In the days after the waters withdrew, the island of Sri Lanka felt strangely suspended between breath and silence. The mud had not yet dried, the broken roads still glistened under a pale sun and the smell of loss lingered in the air like a memory that refused to fade. People moved quietly among the wreckage — not out of fear, but out of a certain understanding: nature does not explain itself, and suffering arrives without justification. What remained was the simple, stubborn will to stand again, even as the land around us seemed to exhale the last traces of its grief.

The recent flooding and landslides across South and Southeast Asia claimed at least 1,812 lives: 921 in Indonesia, 627 in Sri Lanka, more than 150 in Thailand and a few in Malaysia. With 627 dead and 336 still missing in Sri Lanka, this disaster is the largest our island has faced since the Asian Tsunami. The loss extends beyond lives to roads, bridges, farmlands, plantations, vehicles and factories — everything that anchors a society to its daily rhythm. From the central hills to the river plains, through villages and towns, and reaching the edge of Colombo, the destruction carved a path from the inside out. Unlike the tsunami that struck from the sea, this catastrophe rose from the heart of the island and spread outward, indifferent to borders or names.

The weight of past devastation

The last time I witnessed devastation of this scale was in December 2004. Nearly 36,000 lives were lost, and the entire coastline was torn apart. I spent four years among broken harbors and shattered livelihoods as part of the government administration, serving as Chair of the Ceylon Fishery Harbours Corporation (CFHC). I learned then that after disaster comes a profound silence — not only around us, but within us — a stillness in which we confront what has vanished. And yet from that silence, strength rises slowly. We rebuilt because life demands continuation.

Rebuild we did. The US Agency for International Development (USAID) was one of the largest donors, with Ambassador Robert O. Blake Jr playing a steady, crucial role. China, Japan, Greece and many smaller donors joined in, each offering a stone for the reconstruction of a wounded nation. Ten harbors and hundreds of anchorage points were completed ahead of schedule. What made this possible was not charity alone, but a synergetic relationship among institutions, governments and local communities — multiple layers of cooperation forming something larger than the sum of their parts.

Synergy, as American philosopher Buckminster Fuller once wrote, is like placing a wheel beneath a box: the parts remain the same, yet their relationship creates a new entity capable of movement. Jerome Glenn of the Millennium Project reminds us that this kind of thinking is essential when confronting forces larger than any single nation.

In 2023, we scanned South and Southeast Asia and saw climate threats rising like dark tides across the region. The article “Synergetic Thinking for the Absence of Multilateralism in South Asia”, written by Glenn, Joshua Bowes and me, warned that Pakistan’s floods — affecting over 30 million people — were a sign of what was to come.

With 750 million South Asians affected by climate disasters in the last 20 years, we argued for evacuation training, stronger infrastructure and a multilateral vision — without which the region’s poorest will always bear the highest cost. Bangladesh’s cyclone-shelter network demonstrated what clarity of purpose can achieve. A similar call for coordinated action had been emphasized in an analysis published by Fair Observer following the Myanmar earthquake, highlighting the urgent need for collective regional preparedness.

The cost of forgotten preparedness

Sri Lanka once understood the value of preparedness. On November 11, 2019, the Cabinet approved the National Defence Policy (NDP). Alongside it stood another document — the National Security Policy (NSP) — developed over four years with contributions from armed forces officials, along with myself. Only one policy saw the light of day, while the NSP remained shelved.

That document spoke with clarity about the very disaster we face today. It stated plainly: “Special emphasis has to be given in respect of mitigating natural and manmade disasters, since Sri Lanka is more vulnerable to floods and droughts more often, and it drastically affects the economy of the country.” It outlined structural reforms, resource-based capacities and long-term strategies for resilience.

In moments like this, when the island is wounded again, we are reminded that forgotten policies have consequences. Citizens should request these documents, update them and ensure they are enacted. A nation cannot rebuild if it ignores the very foundations it once intended to strengthen. It is the right time to prepare for the next.

During the 2004 recovery, Sri Lanka built layers of synergy. Government administrations coordinated, local champions were empowered and international donors worked through structured channels. A hybrid network emerged, guided by leaders who understood the weight of urgency.

Ernst & Young, during its external audit of the Fisheries Harbours Corporation, recognized this model as an innovative and transparent mechanism of public participation. There were several large-scale corruption cases highlighted by the auditor general, as in any national effort of such scale, but they did not derail the broader system. What mattered was the discipline of institutions. Without such discipline, recovery falters — just as nearly $2 billion disappeared in the Philippines under the guise of flood-control projects.

The need for disciplined recovery today

Disaster recovery requires a senior advisory body of experienced administrators, divisional secretaries and foreign service officers who know how to stand between chaos and order. It is not a stage on which the wealthy or business conglomerates parade their goodwill, but a system where institutions, public servants, opposition parties and local networks align in a single synergetic relationship. That is the wheel beneath the box.

And yet today’s world is not the world of 2004. Then, social media was a distant echo. Now, truth and falsehood move side by side, indistinguishable in their speed. Confusion spreads faster than the waters that destroyed our homes. Some voices may twist this tragedy for political gain. Such impulses are familiar everywhere, but a nation emerging from the 2022 economic collapse cannot afford new fractures.

This is not the hour for chaos. It is the hour for clarity, for solidarity and for the simple truth that we rise only when we rise together. The waters have receded, but the silence remains. In that silence lies our choice: division or reconstruction. Let us choose to rebuild — patiently, honestly and together.

[Kaitlyn Diana edited this piece.]

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.