No one could look at the tragic results of last Friday's one-two earthquake-tsunami combination on that Indonesian city without feeling deep remorse.and a sense of complete powerlessness. It eclipses the tragedy that is world politics.
But the facts sounded very familiar. Palu sits on the edge of a bay on a narrow strip of alluvial flood plain backing up onto coastal mountains.
When the 7.5 earthquake struck, it liquefied large portions of the alluvial soil the city sat on. If you recall what happened to the Marina district in San Francisco during the 1989 world series earthquake, you know exactly what happened. In the case of Palu, entire neighborhoods disappeared into the quicksand. Houses. Possessions. Cars. Livestock. Pets. And, most importantly, people. Often full families clutching onto one for their last moment of comfort. Sucked into the maw of the recently-quaked earth.
But there was worse to come. Within 11 minutes of the earthquake, a devastating tsunami rushed down Palu's triangular bay. In places, the wave was 20 feet high. At an almost-incredible 800 kilometers per hour. For those of us who are Celsius-impaired, that is almost 500 miles per hour.
The experts are a bit perplexed at the intensity of the tsunami. The epicenter of the earthquake was on land. Usually, that means the risk of a tsunami is low. Something else must have happened. Such as, an underground landslide. The triangular shape of Palu's bay is also a culprit -- funneling the full force of the tsunami toward the city. Or maybe it was both. Or something else.
What no one can doubt is that large portions of Palu and several of the surrounding villages have been flattened or simply eaten by the earth. And rescue efforts have been hampered due to the damage to already-inadequate infrastructure.
Here is the eerie part. Other than the size of Palu (over 300,000), the description of that area of the island of Sulawesi is far too familiar. If our villages surrounding Navidad Bay were put in a lineup with Palu, they would be easily subject to misidentification.
Our villages sit on alluvial soil. A small strip of flat land between the sea and the coastal mountains. If subjected directly to a 7.5 earthquake, large portions of our area would likely open like Palu.
But, you say, Jalisco state has a fancy tsunami warning system that looks retro enough to be featured in The Jetsons. So did Palu. Actually, a buoy warning system. But it was not working due to maintenance issues. And I will let you guess what the common knowledge is about our own warning system.
Indonesia had a tsunami warning system in place through cell phone notifications. But, the earthquake hushed it because most of the cell towers were toppled.
In the case of Palu, it would not have mattered much. The ground was impassable in large parts of the city. Plus the tsunami arrived so quickly after the quake.
Tragedies elsewhere can center our minds. And centering one's mind does not mean reducing yourself to a pool of tragedy-induced hysteria -- something we have witnessed far too much of recently.
Tragedy needs perspective. Is there an earthquake and tsunami danger living in our villages by the bay? Of course, there is.
And, in circumstances similar to those of Palu, the tragedy could be re-enacted here. I have written before how isolated our villages are. There is only one north-south highway and another that eventually leads to Guadalajara. If both are cut off with earthquake damage, getting medical supplies (something that is a daily problem already) and other life necessities will be a problem.
But we all live with imminent death every day. Almost every place I have lived in the world has a severe earthquake risk. Oregon may top the list with the pressure building on the fault off its Pacific coast. We learn to live with it.
If you are someone who lives life by reading State Department warnings, you might not feel comfortable living here. A place that could, just as easily as Palu, induce sympathy and empathy around the world.
An earthquake could easily happen here. That map of earthquakes since 1997 is a potential predictor that a Big One is in our future. If it is, I have a plan.
Trying to drive away would be a fool's mission for most of us. Too few roads clogged with frightened crowds -- and most of those routes leading to no safety at all.
I have no high ground near my house. At least, not within running distance. What I do have is a three-story residence. I will climb to the top, lash myself to the wheel of the Titanic like Captain Smith, and hum my own version of "Nearer My God to Thee."
And, like most plans, this one will never have to be put into effect during my lifetime.
I hope.
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