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The former ice cream vendor now fighting Thailand’s toxic waste crisis
For more than 25 years, Dawan Chantarahassadee has been fighting industrial polluters in Thailand. Now she’s battling a new threat: dubious recycling plants that are turning the country into a dumping ground for the world’s toxic waste.
Dawan Chantarahassadee stands inside the remains of the Win Process recycling factory after a large fire broke out in 2024. Photo: Luke Duggleby/HaRDstories
Dawan Chantarahassadee picked her way down the orange-tinted slope towards what remained of an environmental disaster in eastern Thailand. Charred barrels sprawled across the recycling factory’s floor, its roof collapsed and walls blackened by a fire that had raged for days. The acrid smell of chemicals still hung heavy in the air.
“We cannot confirm [what was in them],” said Dawan, pointing at the burst 1,000-litre plastic containers now spilling syrupy chemical cocktails onto the soil. The 67-year-old environmental defender was no stranger to industrial disasters, though each one still shocked her. But for the villagers of Nong Pawa, this toxic wasteland represented the catastrophe they had warned against for years.
The Win Process recycling plant had ceased operation in 2020 after repeated government inspections and mounting local pressure. Yet the authorities spent years ignoring residents’ pleas to remove tonnes of hazardous materials stored there. When the chemicals finally caught fire in April 2024, frustrated villagers turned to Dawan – an ice cream vendor turned environmental crusader who has spent two decades fighting Thailand’s culture of industrial impunity.
“The villagers’ distress is not taken into account in the legal process,” Dawan said. “My work is to empower the community to demand justice – to create balance by listening to the people.”
From ice cream to activism
About thirty years ago, Dawan was serving banana splits at Klong Dan’s first ice cream shop, though she had once dreamed of bigger things. “I wanted to become a community developer who goes to the provinces. In the past, there were movies about it,” she recalled. But circumstances had led her down other paths, and she’d returned to her quiet seaside town in Samut Prakan province.
The community had been thriving on mussel farms and aquaculture for decades. But in 1998, everything changed when construction signs appeared overnight for a massive wastewater treatment plant. No one had bothered to tell the residents about the billion-baht project their government had already approved.
The complex would destroy their aqua farms and emit toxic odours, locals feared. When Dawan’s mother mentioned a planned protest at Government House in Bangkok, the former political science student finally saw her chance.
“A thousand protesters were there. People in Bangkok were stunned. They didn’t think Klong Dan had this kind of movement,” Dawan recalled. What started with five buses grew into a convoy carrying over a thousand villagers to the capital. But their protests fell on deaf ears.
Dawan – not one to give up quickly – threw herself into the fight with even more intensity. Working at her ice cream shop during the day, she spent her evenings digging through libraries and calling professors about sea currents, gathering ammunition for what would become her defining moment.
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“She kept an eye on everything, and followed the situation closely. That’s just one of Dawan’s qualities,” recalled Penchom Saetang, founder of what would become Ecological Alert and Recovery – Thailand (EARTH), the organisation where Dawan now works.
Dawan’s element of surprise
The showdown came on “Lan Ban Lan Mueang,” a public forum television show to which Dawan was invited as a community representative. The local gymnasium was packed, with villagers surrounding Dawan and officials from the Pollution Control Department under hot lights. She hadn’t revealed her strategy to the host, wanting to preserve the element of surprise.
Everyone’s eyes were on her – hair tied back, blue jean shirt and fanny pack, her signature look against those in power. “If I lived in the area that was already polluted, I wouldn’t oppose a treatment plant there,” Dawan told the officials. “But you’re just moving your problems to create new problems somewhere else, without solving the original ones.”
The original wastewater management scheme was supposed to occupy both sides of the Chao Phraya River, she pointed out – Klong Dan was never part of the plan. Officials had moved it 20 kilometres away to her community, adding costs while choosing a site ill-equipped to treat heavy metals in the wastewater.
The Pollution Control Department had conducted no environmental impact assessment, failed to calculate the economic impact on seafood loss, and ignored contradictory studies about releasing treated wastewater into the ocean. Dawan used what she had found to crack the facade.
The revelations sparked a government investigation, with Dawan appointed to the committee. Court cases followed, forcing some of the people involved to flee abroad, but her data detective work had succeeded – the project was stopped.
The new threat
Dawan’s victory at Klong Dan was just the beginning. The wastewater project was dead, but the success came at a personal cost. She went abroad for two years to keep herself and her family safe from those seeking revenge. When she returned, Thailand was soon facing a new crisis.
Recycling plants were appearing in the country’s east at an alarming rate. China had banned waste imports in 2017. Suddenly, Thailand became a dumping ground for the world’s trash. The government, eager for investment in its Eastern Economic Corridor (EEC), seemed to look the other way.
These facilities often operate without proper environmental assessments. Communities like Nong Pawa paid the price. When Win Process’s tailing pond burst in 2022, toxic water flooded Tieb Samarnmitr’s rubber plantation, leaving a “bright orange carpet of powder” that killed his trees.
The scale of the problem was overwhelming officials. “We have about 60,000 factories nationwide. It is impossible to inspect every factory,” said Sunthorn Kaewsawang, deputy director-general of the Department of Industrial Works. Waste exports had increased exponentially over the past decade, he acknowledged, driven by a push toward a circular economy.
The government’s ambitious plans will likely make things worse. The EEC projects 400 billion baht (approximately 12 million USD) in new investment by 2026. But new technology brings new problems. “Changes in technology produce new electronic waste,” Sunthorn explained. “Such as electrical appliances, lithium ions or anything related to EVs.”
Lax environmental laws
“We waited and waited for it [the waste] to be transported,” Tieb, who was one of the first to oppose the recycling company, told HaRDstories. Despite the villagers of Nong Pawa winning their court case in 2022, the industrial waste remained at the Win Process recycling plant until the fatal fire in April 2024 – a delay that has become depressingly familiar for Dawan.
Even when communities win in court, justice often proves elusive. Courts can award millions of baht in compensation for environmental damage, but residents rarely see the money, Dawan said. Companies declare bankruptcy to avoid payouts, or bureaucratic red tape strangles the process for years.
Dawan believes the real problem lies with Thailand’s weak environmental laws. Penalties are so light that companies see them as operating costs rather than deterrents. Even government officials agree the laws need overhauling.
“The Factory Act has been in place since 1992, but the penalties are very light – there is only a fine,” said Sunthorn Kaewsawang from the Department of Industrial Works. “Bad operators are not afraid of the penalty. It’s worth illegally dumping the waste because it results in fewer expenses and more benefits.”
The department has proposed a new law that would include a disaster fund financed by offenders. But for communities like Nong Pawa, such reforms feel like cold comfort. The damage to their land and livelihoods has already been done.
Dawan believes the solution requires political will more than new legislation. “Having a law, no matter how good, if you don’t have the courage to use it,” she said, “then it’s useless.”
The data detective
What makes Dawan different from other activists is her systematic approach to gathering evidence. She treats each case like a puzzle, collecting documents piece by piece until the full picture emerges.
“I had so much fun and got really elated from reading,” she said. “I also have a sense for discrepancies in environmental impact assessments.” It’s an unusual skill for someone who started as an ice cream vendor, but years of fighting corruption have sharpened her eye for inconsistencies.
In Nong Pawa, this approach revived a community that had paused their fight against Win Process for a year, exhausted by official indifference. Dawan arrived with her characteristic method: listen first, research second, empower third.
“When I looked at her, I trusted her. It did not take long,” said Sanit Maneesri, who became one of her key allies. “She was always just a call away” during the years of collecting evidence to prove their case against the recycling plant in court, he said.
Dawan’s method is methodical. She starts by understanding villagers’ concerns before diving into technical details. Then comes the research phase – digging through government documents, calling experts and cross-referencing studies. Her home overflows with files from every case, paperwork she refuses to move despite the dust gathering on it.
“As I worked and finished the research, I would take it to the villagers so they could understand and communicate it themselves,” Dawan explained. “Then I try to connect them with government agencies.”
Dawan believes this approach empowers communities rather than creating dependence. Villagers learn to read environmental reports, spot violations, and present their case with authority. In Nong Pawa, it meant the difference between giving up and winning in court – even if enforcement remained elusive.
Seeds of hope
In late 2024, Dawan revisited Tieb on his contaminated land. Though much of the area remains poisoned, he’s experimenting with different crops – coconut, durian – observing which ones might survive. As a parting gift, he gave Dawan a giant papaya, something that seemed impossible just a few years earlier.
Dawan, too, is trying to cultivate hope from disaster. She’s working to convert the abandoned wastewater treatment plant at Klong Dan into a research centre where universities could transform the concrete silos – originally meant for contaminated water – into aquatic learning habitats. The surrounding mangroves could attract tourists to a place that was once synonymous with corruption.
But her work is far from finished. Thailand’s rapid industrial development continues to outpace environmental protections. New threats emerge faster than communities can organise against them. The Eastern Economic Corridor’s push for investment shows no signs of slowing.
On the way back to Bangkok, passing the factories and refineries that dot the EEC, Dawan reflected on a conversation with her father years ago. “My father used to say that if there was a new road, prosperity was coming,” she recalled. “But I told him it would make it more difficult for us to cross.”
It’s a metaphor that captures both Thailand’s development dilemma and her own role in it. Progress doesn’t have to come at the expense of communities, but someone has to ensure the crossing remains safe.
“Every time I enter a new community, I still feel like I’m one of them,” the 67-year-old said. “There are still people left behind. We haven’t finished fighting yet.”
Ken G Weber is a Thai-Austrian journalist who reports on overlooked issues in Thailand. His writings are inspired by local voices seeking to defend their rights and environment.
Luke Duggleby is a long-time Thailand based photographer. He regularly works on stories related to human rights, the environment and the impact of pollution and development on local communities.
