doctors in the Galle district confirmed cases of rape on the day of the catastrophe, and before security was provided for the camps. However, the researchers say the doctors did not report the incidents to the police because victims feared reprisals by the community. [6]
Cayathri Divakalala also provides examples of sexual harassment of tsunami victims in Batticaloa in the east, mostly by men not affected by the tsunami, but living near the relocation sites. A displaced Tamil woman had told her that it was not safe for women to be seen alone in their shelters or in camps, that not having an enclosed bathing area increased their vulnerability to sexual predators, and that in the night husbands pressured wives for sex even when the women were not ready and there was no privacy from the children. [7]
Elaine Enarson, a well known researcher on women in disasters, notes that after the Hurrican Katrina disaster in New Orleans too, the press revealed that one woman was held at gun point, and another woman and a young girl were raped in the Superdome where displaced people were housed. “We can count on increased reports of violence against women as this is so common in U.S. and international disasters,” she writes. All this demonstrates the critical need for authorities and relief providers to recognize that gender sensitive strategies must be developed to ensure the safety and welfare of female disaster victims.
Susima and her siblings had not suffered such indignities, but they had collectively lost 12 family members. Susima’s infant son, a seven-year-old daughter, and her mother were among them. “Did you find their bodies?” I asked hesitantly. “We found some. In this line of tents, the first funeral was that of my daughter’s” she said. Then she abruptly turned, went behind the curtain in her tent, and brought out a plastic bag. In it were photographs of her children. She had recovered the bag from their cupboard floating in the water. Handing me a picture of a little girl laughing gaily she said, “This is the one who died; this picture was taken when she was going to Montessori (school.) If these pictures had not been laminated I wouldn’t even have these.” The woman started crying softly. “This is all I have, Miss!” she said plaintively. I broke down too.
Susima stared at the picture of the little girl she lost and sighed. I asked where her husband was that morning, but immediately regretted my question when, for a brief moment, her eyes glinted. “He was sleeping. I shouted to him to get our daughter who was playing next door, but he ran by himself and she died,” she said harshly.
There was no doubt the tsunami had heightened family tensions. In Sri Lanka, extended families often cooperate for economic production, consumption, child rearing and shelter; but the nuclear family is the core social institution. Another woman made no effort to hide her bitterness when she told me that her husband, who was visiting a neighbor at the time of the tsunami, also ran away without coming to their help. Her son and daughter survived but, visibly angry, this woman recounted how her daughter jumped into a three-wheeler by herself and escaped. The girl’s voice trembled as she recalled how, as the sea receded, she came by herself to look for her mother and younger brother even though old people in the temple scolded her saying it was too dangerous. “But I was in agony, not knowing what happened to Amma and Malli (mother and younger brother respectively.) When we met somewhere along the road, I can’t tell you how I felt! I don’t know what I would have done if something happened to them,” the girl pleaded. Her obvious distress tugged at my heart, but her mother simply looked the other way.
Walking back after visiting Susima’s tent, I met a teenager carrying some clothing the doctor had distributed. Everything he brought was brand new, and I asked what else she had received some donors. “We got clothes, rice, and things like that. But some clothes people brought were old and really dirty! How can we wear those? We are not beggars! We are people who used to dress well,” she said indignantly.
People may have given such clothing because they had nothing else to give, or because there was no time to wash and iron. But it meant a lot to those who lost homes to be treated with respect. One middle class family described their pleasure when friends who took them in treated them like special guests during those terrible days. “They laid the table for every meal and put out their best dishes and cutlery. They still valued us even though we lost our home. We will never forget their kindness!” the wife of that displaced family said with much feeling.
***
The desire to maintain dignity and self-respect, to be treated with respect, and hardships caused by a real or perceived lack of caring and honesty among officials whose job it was to provide relief, were themes that emerged repeatedly during this study. Once when I visited tent dwellers living close to home, all the tents were in bad shape because it rained heavily the previous night, and muddy water had seeped in. The cooking hearths, made up with bricks laid in a triangle on the ground, were soaked. “Our loved ones died from the battering they got from the sea. We will die from hunger!” one woman there said bitterly. Sunny weather did not make things any easier for them either. Though tents fulfilled the immediate need for shelter, people said they were like ovens in the hot afternoon sun. Many sat under trees if any were nearby or visited relatives and friends until the sun went down.
“We never had to ask for charity from anybody before and we are not used to it. This is a terrible situation to be in!” the woman’s husband said angrily. They had not lost only their homes and livelihoods; they had also lost their former identities and whatever economic independence they had. They had become just a statistic, and their anger was boiling over.
“Up to now, we received only four kilos of rice from Ralahamy. He takes the stuff (aid items,) looks at a list, and gives only to those he knows” another man at this site boomed. Ralahamy is the traditional term for grama niladharin (GNs,) the village headmen and headwomen. Villagers usually refer to them by this term. Allegations that these officials had spirited away the aid were becoming increasingly common.
“We haven’t even got the Rs. 5,000 ($50) or the ration card. Ralahamy is telling all kinds of lies when he says he gave all this aid. So far we have only got six or seven cans of rice from him” said another woman. Tent dwellers all across the island blamed the central government and its officials for their plight; not the various groups of people and the causes and conditions that had made their living spaces so vulnerable to the tsunami in the first place.
The occupants of the tents at this site were fisher families. They made up the largest group of camps dwellers because their communities are often made up of clusters of relatives living close to the sea, and most lost their homes. Although middle and upper class people also lost homes and initially took refuge in temples and schools, and they and fisher families became one cohesive group, caste and class statuses quickly became the nexus for unification and many middle and upper class families were offered alternative accommodation by their relatives and friends, or they moved into rented accommodation.
In the meantime, with their daily lives in upheaval and their social networks scattered in different locations, the lives of tent dwellers were in limbo. “What we really want is a home. We are suffering like this only because we have no home,” said a woman, speaking for all tent dwellers across the island. Her voice shook and she looked at the ground. But there was nothing I could say to relieve their pain. The government promised to build them homes, but house construction would not start any time soon because just days after the disaster, the government declared a controversial 100 meter buffer zone in the south and 200 meters in the east, where construction would be strictly limited. I discuss this issue in detail in Chapter Six.
***
By international standards, the Japanese government’s immediate response to the tsunami disaster was impressive. Five months into the disaster, a broad plan for reconstruction had also been developed based on the vision of the council appointed for the purpose, and vital reconstruction financial bills had been passed. But then progress stalled. [8] The mayor of Minamisanriku, where 70 percent of homes and 85 percent of shops and businesses were swept away, told a reporter, “We’ve had more 100 members of the Diet (the Japanese parliament) visit, and while they are here, they all say how terrible it is and how they are going to do something. But when they get home, they seem to forget all about it.”
The mayor’s observation is confirmed by Peter Dunn in Natural Disaster and Nuclear Crisis in Japan: Response and Recovery after Japan’s 3/11. [9] In this preliminary assessment in which several authors look at the consequences of, and responses to, the country’s natural and man-made disasters, Dunn sees a pattern of response that is similar to post-disaster patterns in Japan, “with overlapping phases of blaming, coping, hoping, learning, and forgetting.” The reasons were not only the enormous logistical problems posed by the complex nature and scale of the reconstruction work involved and a lack of manpower. Political feuding between the Kan administration and opposition groups and party rivals intent on toppling the prime minister also slowed recovery work. [10]
But many members of the Japanese public did not follow their leaders’ example. NHK’s Newsline’s “The Road Ahead” program, which documents on-going recovery efforts in the disaster stricken area, featured the efforts of volunteers from Tokyo who were helping survivors get back on their feet. One segment showed a tour bus filled to capacity with company employees, college and high school students, their parents, and other adults who traveled overnight to Ishinomaki City in Miyagi Prefecture, paying $127.00 per head for the 12-hour overnight journey from Tokyo, and cleaned up a storage room of a fish processing plant. Their work not only helped the owner of the plant, but also other people living in its vicinity because the plant was caked with a thick layer of mud and as it dried, particles stuck in people’s throats and eyes when the wind stirred it up. One volunteer, shocked at the situation in the devastated area that was still clogged with debris said, “You can’t tell how bad it smells from watching news on TV…. [11]
Newsline featured many other heartwarming voluntary efforts to help survivors, but the latter themselves were not simply sitting around waiting for outside help. One dentist, for example, initiated the ‘Next Project,’ listing on the internet items requested by survivors to rejuvenate their livelihoods. When donors supplied them, he delivered them to the recipients with a team of helpers, and took photographs and put them up on the internet, so donors could see the results of their generosity. The dentist, himself an IDP, did all this at his own cost.
NHK also featured a female doctor from Tokyo who set up a week-end clinic in Miyagi Prefecture after seeing the plight of the elderly living in temporary shelters when she volunteered her services soon after the disaster. Her clinic provided such a sense of security that an elderly man living in a shelter said he no longer minds staying there because he knows she comes at weekends to look after their wellbeing. The doctor in turn said her decision to open the clinic was greatly influenced by the warmth shown by the survivors themselves during her initial visit. They made sure she had enough food, even though they themselves did not have enough.
As observed by Dr. Deepthi Perera, Director of Youth, Elderly and Disabled Persons Services of Sri Lanka’s Ministry of Health, elderly disaster victims need special attention, but are often overlooked by relief providers. In camps she visited, the doctor found this group suffering from a range of illnesses such as elephantitis, varicose ulcers, leg ulcers, swollen feet, diabetes, asthma, and hypertension. Living in camps, their physical and emotional welfare was heavily compromised. Most could not remember what medications they took before. Those who had lost children and grandchildren felt “life is not worth living anymore.” They worried of being burdens to others. But the doctor points out that relief providers, more concerned about children and women in camps, not only overlooked the needs of the elderly, they also forgot that this group possesses various skills that could be put to use in the camps. For example, those who knew Sinhala and Tamil, and perhaps English, could have been hired as interpreters, while others could have also been recruited to look after the youngsters in camps. Such activities, the doctor says, would help the elderly overcome depression and loneliness, and give them opportunities to even earn an income. [12]
***
Of course, displaced children too need special care. Both tent sites I visited stood on the land side of the A2 road, but right across was the sea. One mother said that her four-year-old shut her eyes tightly whenever she saw the sea. Her older son, who used to take sea baths several times a day, now dared not even look in its direction. Several parents said their children cried for no reason. In Japan too, getting proper emotional care, particularly for children who lost one or both parents, is a most pressing need, reported NHK. At a nursery in Miyako, where 35 percent of the children’s homes were damaged, teachers said that many children easily break into tears, some have trouble falling asleep, some display no emotion, and others were using impolite language, which they had not done before. The Childcare Consultation Center in Miyako was hoping to work with doctors specializing in children’s emotional care to help those grieving children.
In Sri Lanka, of the 1.5 million students in the affected areas, nearly 77,000 faced educational disruptions. Some schools were completely or partially destroyed and although the Education Desk of the CNO urged all schools to open for the new academic term as scheduled, in some southern schools only 25 percent of the students had turned up on the first day of school. In many schools cleaning crews were still removing debris and some were still occupied by the homeless. In the north, 20 schools reportedly remained closed; displaced people still waiting for alternative accommodation refused to leave. A similar situation was reported in the east. [13]
The CNO promised to provide school uniforms, books, and other necessities to tsunami victims, and students whose schools were completely destroyed were accommodated in make-shift classes in tents pitched on temple compounds. But in two tent schools I visited, two different grade levels shared a tent, making it next to impossible to create an environment conducive to learning. Living in tents, students’ home environment was also thoroughly disrupted. Showing me the tent he shared with his mother, a single parent that his neighbors said was extremely tearful, a twelve-year-old boy said glumly, “How can I do my homework? There is no space for a table and a chair here.” Then he added in an undertone, “I am afraid to live so close to the sea, and I can’t concentrate on school work.”
Not surprisingly, older students in tsunami-affected areas were already falling through the cracks. I was told that in Hambantota, where the majority who died were Muslim fisher folk, the elders were pulling Muslim youths out of schools and forcing them to get them married. And I was appalled to learn from a Sinhala fisherman I came to know well that his seventeen-year-old female cousin, who was getting ready for the qualifying examinations for college entrance before the disaster, had also voluntarily decided to get married.
I met this student not long after. She was a smart young woman and she told me she had planned to major in accounting before her world collapsed. “I lost several years’ worth of lecture notes and text books,” she said. “Teachers have been asked to record all the notes on audio cassettes and give them to us, but who knows when we will get them? Anyway, I don’t even have a tape machine to play them. Before all this happened I planned to take a computer class while waiting for the release of exam results (which takes about three months.) The technical college wrote that I was admitted to class and that I should come on December 30 to accept a scholarship. But that letter went in the water. And the technical college, which was on the main street, has moved to another place, and I don’t know where it is now.”
I could well understand her defeatist attitude, but government departments and other institutions were making many efforts to help such students and the government had scheduled an alternative exam for them. So I said to the girl, “I have no doubt you will realize your ambition if you pursue and sit the exam. And Ralahamy can help you find out where the college moved to, and provide the necessary documentation so you can get the scholarship and take the computer class. Why don’t you see him?” “Yes, I should do that,” she responded. I was sure a bright and goal-oriented student like her would succeed in her chosen path and was glad she was receptive to my suggestion.
Education is highly valued in Sri Lanka and after the country gained independence from the British, successive national governments provided free public education to both males and females of all ethnic and religious groups. A 2003 estimate of literacy rates over a 10 year period indicated 90 percent of females and 94.8 percent of males in the total Sri Lankan population were literate. With free education providing opportunities for both the rich and the poor to pursue higher education, Sri Lankans have had a relatively high quality of life. In 2004, estimates showed GDP per capita to be $3,700 and a total GDP purchasing power parity of $73.7 billion. [14] But the tsunami probably washed away this record as well. When I returned a year later, the young woman was married and already pregnant with her first child. Victimized by the tsunami, how many thousands of students must have lost their hopes and dreams of academic achievement leading to upward mobility?
***
The answer to the above question will never be known but the impact will surely increase poverty in families, especially when parents were unable to reestablish livelihoods in the foreseeable future. An initial assessment by the International Labor Organization (ILO) post tsunami indicated that around 400,000 Sri Lankans had lost their sources of revenue, increasing the unemployment rate in affected provinces from 9.2 percent to more than 20 percent. [15]
The tourist and fisheries sectors are two of the biggest industries in the south and the tsunami, coming in December, hit during the optimal time for both. Due to monsoonal pattern bringing rains to the island, September to about February is the fishing period in the south and the winter months in England, Germany, and the US are peak season for tourist arrivals.
Over the years, tourism became the fifth-largest foreign exchange earner in Sri Lanka and in 2003, a record number of tourists arrived in the country, accounting for an increase of 24.4 percent from the previous year. The trend continued into the first two months of 2004 until election-related uncertainties caused a substantial decline in March and April. But by July and August, tourists, mainly from Western Europe and South Asia, increased by 15.5 percent and 15.6 percent respectively. In December 2004 there were over 1,000 foreign tourists in the country. Due to the war, 80 percent of tourist accommodation was located in the southern coastal region.
In the Habaraduwa Division, Yaddehimulla in Unawatuna – where Ciranthi and her children were headed that morning – was the hardest hit resort. The major contributor to the tourist industry earnings is the hotel sub-sector, accounting for approximately 50 percent of the total gross output. [16] Of the 303 tourist hotels completely or partially destroyed in Habaraduwa Division, 103 were in Yaddehimulla. [17]
Before the tsunami, Yaddehimulla featured a range of accommodations from fancy hotels to rooms in modest private homes, making fun-filled days in the sun, sand, and sea affordable to people from all walks of life, but the place had developed haphazardly. From 1960 to 1980 earnings from tourism as a percentage of service sector income grew from 20 to 36 percent and an eager government introduced a second Tourism Master Plan in 1992 which identified fifteen areas for planned development including Yaddehimulla. But fearing tourism would create environmental problems and cultural degradation, environmental organizations, the local community, and other groups there opposed the plan, so the government did not go ahead. [18] With time, however, lucrative economic opportunities evidently conquered these fears, but the place was developed without an integrated approach.
A month after the tsunami, I went to Yaddehimulla to see the damage there, and then to Galle to find out about the fisheries sectors. My land lady’s household helper came with me since I was not yet familiar with my new surroundings. He is a skilled carpenter who helps at home during the week-ends, but he had not returned to work yet because his boss, a self-employed small-scale contractor, lost machinery and tools to the sea.
The driver of our three-wheeler that morning usually drives tourists around, but they all left after the tsunami. So I hired him regularly and he soon became my unofficial research assistant, mediating my entry into tent camps, fishing communities, and other terrains that I, feeling somewhat culturally incompetent as a result of my long absence from the country, felt hesitant to enter by myself.
When we reached Yaddehimulla, the driver turned into the famous Welle Devala Road. Named after a Hindu temple, this narrow winding road had been cluttered with eateries serving local fare as well as Chinese, Italian, German and other foreign cuisine, batik shops, homes cum guest houses, places selling handmade clothing, masks, and other curios, and shops renting out boats and surfing gear. But now, only wall frames and name boards were left of The Hot Rock Café and Primrose Café and Restaurant, and just the tiled floor of another place. A wrecked Submarine Diving School still advertised “Deep Sea Fishing, Glass bottom boats, Surfboards for rent, Coral reef, Ship wreck, and Snorkeling” and other attractions. What Benny’s had featured I would never know; the rest of the name board was gone. From a building now sunk into the ground, metal poles were protruding about eight feet through the roof. The ruins of the Rock View Hotel were still protected by one half of its imposing iron gate.
The road ended at a three wheeler park on the beach which had sported a wonderful array of cabana style restaurants and other eateries, but all that was gone. A few people, former owners and employees of the ruined businesses, sat on broken walls or squatted on the ground among mangled trees. They, like the tent dwellers, had become loiterers with nothing to do but wait for aid. Even if owners had money to rebuild – which was mostly not the case – the government prohibited construction in the newly declared ‘buffer zone.’
I asked two men sitting on what remained of a concrete wall what happened to them in the tsunami. One of them frowned. “I cannot tell you what happened, because we never imagined anything like this happening,” he said. His friend said that only the man and his seven-year-old son were alive. His wife and two-year-old daughter had died. There was also no trace of his home and restaurant that had stood at the edge of the beach. I asked the victim if he received any help from the government. “We have not got anything from the government yet,” he replied cryptically. “Did the land belong to you?” I asked. “No, it was government property. No one owns the beach. But I was not the only one who built without permission; most of us had businesses on government land. We were all here without permission.” He was not trying to defend their actions; he just stated facts.
After a moment’s silence he spoke again. “This did not happen to me only, everyone lost property, everyone lost children.” Reminding himself of the shared reality helped. But the next moment his voice faltered. “I am alive because I have to live; not because I want to” he said. I never asked this man’s name, or the name of his restaurant. Somehow, the depth of defeat in his eyes seemed to indicate he no longer identified with what had been.
One could argue the man had only himself to blame for his terrible misfortune because the Coastal Zone Management Plan stipulates that no one should construct buildings or do other work in the Coastal Zone without first obtaining written approval from relevant authorities and the CCD advises anyone planning to build homes, hotels, and other commercial buildings, or do any other developmental activity within the coastal zone, to query the department about permit requirements before purchasing the property. Instead, he built his restaurant and home illegally.
But if we contextualize his actions, it is impossible to blame the victim. Building his business illegally might have been his only avenue for upward mobility. Still, if politicians had not enabled the process, he might have never built it. In a post-tsunami media report, the CCD chief said that a number of corrupt politicians of all political parties of successive governments are partly responsible for the violation of the laws by those in the tourist sector: Intent on winning votes, politicians override the authority of CCD officers and allow people to put up structures with no regard for coastal conservation, give them electricity, and deny police security to CCD crews deployed to carry out demolition work. [19]
But political interference is not the only reasons people violate CCD laws. A CCD official said bribery and corruption among some police officers exacerbate the problem, but a local government official in Habaraduwa blamed the CCD officials themselves. He said the CCD’s mass of red tape and unreasonable delays discourage hoteliers from applying for necessary permits or, after applying, from waiting for departmental approval to carry out the work.
***
We got back on the road to go towards the fish market in the Galle town center. There is a small and very scenic cove on the way and as we approached it we saw about two dozen men getting ready to push their boats off to sea. Excited, I told the driver to stop and we walked over.
It was a lovely day. The waves lapped gently at the beach, and the soft blue and white clouds drifting over the calm blue water made it seem as if the day would never end. The weather seemed just perfect for a day’s fishing and there were two small boats and a couple of bigger ones already out to sea. I asked one of the men if I could take a picture as they launched their boats. He looked up briefly and said, “We are trying to repair these boats so we can go.” The one next to him added, “We had about 110 boats, but we can’t even find over 40 of them. We haven’t finished repairing these, so we are not going today.”
Feeling rather foolish, I asked, “Didn’t you get any boats from the government?” “We got some food and household items from Ralahamy and voluntary organizations. But we haven’t got any fishing equipment or boats from anyone.”
A third man hurried over. “Madam, these boats are being repaired by our organization, the Southern Fishermen’s Association (Dakune Dheevara Sangvidhanaya,)” he said. “We brought these men; they were not sent by the government. We haven’t got even five cents’ worth of aid from the government yet.” The fisheries sector is a heterogeneous industry with many different categories of workers. Perhaps the only group gainfully employed at this time in tsunami affected areas was the ancillary support workers repairing boats.
“So, when do you expect these men can go?” I asked.
“We would like them to go as quickly as possible, but first we have to make sure these boats are safe. Some of these men take care of ten or fifteen family members. If something happens to them, we will put their families into more trouble. I think we can get about five or six of these (boats) ready to send out tomorrow, but fishermen lost their nets and other equipment. We need help from the government, but so far, we have got nothing. Without proper equipment what’s the point of sending anyone to fish?” He was obviously frustrated but the next moment the man’s tone changed to one of urgency. “It is very important they go quickly because the longer they wait, the more afraid they become of the sea.” he said.
Some fishermen had indeed developed a phobia of the ocean. When I walked down to the beach the next evening with my research assistant, I met his uncle, a fisherman who had started out supplying fish for consumption, but was one of the first to move into the ornamental fish industry when Sri Lanka became the first country in South Asia to develop the trade. It must have taken a good deal of courage to go into an unknown livelihood, but when the known element – the sea – suddenly turned on them, he said he lost his nerve. The tsunami had pummeled him ashore and for several days he refused to even go near the sea. He ultimately overcame his fear with the help of his brothers. They took him to the beach several times, and finally coaxed him to get into the water with them.
This fisherman also lost his boat, nets, and home. I asked what help he got from the government. “Nothing!” he said dejectedly. “From the day after the tsunami, my wife has been signing paper after paper and filling out form after form, but we are still waiting to get results.”
Southern fishermen use visi dal (cast nets) and ma dal (seine fishing) to catch fish for consumption. About a million visi dal and about 775 ma dal were lost in the tsunami. As if this wasn’t bad enough, after the tsunami, they faced an unexpected hurdle when consumers refused to eat fish.
Fish fulfills 65 percent of the protein needs among Sri Lankans, and a daily serving of fish made into a spicy curry, or fried, is a must in any home if people can afford it. Once in a while, everyone loves a taste of karawala (salted dried fish) too, but every hostess prefers to serve fresh fish to guests. This would be especially true in a coastal village like Talpe, but for over a month after my arrival, we ate only karawala because my land lady, like almost everyone else in the country, stopped eating fresh fish for about six weeks after the tsunami. People feared the fish might have consumed the flesh of those people who were washed out to sea. [20]
In Sri Lanka, marine fish production has a history of several thousand years. Today, about 90 percent of employment in the fishery sector is supported by coastal fisheries, which constitutes about 72 percent of the total marine fish production. [21] The rest is harvested from inland water sources. Soon after the disaster, the UN estimated that about 80 percent of Sri Lanka’s fishermen had died. The Fisheries Ministry speculated that 90 percent of the country’s fisheries sector was lost. [22] And when people stopped eating fish, the Ceylon Fisheries Corporation (CFC) was forced to hold back a stock of 80 tonnes of fish valued at nearly Rs. 16 m ($139,000) due to lack of demand.
To combat this unexpected problem, the government and medical experts widely publicized the fact that fish consumption was safe, and the CFC held public educational programs about the importance of including fish in the diet. But fish sellers in Galle, whose pre-tsunami daily income was around Rs. 5,000 ($50) a day, were now forced to sell fish for about Rs. 20 or 30 a kilo, ending up with about Rs. 500-1000 ($5-10) for a day’s work. Almost all fish stalls in the market and along the road closed down. The total loss of the CFC was estimated at almost Rs. 50 m ($435,000.)
Fish consumption resumed several weeks later, but it still took some time for conditions to improve for fish sellers in Galle because they were being exploited by fish sellers from Colombo. The latter purchased fish from the south for low prices claiming they too were facing losses in the capital, but it was discovered they then sold each kilo of fish for Rs. 400-500. Following endless complaints from the south, the government finally intervened. About two months after the disaster the cabinet granted the CFC Rs.100 million to purchase fish directly from fishermen around the island at fair prices, and then sell them at low prices. The deal meant losses for the government, but their sole aim was to attract buyers and help the fishermen. [23]
***
In Japan too, the economic well-being of most tsunami-hit small towns was dependent mainly on fishery, marine product processing, and tourism. Experts estimate that the coastal areas hit by the massive wave account for about a fifth of Japan’s annual catch [24] and that more than 21,000 fishing boats were lost to the tsunami. [25] As if this was not bad enough, the Japanese fishing industry was also hit by the nuclear disaster. Fish sales in Tokyo’s Tsukiji fish market, the center of the country’s fish industry, was badly affected when elevated radiation levels were detected in the sea off TEPCO’s stricken plants and a fear of eating seafood spread quickly. Although no shipments of seafood were reaching the Tsukiji market from anywhere near Fukushima, the lack of demand at restaurants and hotels had caused a 20 to30 percent drop in the price of fish handled at the market, despite a 20 percent drop in volume, a market official had told one reporter. [26]
Like in Sri Lanka, the Japanese service sector too went into steep decline following the natural disaster as consumers cut spending. The Economy Watchers’ Index, which surveys the business confidence of service employees close to consumers, including restaurant and hotel operators, dropped nearly half to 27.7 from 48.4 in March, a Cabinet office survey showed. Such levels were seen since early 2009, when Japan was struggling with its worst recession since World War II. [27]
Japan is of course a leading producer of semiconductors, electric components, and some raw materials used in cars, and the tsunami impact initially raised global concerns because although manufacturing never took root in the seaside towns of the Tohoku region and migrant workers seek seasonal work in cities to support their families, several private companies had built production plants in the area. The tsunami’s toll created a ripple effect worldwide when, a month after the disaster, the supply of goods shipped by sea before the quake started to dry up and several carmakers in Europe and North America, including Honda, Nissan, and Ford motors, cut shifts or shut plants temporarily. But the situation improved earlier than expected because American and European companies helped suppliers to restore production, or found alternative sources, sometimes teaching new suppliers to provide the necessary products. Several other Japanese companies, including carmaker Toyota, which shut down all its Japanese factories for several weeks, and Renesas, producer of automotive microcontrollers, also moved up their timetables for restarting production. Consequently, about nine weeks after the disaster, company executives, analysts, and Moody's rating agency said the tsunami brought only small-scale and short-lived destruction.
Work at Japanese electronics companies, which account for about 40 percent of the world’s technology components supply, was also interrupted by rolling blackouts imposed to manage electricity supplies as a result of the nuclear crisis. Japan makes 30 percent of the world’s flash memory used in smart phones and digital cameras; 10-15 percent of D-Ram memory, a component in every personal computer; and components such as flash memory and a touch screen for the iPhone. Since chip plants depend on reliable supplies of water and electricity to keep their manufacturing lines running it was expected they would be the worst affected. If this were happened, warned one research firm, massive price swings and large and near-term shortages in both the flash and D-Ram memory chips would occur. So, there was much fear that international electronics companies would face severe disruption to their supply chains. [28]
But two months after the tsunami, some large Japanese electronics companies were optimistic about recovery. Panasonic, the world’s largest maker of plasma TV sets for instance, had forecast that it might lose $7 billion in revenue due to damaged factories all along the devastated coast. But it revised the estimate two months later to be only 33 to 50 percent of that figure because suppliers repaired their plants and resumed production more quickly than Panasonic had assumed.
After the US and China, Japan is the world’s third largest oil importer and the top importer of thermal and liquefied natural gas. Although Japan no longer influences energy markets because it has moved away from oil, analysts warned that if Tokyo orders the rest of the country's reactors to shut down for safety checks, Tokyo's utilities will scramble for diesel and fuel oil, significantly increasing demand for crude, thermal oil, and liquefied natural gas. Any abrupt change in energy production, they said, could affect global commodities markets. [29]
***
Being a developing nation, Sri Lanka had hardly any impact on the global economic arena. But a look at efforts to rebuild livelihoods shows some of the challenges relief agencies may face in other disaster-stricken developing nations as well. In a needs assessment done by the Galle District Secretariat, among those needing help were masons, tailors, bicycle repairers, envelope makers, grinders, shoe/umbrella repairers, electricians, motor mechanics, sweets makers and other caterers, timber cutters, cinnamon processors, goods transporters, computer repairers, bakers, broom makers, gold and silversmiths, limestone workers, garage owners, lathe workers, those who make packeted drinks, photographers, videographers, drivers. The list goes on…. Petty traders, people who ran tea shops, bakeries, small hotels and restaurants, vegetable sellers, book sellers and textile sellers, lace and handloom textile makers, those engaged in wood, screw pine, batik, and other handicrafts, those producing copra, masks, Joss sticks, and cement blocks. Some were home-based businesses. Others may have worked out of a small roadside hut, a stall in the market place, or rented or owned business premises. Still others sold their wares – mostly fish, vegetables, and fruits – going about on bicycles or motorcycles.
The ILO estimated up to 270,000 of the jobs lost were in the micro, small, and medium- scale businesses and people had requested financial grants or loans, and tools and equipment such as bicycles, weighing scales, shelves, tables, chairs, show cases, refrigerators and other electrical appliances, sewing machines, and carpentry tools. The ILO estimated that if adequate aid and support could be mobilized fast enough for reconstruction, repair, and replacement of physical infrastructure and equipment, between 50- 60 percent of the affected individuals could earn a living by the end of 2005, and around 85 percent of the jobs would be reinstated in 24 months. So, focusing on affected areas and groups, and redirecting its on-going technical cooperation projects, the organization submitted proposals requesting $8.4 million on behalf of Sri Lanka in the flash appeals in Jakarta.
To revive livelihoods, the ILO urged employment-intensive infrastructure reconstruction or job creation strategies be incorporated into the humanitarian and reconstruction program. It also coordinated with the government to devise a strategy to enable a combination of income transfer mechanisms and rapid job recovery mechanisms. The Enterprise Development Ministry, estimating that over 15,000 micro-and entrepreneurial industries were affected by the tsunami, requested Rs.200 million ($1.7 million) from the Treasury to help the micro business people get back on their feet. The Ministry proposed to provide up to $250 (Rs. 25,000) for these businesses
in the form of soft loans over the next few weeks, and to bring them into the formal financial sector by providing funds through established banking institutions. But achieving these goals was quite a challenge because like in other non-western developing countries, most micro businesses in the island are unregistered informal domestic businesses. People engaged in such ventures have no connections to the formal business world of chambers of commerce, commercial banks, or insurance companies. Most build their businesses through years of sheer hard work using their talents, and with financial and other help from family members or friends.
There were also people who lost their job to the tsunami indirectly, such as the young mother I met, who used to work at a garment factory. The sea destroyed her children’s school and killed her daughter’s friend. The children, fearing their parents would perish in their absence, refused to go to school and she quit work to accompany the children to school. With the loss of her income, these parents were struggling to make ends meet, but they were not eligible for tsunami-related government assistance. It seemed she could use her sewing skills to start a home-based business, but neither she nor her mother, with whom they were living, owned a sewing machine.
Before the tsunami, most small-scale business people were also not linked to formal financial institutions. I met several who lost well-established businesses, but after nearly three months had not secured help. For example, the waves nearly killed Pandu’s successful cottage industry producing coir baskets for packaging tea leaves for export. His workshop was located in the front yard of his home, about 130 meters inland. He had operated four machines, employed eight fulltime workers at the site, and also paid about thirty women to work part-time in their homes, weaving the rope. But when I visited him three months after the catastrophe, just two women were cleaning coconut husks, and an elderly man was running a machine, now held together with his own rope. Pandu could not afford the repair costs of the other machines and the motors of his water pump and truck that had ceased to work after the deluge. With production significantly reduced, most rope weavers were out of work. But his application for a loan of Rs. 300, 000 ($30,000) was rejected by the bank because he is not the sole owner of his home.
Pandu was clearly depressed. “This is an up-and-coming business right now because the use of polythene bags by tea factories has been banned. I need new machines, but where is the money to buy them?” he said in frustration. “We can build back this village only if we give work to our people. Shouldn't the government and the banks consider all this before they refuse to give me money? But they are so wrapped up in their bureaucratic rules, they never even came to see this place,” he sighed. He had borrowed Rs.100,000 ($1,000) from a friend at 10 percent interest rate to rebuild his life and livelihood.
Pandu’s sunken eyes spoke volumes about the worries and frustrations he now had to combat every day. Aside from business worries, he was burdened with the insecurity of his children, all under age seven. "Our children are now so afraid of the sea they refuse to sleep at home. So, we have rented a room in a friend's house located inland and go there every night. But for how long can we go on like this? When I applied for the bank loan, it was also with the idea of buying a piece of land inland to build a home, but…." His voice trailed into nothing. After a moment he said he would continue to apply for aid and asked for copies of the photographs I took, to provide visual proof with his application. I agreed gladly, and took a few more photos in the manner he specifically wanted. Thousands of families in the southern province engage in coir production and almost all in the coastal zone were in similar straits.
The Galle town is the south’s business capital. The Galle Merchants’ Association (Galle Velanda Sangamaya) estimated the deluge had completely destroyed about 400 business establishments in the city and partially damaged about another 800. The total financial losses were expected to exceed Rs.190 koti (krore) affecting over 1800 families. Most business owners lost goods they had acquired on credit from Colombo, and feared they would not be able to reestablish their businesses until they paid off their creditors. [30]
It was heartening therefore when a month after the tsunami, the Minister of Advanced Technology and National Enterprise Development announced the Suhasana loan scheme, set up with about Rs.5 b ($45 m) fund, to restore Small and Medium Scale Enterprises (SMEs.) Up to 85 percent of the estimated restarting cost or up to a maximum of Rs.5m ($43,000) would be given on loan, making it the highest loan amount made available under any refinance scheme up to that time. It was offered at a low interest rate of 6 percent, with a grace period of up to one year, and a repayment period of 3 to 8 years. [31]
The Central Bank requested that commercial banks accept any acceptable collateral such as acquisitions made from borrowed funds and credit personal guarantees and not look for land and buildings only as collateral. The minister also requested banks and trade chambers to set up help desks to support tsunami affected enterprises, assist applicants in preparing proposals, and to expedite the process so loans could be released within two weeks. Since a large number of small business enterprises had no prior relationship with banks, it was also decided to disseminate information at grassroots level. But these plans had not yet brought any relief to Amal who lost his furniture business because his block of land, his only asset, was situated in the newly declared buffer zone.
In surveying other SMEs such as handlooms, lace making, pottery, and other hand crafted items, the German Chamber of Commerce found that in eleven tsunami-hit districts, 5,000 craftsmen had lost their tools. To get them back to work, Sri Lanka’s Federation of Chambers of Commerce and Industry commenced a number of programs within three months of the disaster, training local craftsmen in pricing, quality assurance, modern manufacturing techniques, and modern designing. The aim was to make them more competitive internationally since hardly any local craftsmen were aware of export strategies to attract international markets. As mentioned, a significant problem in providing assistance to SMEs was that they were not organized into a formal body and only a small percentage was registered with local government authorities. So, the Ministry of Small and Rural Industries also started registering small and medium scale industrialists to help them obtain benefits – a step that all developing countries should adopt before disasters hit, so reestablishing livelihoods would be easier if a similar situation arose in their countries.
Another problem that emerged as the government attempted to help rejuvenate rural industries was the digital divide. Sri Lanka’s People’s Bank launched a website in February 2005, aimed at industrialists, informing them about sustainable microfinance schemes for tsunami affected areas through its German-supported Rural Banking Innovations Project. It attempted to link microfinance practitioners and donors with tsunami victims, and to facilitate access to the website by a wider cross-section of the targeted group the website managers planned to make it available in Sinhala and Tamil as well. But the vast majority of rural Sri Lankans do not have home computers, easy access to the internet, or basic computer literacy, and the extent to which these efforts would succeed was questionable.
***
The tsunamis also devastated agriculture and livestock in both countries. In Japan some 23,000 hectares of farmland were flooded with salt water. The spread of radiation to areas both north and south of the nuclear plants brought further disruption and devastation to farmers, when, beginning about two weeks after the disaster, the Japanese government halted shipments of raw milk from Fukushima and spinach from neighboring towns of Ibaraki, Tochigi, and Gunma. The agricultural and livestock sectors also suffered considerably when the US and Hong Kong banned imports of food, vegetables, and dairy products from the area surrounding the stricken plant and some European Union countries, including Germany and Britain, imposed extra checks for radioactive contaminants on fish, soy sauce, and other foods imported from Japan. [32]
In Sri Lanka, some 2,225 acres of rice paddies, 6,570 acres of agricultural land, 158 acres of fruit and vegetable land, and 4,100 acres of home gardens had been destroyed. For villagers, the loss of garden produce was a big problem. Besides yielding supplemental incomes, home-grown produce provides many villagers with their daily vegetables and fruits.
One victim I met in Hikkaduwa, a middle-class man named Ananda, lost his well-established ten-acre organic farm which had produced bountiful harvests of rice and a variety of fruits and vegetables he sold at the local market. The sea had swept him about a quarter of mile from his house and swept seventeen bodies, including that of his elderly uncle, onto his property, located about 140 meters inland. The two homes adjacent to his were completely destroyed. The beautiful 100-year-old ancestral home he shares with his eighty-year-old mother had suffered considerable damage. The water line on the walls showed water had risen about eight feet inside their home. The only relief for Ananda that morning was knowing his mother was safe at the temple.
By the time I met them about two months after the tsunami, Ananda had done some repairs on his home, but the debris-littered organic fields were still a waste land. The salination of the soil had also killed mature fruit trees such as bananas, papayas, mangoes, and avacadoes, and all his vegetables. Some tall mahogany trees that bordered the farm on one side were also dead.
But like most middle class tsunami survivors Ananda did not move into a camp or collect aid items that the generous public distributed for weeks. He and other neighboring families needed help to survive, however, so Ananda requested aid from friends working for an NGO and received 75 aid packages. But he said that was insufficient and I asked why he did not move into a refugee camp or collect aid items at least the first few days. Looking around the garden he said, “I had to remove dead bodies and clean up this place….You can see how much work there is still.”
“Well, people are still distributing aid. Why don’t you go when the aid trucks come?” I asked.
“I don’t have time to wait in queues. Moreover, it’s a very humiliating process….Yes, I lost my farm, but I still have my dignity and self-respect,” he replied quietly.
While some, like Ananda, chose not stand in aid lines to preserve their dignity, others did not get government-authorized aid for reasons beyond their control. During my visit a music teacher in a local school came to see Ananda. The home he and his wife rented was destroyed and they were now living in the home of a student. But the teacher had not received even the government-authorized grants. These included an income recovery grant of Rs.5,000 per month, a kitchen utensils grant of Rs.2,500 ($250) per family, Rs. 15,000 ($150) per victim for funeral expenses, and weekly food coupons or “ration cards,” to the value of Rs.375 per person. He was not eligible because recipients had to be registered heads of households of their villages to be eligible, and the teacher was a tenant from another area.
There were other groups also in the same predicament. Sri Lankan households are often made up of two or three generations of family members, but only the head of the household was eligible for benefits. Disabled people as well as unmarried adults living with parents were also ineligible. An official at the Galle District Secretariat told me that this problem emerged because decisions about eligibility for benefits were made by people in Colombo without consulting village officials who could have informed them of the membership of affected households.
Like Amal and Pandu, Ananda had no insurance coverage and like them, had invested all his savings on the business. At the time I met them none of these entrepreneurs had received any assistance to help them rebuild their enterprises, and the contributions they could have made in rebuilding their villages lay submerged in the tsunami debris. Helping entrepreneurs like these as soon as possible during the recovery period will enable disaster stricken countries to move forward because they possess the capacity and the desire to put more people back to work.
Looking specifically at post-tsunami Sri Lanka, Udan Fernando, a Sri Lankan university student in Amsterdam, and university lecturer, Dorothea Hilhorst, speak to the importance of looking at the nature of humanitarian actors, how different kinds of politics intertwine, and at humanitarian partnerships, when analyzing what happens on the ground with aid response. [33] In Chapter Six, Seven, and Eight, I examine these issues looking at a range of actors who were involved in helping tsunami victims to rebuild their lives, from the GNs to aid agencies to aid-giving nations.
Financial Times. “Protect and revive.” August 5, 2011.
Financial Times. “Distance from sea offers little insurance." March 25, 2011.
“Sixth sense or survival instinct” in Sunday Observer. January 16, 2005.
The role of natural signs of tsunamis in Tsunami Early Warning systems: lessons from Thailand and the literature. C.E. Gregg et al. Geophysical Research Abstracts, Vol. 8, 04272, 2006.
“Women, children in camps vulnerable to abuse.” in The Island. January 4, 2005. See also “Another “Tsunami” in the night for displaced women and girls now living in camps.” (Sunamiyen avathen vi kandavuruwala sitina kathunta saha deriyanta retath “tsunami.) Lankadeepa, January 22, 2005.
“Post Tsunami Fact Finding Mission to Galle by Shermal Wijewardene & Nimanthi Rajasingham in Options. Sri Lanka: Women and Media Collective. Vol. 36. 1st Issue. 2005.
Divakalala, Cayathri. “26th December and after – In search of women’s narratives” in Tsunami Recovery in Sri Lanka: Retrospect and Prospect.
Financial Times. “Protect and Revive.” August 5, 2011.
Natural Disaster and Nuclear Crisis in Japan: Response and Recovery After Japan’s 3/11, edited by Jeff Kingston. Japan: Nissan Institute /Routledge Japanese Studies, 2012.
Financial Times. “Protect and revive.” August 5, 2011.
NHK World. “Sharing the World.” Aired on August 30, 2011.
“What about the elderly?” in Sunday Observer. February 6, 2005.
Daily Mirror, January 26, 2005. See also Sunday Observer, March 6, 2005.
See “Changing demography of the post tsunami labor force.” The Sunday Leader, Feb. 6, 2005.
The ILO statistics and programs in this chapter are drawn from The Sunday Leader, February 6, 2005. See “Changing demography of the post tsunami labour force.”
ibid.
Habaraduwa data was supplied by the Divisional Secretary of Habaraduwa.
Bandara, Herath Madana. Tourism Planning In Sri Lanka Sri Lanka: Stamford Lake, 2003.
The Island, December 31, 2005.
“Sea food off menus amid fears fish fed on corpses.” Daily Mirror. January 3, 2005.
article: “Impact of Fishers on Coral Reef Habitats in Sri Lanka.” Arjan Rajasuriya.
Daily News, December 29, 2004.
“Relief for country’s hard hit fishermen.” The Sunday Leader, February 27, 2005.
San Jose Mercury News/Associated Press. “Workers halt flow of tainted water.” April 6, 2011.
Financial Times. “Protect and revive.” August 5, 2011.
“Sombre mood and radiation fears devastate fish industry.” Financial Times, March 26/27, 2011.
Financial Times. “Service Sector in steep decline.” Aptil 9, 2011
Financial Times. “Global groups’ supply chains face disruptions.” March 14, 2011.
Financial Times. “World’s energy markets braced for supply switch.” March 14, 2011.
Galle businesses lose Rs. 190 million as a result of the tsunami [Sunamiyen Galle Velenda Vyaparawalata koti 190 ka alabhayak.] Lankadeepa, January 12, 2005.
Daily Mirror Financial Times. January 26, 2005. [Suhasana loans to restart businesses in tsunami-hit areas.]
Financial Times. "Tap water alert deepens fears.” March 24, 2000.
Eade, Deborah and Tony Vaux eds. Development and Humanitarianism: Practical Issues. Bloomfield, Kumarian Press, Inc. 2007.