When tsunamis hit Thailand, Richard S. Ehrlich '78 was traveling in the country's northern mountains. He flew to Bangkok, where he has been based since 1989 and, after filing interviews with survivors who arrived in hospitals and emergency centers, continued south to Phuket and Phang Nga.
Copyright by Richard S. Ehrlich
Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism
Covering the Tsunami Horror
A special correspondent for the Washington Times and international media, Ehrlich has reported from Asia since graduation. He is one of dozens of alumni in the region covering the devastation wrought by the tsunami and what some have described as the largest relief effort ever seen. Below is his personal account.
Traveling through the tsunami-crushed tourist resorts, military-built refugee camps, and exquisite Buddhist temples stacked with plywood coffins, involves cruising roads north of Phuket through worst-hit Phang Nga province, along the horrorshow of Khao Lak beach, and further north along the coast where the tropical Andaman Sea's deathly liquid killed, and then crossed sleek Highway Four to crush and drown some more.
Logistically, Thailand's tsunami is easy to report because there are so many vivid and hypnotic stories here.
Early interviews included a German woman who was scuba diving when currents went wild.
A 72-year-old American, clinging to a log, was swept into the Andaman Sea for four hours and finally drifted to shore.
While the tsunami rolled in, three other Americans sat and gawked, fascinated, transfixed by its "beauty," "energy" and "mass of white."
The government established an emergency relief center at Phuket City Hall.
Photos of missing people appeared on its outer walls, listing biographical details.
Eight days after September 11, 2001, I reported from Manhattan about the missing people there, and Phuket City Hall's anguished posters looked virtually the same as New York's.
Another terrible echo of 9/11 was that most of the missing tsunami victims would not be found alive.
One of my most successful stories was one I thought would be way too morbid, but I received phone calls from all over, asking me to file the same feature to them, including the people at National Public Radio, who read my piece in the Washington Times.
"Cremating thousands of tsunami victims at Buddhist temples has become a grim task, but Thailand's monks are trained by 'corpse meditation' and staring at photos of decomposing bodies to deal with the transitory nature of life."
A Buddhist "bhikku," or monk, explained how they traditionally gaze at news photos and autopsy pictures of cadavers, and have their own personal collection of gruesome pictures.
They say this helps them see beyond flesh, and realize all life decays.
Other stories included why tourists returned to tsunami-hit beaches so quickly to suntan and fling Frisbees, and why the forensics work was so chaotic and macabre.
For a behind-the-scenes description of the forensics, I interviewed a Canadian who unloaded about 500 corpses recovered from the beaches, dividing bodies into piles of "Asian" and "foreign," and cooling them outdoors in dry ice, until forensic teams could scoop out DNA and decide who to burn or bury.
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Richard S. Ehrlich, a freelance journalist who has reported news from Asia for the past 27 years, is co-author of the non-fiction book, "HELLO MY BIG BIG HONEY!" -- Love Letters to Bangkok Bar Girls and Their Revealing Interviews.
His web page is
http://www.oocities.org/asia_correspondent