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The Rediff Special/ Ashok Banker

Unnatural Disasters

They're calling it the worst natural disaster ever to hit India in this century. Certainly the worst human disaster since the Great Battle of Kalinga. Which also, ironically, took place in Orissa.

But what's really unusual about this terrible natural calamity is the fact that it was inevitable. Not only was it certain to happen, but it's equally certain that it will happen again.

Because even a cursory glance at the history of natural disasters will reveal a shocking truth: The more dangerous and disaster-prone the place, the more people are drawn to it.

Consider the Eastern coast of our subcontinent. It's a proven fact that Orissa and Bangladesh are two of the most cyclone-and-flood prone regions in the peninsula. Yet they're also two of the most populated regions.

Continue the same analogy: Take a population map of India and superimpose a map of areas prone to natural calamities. What you will see is a shocking overlap.

That's right: The most environmentally dangerous places in our country are also some of the most populated zones.

And that's not all: India isn't unique in this scenario. Repeat the same exercise with a world geographical map. Again, the results are astonishing.

The most naturally calamitous places on the planet are the ones inhabited by the largest numbers of human beings.

Let's take North America, for example, if only because it's much easier to get accurate figures of that continent.

Over half the US population lives in coastal states, with some 34 million in just two states, Texas and Florida. Both favourite targets for hurricanes and tornadoes. If you think these are few and far between, think again. The US gets between 800 and 1,100 tornadoes every year, a figure that keeps growing thanks to the effects of global warming and environmental imbalance.

Three of Canada's largest cities - Montreal, Vancouver and Ottawa - are situated in active earthquake zones.

Mexico City has a population of over 20 million people, despite being at high risk from active volcanoes and quakes. Over 22 million people live within sixty miles of Popocatepetl, a volcano which became active in 1994. Yet the state's population continues to grow at an amazing rate.

Los Angeles, the city of angels, could very easily live up to its name in the worst sense if the San Andreas Fault, over which it's suspended, decides to really rock and roll. One of the greatest cities in the world, it's life literally hangs by a thread.

Okinawa, Tokyo and virtually every major Japanese city is routinely subject to devastating earthquakes and tsunami (tidal waves). Godzilla, a Japanese fictional invention, is said to represent the Japanese people's collective fear of the wrath of nature. In their case, it's an apt representation.

It's the same the world over. The Hawaiian islands, hotbeds of volcanic activity, have an extremely high population density. Even on islands with over a dozen active, lava-spewing volcanoes, real estate is priced much higher than some other parts of the USA!

But if you think this is amazing, here's an even more shocking fact:

Not only are more people residing in the most disastrous zones, but the numbers continue to grow!

That's right. Even though we know that these places are dangerous, yet humans continue to defy death and move into these disaster-prone regions in larger numbers. And migration alone doesn't pump up the figures. If someone did some close analysis, I have a feeling you might even find that the fertility rates of these populations are higher than those in relatively safer areas.

I'm no psephologist, but even a little preliminary research makes one thing clear beyond doubt: Human beings seek out and inhabit some of the most dangerous places on the planet by choice. What's more, these endangered populations actually flourish and teem with greater enthusiasm than other, less risky areas.

The other frightening revelation is that as urbanisation increases, these areas become more densely packed. Skyscrapers, large housing communities and industrial and office complexes put greater numbers of people into smaller areas. This increases the risk manifold. Had the Orissa cyclone struck, say, in the Rann of Kutch, it would have caused negligible damage and death. But of course, the Rann of Kutch never gets cyclones. And it's also one of the most sparsely populated places in our otherwise overcrowded nation.

As the country's-and the planet's- packed-to-overflowing cities grow denser with people and development, the cost of each new natural disaster also rises substantially. To quote North American figures again, 77.2% of Canada's population, 77.5% of the USA, and 77.7% of Mexico live in cities. India may be lagging behind in its urban-rural proportion, but it's catching up fast.

In 1991, a wildfire stoked by hot Santa Ana winds destroyed 3,300 homes and caused $ 1.5 billion in damages. Today, it's estimated, a similar fire would cost at least double the amount. A hurricane in 1900 took 8,000 lives in Galveston, Texas. Today, early-warning technology could help prevent similar losses, but at least ten times that number would be at risk.

In the Florida Keys, even an early warning isn't much help. Only one road leads to safety, and that's certain to be jammed bumper-to-bumper with tens of thousands of fleeing vehicles in the event of a hurricane warning. People would literally die in gridlock!

The site of the recent quake in Turkey, one of the worst in human history, was also one of the most populated zones in the entire region.

Why do we like to live so dangerously? Why do human beings seek out the most risky places and then live there with such disdain for future calamity? Why do we put ourselves at such great risk when there are far safer habitats available elsewhere?

One reason could be that disaster-prone areas also tend to be environmentally more attractive. Hawaii's red-hot volcanic cones may be terrifying instruments of mass destruction, but they also add an alluring contrast to the island paradise's lush verdancy. Florida and Texas are two of the USA's most popular tourist resorts, with good reason. And LA's charms have been documented in enough Hollywood movies and serials a la Baywatch to justify the eternal American fascination with the fault-ridden city.

But at least in countries like the USA, the authorities have worked hard to set up a system to deal with such calamities on a regular basis. FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, established in 1979, is directly responsible when the President declares a region a federal disaster area. With a full-time staff of about 2,600 and another 4,500 trained standby employees, FEMA often appears even before the disaster ends.

FEMA is authorised to dispense funds directly to affected citizens, and several other organisations like the Small Business Administration exist in the USA to provide speedy loans for rebuilding. FEMA even provides instant housing to disaster victims, quickly and efficiently setting up enormous parks of trailer homes, which victims affectionately call FEMAvilles. But there's no compulsion to stay in a trailor: If a victim prefers to find herself a more comfortable place on hire, FEMA even chips in with the rent.

Contrast this with our situation: After the Orissa cyclone, the state Government asked the Central Government for Rs 100 billion assistance. The Centre responded with a mere Rs 2 billlion. That wasn't even enough to cover the Rs 25 billion for emergency rescue and rehabilitation operations!

In fact, while the USA shares our human propensity for living dangerously, the risks in India are far greater than in America.

Consider Orissa itself:

The official death toll in the ravaged state now stands at just over 10,000, with the district of Jagatsinghpur alone claiming over 8,000 of that figure. Unofficial figures, which are probably more accurate, estimate a total death toll of well above 50,000.

Official estimates claim that 12.6 million people in 12 districts have been affected. 1.25 million houses damaged or demolish. 1.5 million hectares of paddy crop, and 32,956 of other crops destroyed. Virtually all the paddy fields in the affected areas have been rendered uncultivable in the near future by the saline water which was washed as much 17 km inland by enormous tidal waves. Over 3.5 lakh cattle heads were killed.

Quoting these figures in their press interviews, several officials admitted off the record that the final numbers could rise to as much as double these estimates.

Large areas of the state continue to be waterlogged or heavily silted, widespread famine and death from contagious diseases are still taking lives. The long-term impact on the state's industry, trade, commerce and its overall economy have yet to be calculated.

While in countries like the USA, a well-oiled infrastructure exists to deal with such a calamity, in India, we're still uncovering the full extent of the horror. We all know the shocking facts: How administrative officials failed to visit affected regions out of fear that they would be lynched by angry mobs. How Anand Margis, foreign volunteers, CRPF forces and army units had to undertake much of the dirty work when the state infrastructure virtually threw its hands up in impotent despair. How CM Giridhar Gamang was almost forcibly kicked out for his failure to deal effectively with the disaster. How even today, the after-effects have not yet been fully mapped, let alone contained.

As Pratap Mukhopadhyay, the second seniormost IAS officer in the State, said to reporters candidly, "The disaster is as much man-made as natural." The depletion of forests in the coastal belt for the last 2 decades had resulted in an ecological imbalance. With the recent cyclone sweeping away most of the little forest cover that was left, future cyclones will certainly enter the state unabated. Unless drastic steps are taken to reforest the region.

And with even emergency operations still continuing at a snail's pace, over a month after the event, it's probably going to be a long time before anyone even starts thinking of the future.

The tragedy in India is that we are over-populated, period. The fact that people unwittingly seek out the most dangerous geographical areas is only incidental.

In fact, to some Malthusian statisticians, that may even provide the simplest explanation of all: Perhaps this phenomenon itself is nature's way of balancing the earth's population.

That may explain the natural disaster that took place in Orissa. But it's still no excuse for the human disaster.

The Rediff Specials

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