Exactly 20 years ago, on Dec. 26, 2004, over 225,000 people died in the deadliest tsunami in history. Another 1.7 million people were displaced as a result of this devastating natural disaster that destroyed lives, property, and communities. It is known as the Indian Ocean Tsunami, commonly called the Boxing Day Tsunami or the Asian Tsunami.
The tsunami was generated by a 9.1 magnitude earthquake off the west coast of northern Sumatra in which 30-foot waves violently devastated communities along the surrounding coasts of the Indian Ocean in 14 countries. Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, and Thailand were the most severely impacted countries. To further illustrate the enormity of this event, according to various online sources, the earthquake and tsunami are considered the deadliest natural disaster of the 21st century, one of the deadliest natural disasters in recorded history, and the worst tsunami disaster in history. It is also the worst natural disaster in the history of Indonesia, Sri Lanka and Thailand.
In addition to a large number of residents, up to 9,000 foreign tourists (mostly Europeans) enjoying the peak holiday travel season were among the dead or missing, especially people from the Nordic countries.
How do you make sense of a major event like this that impacted so many lives but in countries located oceans away?
My parents sought answers to that question when they visited southern India just one month after the tsunami struck local communities there. My mom, Marleen, wrote about the experience in a first-person account published in The Beacon on March 17, 2005. The account included photographs by my dad, Narsingh Agnish, documenting the carnage of this world-shaking event. In honor of this tribute to the print edition of The Beacon, I located a copy of the newspaper featuring my parent’s creative work I had saved after all these years. See the accompanying photographs.
My dad was born and raised in northern India and would often return to visit family, sometimes accompanied by his wife or with one of his children. I made the journey with him one year earlier, and coincidently, he and I visited some areas that the tsunami would impact in south India. My parents had been planning the visit before the tsunami happened.
“After the tsunami on Dec. 26, we only wondered a moment before we decided to stick with our plans even though they would bring us to tsunami-stricken areas,” my mom recounts in the article. “Maybe we could help somehow. At least our business would be beneficial to the local economies.”
Help, they would. They found themselves in a small fishing village called Keezha Manakudy in the Kanyakumari district of Tamil Nadu.
“The fishing village lay on the shore at the mouth of a river,” my mom wrote. “Its concrete highway bridge lay in two parts in the water. It had been lifted off its pilings by the tsunami and simply dropped. I wondered if people and cars had been on the bridge when the wave hit. Maybe. But maybe they got off in time. I hope so. I didn’t think to ask. There was much I didn’t think to ask. I was too busy feeling, trying to contain the feelings and to process the scene of devastation. We parked, got out of the car, and walked back through the remains of the fishing village. Beyond the mute foundations of homes and empty beaches, sturdy palm trees still stood before the sparkling Arabian Sea. We walked between the foundations, stepping carefully between bits of boats and palm trees and bits of lives like a lonely, tattered photo album.”
They came across the parish of Holy Cross Church and would make a connection with the pastor there, Father Antony Vimal Raj.
“The welcoming entrance still stood without its doors,” she wrote about the church there. “The sanctuary and altar still stood. But between them was bare sand; no roof, no walls, no pews. We sat down with Father Vimal Raj. He seems a most caring and compassionate young priest who has a heavy burden but also great hope for his people.”
As a sidebar to my mom’s article, Father Raj’s harrowing first-person account of what he witnessed during the tsunami was also included in The Beacon. He was nearly killed when the church collapsed, and he would help save lives, tend to the injured, and recover the dead. Thirty-nine people died in the community. Ten of them were children. Boats, nets, and debris filled the nave of the church. Father Raj also recounted in his article his spiritual struggle with the tragedy.
My parents established a friendship with Father Raj and connected their parish community — Our Lady Queen of Peace in West Milford — with his. Parishioners offered prayers and financial support to educate the children of the village of Keezha Manakudy by providing for their materials, uniforms, and fees while their families rebuilt their homes and livelihoods. By the time the article was printed, the generosity of the parishioners had already made it possible to provide support for one school year.
Seeing my mom’s article and my dad’s photographs appear in print in The Beacon was thrilling. I had pitched the story to a staff member of The Beacon with a phone call, and I remember how receptive they were to considering the material for publication. I believe my parents successfully presented a moving story within the context of a larger one. It helped us all process a massive tragedy that was difficult to understand.
I remember how proud I was of my parents for telling their story and of the parishioners of Our Lady Queen of Peace for supporting the faith community of Holy Cross Church. They trusted my parents’ first-hand account.
There is something about seeing your name and your work in print. There just is. A newspaper carries a special weight that is difficult to measure. But at its heart is the story itself — whatever the form it’s presented in.
All of this also highlights the power of the pen (and photographs) to do good in the world. It hits on many themes, like the generosity of parishioners in our diocese and how we can be the light of Christ to those in need. Stories like these have been recounted time and again in the pages of The Beacon. What a testament to the faithful of the diocese!
While the print edition of The Beacon will be missed, these touching stories will continue to be shared on our website, beaconnj.org.
