The water was their livelihood. Now Thailand’s sea nomads work to preserve a vanishing way of life

Associated Press

SURIN ISLANDS, Thailand (AP) — When Hook was a child, he started his days by jumping off the boat that his family lived on and into the ocean. By age 3, he could already swim and dive in shallow waters. His home was a kabang, a boat, that his family sailed in Thailand’s southern waters. The ocean was his backyard.

Now Hook, whose full name is Suriyan Klathale, lives on land like the rest of his community, a people known as the Moken. The recollections of his childhood, which many Moken of his generation still have, are mostly just memories.

The community, a group of indigenous people from Thailand and Myanmar, came to worldwide attention for its members’ understanding of waves when the Indian Ocean Tsunami struck in December 2004 and killed more than 200,000 people. The few tourists who happened to be on the islands inhabited by the Moken survived because locals knew when they saw the water recede that people needed to get to higher ground.

Today, things are different and changing fast. This once free-sailing people have been grounded by powerful forces of change.

How do you hold onto tradition when everything is working against it?

The Moken are one of the various tribal groups and indigenous communities not formally recognized by the Thai government. For years, activists from these communities have tried to push for formal recognition with a bill that would help them hold on to traditions.

But as recently as October, the latest draft of this proposed bill, called the Protection and Promotion of Ethnic Groups’ Way of Life, was tabled by Parliament. The bill would legally guarantee these communities’ basic rights, such as health care, education and land, as well as provide government support to preserve their ethnic identities.

For the Moken, the kabang and their way of living on the ocean are something they hope the law could help preserve. The wooden boat, with a distinctive curve that juts out from its bow and a pavilion set in the middle, is central to the Moken’s identity. “It’s like a lifetime of a person, of a family,” Hook said. “In the past, we lived and died on that boat.”

Multiple generations could live on a kabang, which were much bigger in the past. The parents would stay in the middle of the boat; their married children lived at the front until they built their own boat.

Tat, an elder in the Moken community who uses only one name, said that a Moken became an adult when he could build a boat. It meant he was capable of starting a family.

Today, though, almost no one lives on a boat. Narumon Arunotai, an associate professor at Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok who has worked with the Moken and other indigenous communities for decades, said the shift toward permanent dwelling on land had already started more than 40 years ago.

It was a gradual shift, driven both by stricter border controls as well as the inability to get the wood necessary to build the kabangs. Further, the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004 destroyed many of the traditional boats. The change to dwelling on land has happened with other communities known colloquially as sea nomads in Thailand as well.

The Moken are scattered across an archipelago of some 800 islands on the coast of Myanmar and Thailand. In the days when they lived on boats, Moken stayed on land only during the monsoon season, which started around May. They’d stay on land until the winds shifted, usually around December, and then abandon their temporary homes for the sea. For food, they fished and foraged.

Many of the older generation were born on boats and sailed regularly amongst the islands.

“We could move freely without having to worry about the Myanmar government or the Thai government,” said Tawan Klathale, Hook’s older brother, who was born on a boat. All Moken in Thailand use the surname Klathale, given to the community by one of Thailand’s former queens.

“Back then,” said the brother, who is known as Ngui, “there was no clear line to where is Myanmar and where is Thailand.”

Freedoms began to constrict, and making boats became harder

But by the time Ngui and Hook were teenagers, they could no longer travel as freely between those islands. Many Moken started settling more permanently in the Surin Islands, off the Thai coast. Some came from Myanmar to Thailand, looking for jobs and safety from pirates. Hook’s family stayed ashore.

The parts of the community that stayed in Thailand found that the land they had always visited each season had become a national park by 1981. As a result, they could no longer cut down the large trees they needed to build their boats.

To make a kabang, one needs a good strong tree, at least 1 meter wide and 10 meters tall. The trunk needs to be straight and be free of defects. Over the course of months, men of the community would dig out the trunk and carve it into a boat’s hull, while also using fire to make the wood pliable and stretch it out. It was a communal thing, involving up to 10 people.

Now, it’s difficult to gather enough people. Other men of the village would often be out working during the day. They did not have time to join and work together on a boat.

Ngui and other members of an informal group called Moken Pa Ti’ao, concerned they were losing the knowledge of boat-building, said they approached the park now and then across the years get a tree to make the boat. They were refused years ago by the chief of Mu Ko Surin National Park. The group hasn’t asked since.

The park allows them to cut down only small trees, said Ngui, who is also assistant to the village chief in Surin Island. “The restrictions has been like this as far as we can remember.”

Today, the village in Surin only has one kabang, built by Tat and used mostly to ferry tourists and take children out on day trips. Hook, who lives on the mainland in Thailand, also has a kabang built with the funding of a private donor from Norway after a filmmaker made a documentary about his journey to make one such boat in 2014. But his kabang is built with planks of wood, rather than a single hollowed out tree.

They are among the few keen to remember the boats and other traditions. Tat says he has made sure to pass down what he knew to his children, from songs to boat building.

“If my generation is gone, there would be just very few people left who know how to do these things,” Tat said.

Learning about the ocean remains a priority

Together, Tat and Wilasinee Klathale, a teacher at the school on the island, also try to take village children out on the boats to teach them about the ocean as well as about music and dance.

“It’s not in the curriculum, but I added them myself, because I could see that these things are going to be lost,” Wilasinee said.

Today, young Moken are more worried about their livelihoods and finding jobs than how to build a boat. Most only make money during Thailand’s peak tourist season when the national park is open to tourists, from November to April, and have to live on that money for the rest of the year.

Boyen Klathale, a young Moken man, said it’s difficult to find a job. On Surin, the opportunities are either with the national park or operating boats to take tourists out. Though it’s peak season, he wasn’t able to find a job this year, and he didn’t want to leave behind his family to find work on the mainland.

The Moken have asked for more fishing rights in the past, but were denied a further quota beyond the subsistence amount they’re allowed from the park. Ngui, the village chief’s assistant, said he hopes the Moken can sell the souvenirs they make to tourists all year around with help from the government.

The future holds some hope. In 2024, the Surin Islands National Park appointed a new chief, Kriengkrai Pohcharoen. In a shift, he said he was open to collaborating with the Moken on a kabang — as long as it was a tree that fell over on its own.

“I think about how to improve their quality of life, and how they can sustainably live in nature,” he said. “I want them to have a good quality of life.”

The Moken are realistic about their permanent switch to land. These days, most prefer it. But some still remember the old ways — and an aquamarine bay filled with handmade kabangs.

“The world is changing and that’s the way it is, if you ask me,” Ngui said. “I think everything is bound to be lost at some point, but I just want it to stay as long as possible.”