Phuket’s Big Buddha Scandal: Greed, Faith, and a Deadly Landslide
Landslides, deforestation, claims of divine absolution, unanswered financial questions, and a creeping sense that justice is being quietly offshored: the saga unfolding around Phuket’s Big Buddha isn’t just a local squabble over a tourist viewpoint. It’s a chilling fractal of a global problem: the uneasy, and often brutal, dance between development, environmental protection, faith, and power, a dance where the most vulnerable always seem to get their feet crushed.
The Phuket News reports that the Big Buddha site, closed after a devastating landslide linked to illegal deforestation killed 13 people, is poised to reopen. Suporn Vanichkul, head of the Phra Phuttha Mingmongkol Sattha 45 Foundation, claims to have reached a “settlement” with the Royal Forest Department. But the RFD itself says the case “is unequivocally, ‘Not finished’.”
Vanichkul downplays the site’s economic importance, emphasizing its spiritual role, while deflecting any financial scrutiny. Meanwhile, local residents, represented by the Phuket Bar Association, are fighting on. Their lawyer claims “officials should be aware that legal risks remain”. The police concluded that the case was the result of natural disaster in a high-risk “red zone”.
“It was a natural disaster. We didn’t cause the rain. Everything was investigated according to procedure. It is not our fault,” he said.
The details of what constitutes a “settlement” are murky at best. Did culpability evaporate in a puff of incense and legal loopholes? Is the legal process truly as unbiased as it appears, or is it merely reflecting deeper power imbalances? These are the questions that should echo far beyond Phuket, resonating in similar circumstances across the globe.
Beyond the immediate tragedy, this case exposes a disquieting pattern: the privatization of profit and the socialization of risk. The expansion of tourism and development, often prioritizing immediate economic gains over long-term environmental safeguards and social well-being, is a story we’ve heard before. Land grabs, deforestation, toothless enforcement of regulations: these are the well-worn stepping stones to environmental and social disasters. What’s less discussed is the active role of capital in shaping the very regulatory environment that enables these tragedies.
Thailand, like many Southeast Asian nations, is caught in the vise grip of needing economic growth while simultaneously confronting the consequences of that very growth. According to World Bank data, Thailand’s forest area decreased by about 1.3 million hectares between 1990 and 2020. Consider this alongside the explosion of tourism fueled by the 1997 Asian financial crisis, which forced countries like Thailand to hyper-develop their tourism sectors to generate foreign currency. This wasn’t just a series of independent choices; it was a systemic vulnerability being exploited, with predictable environmental consequences.
Religious institutions, in many societies, occupy a uniquely privileged and precarious position. Their perceived spiritual authority grants them considerable influence, an influence that can be harnessed for community good but can also shield them from secular accountability. When religious institutions become entangled in land disputes or complex financial dealings, it adds layers of opacity and sensitivity that can strategically complicate legal processes, often benefiting those in power. It’s not just about faith; it’s about the weaponization of faith for material gain.
“Environmental justice,” as David Schlosberg powerfully argues, isn’t just about environmental outcomes; it’s about procedural and recognitional equity. It demands that vulnerable communities be empowered in environmental decision-making and not be disproportionately burdened by environmental risks. The residents of Kata, living at the base of Big Buddha hill, are a stark illustration of a community whose voices are being actively drowned out in decisions that directly determine their safety and well-being.
Ultimately, the story of the Big Buddha is a challenge to our comfortable assumptions about progress, about development, and about justice itself. It demands a critical examination of how we balance economic imperatives, environmental responsibility, and social justice, not as separate concerns, but as deeply intertwined facets of a single ethical framework. And it forces us to confront the uncomfortable question of how institutions of faith — often held to a higher moral standard — can be held accountable when they operate within, and sometimes exploit, the messy realities of the material world. If we fail to learn from this, the next landslide won’t just be a “natural disaster”; it will be a damning indictment of our collective blindness, our deliberate indifference, and our profound failure to protect the most vulnerable among us.
