The building trembled as if the earth had inhaled sharply, the air heavy with the anticipation of rupture. Cracks appeared on the walls, like the beginning of a terrible truth, yet the structure held, stubborn in the face of a 7.7 magnitude quake. Not panic filled the room, but a profound disorientation, a momentary dizziness, as though time had stopped, lingering between life and death. In seconds, the earth’s indifferent embrace swallowed countless lives. The quake originated in the northern city of Mandalay. It showed no regard for borders. Its force moved through China, Bangladesh and Thailand, indifferent to the lives it claimed. It served as an eternal reminder of the instability that lies beneath the surface of all things.

My forthcoming book Winds of Change began at Mong Khet, Myanmar, at the heart of the “Valeriepieris circle”—the world’s most populous region. Lee Kuan Yew University professor Danny Quah once described it as an extraordinary encirclement of humanity, a dense cluster of 4.2 billion souls. First, there was COVID, starting from the same Valeriepieris circle, killing hundreds of thousands across Southeast Asia and around 7 million globally. Earthquakes and high geopolitics between India, China and the US shape the surrounding waters. Natural disasters merely turn a page in the ongoing upheavals — poverty, hunger, malnutrition and political-economic crises. Myanmar itself is a continuous struggle for stability, its people enduring a brutal civil war that has ravaged the nation. According to the UN, 17.6 million people in Myanmar required humanitarian assistance, where 1.6 million were internally displaced, with over 55,000 civilian buildings and infrastructure destroyed since 2021. The international community, having long cut off Myanmar, now finds itself reaching out to assist in the ongoing natural disaster — a fragile, fleeting gesture of humanity amid isolation.

Mandalay’s vulnerable foundations

The building shook for a few seconds, long enough to conjure mortality in the minds of those inside. People rushed out, some crying others silent in their fear. I joined them, moving with humanity’s current toward the open space. I witnessed mothers carrying their children, their eyes shadowed by the fear of death. What struck me was not the panic but the order, no pushing, no trampling — just a somber acceptance of the chaos. A discipline, perhaps ingrained into the fabric of their culture, revealed itself in those fleeting moments.

To be honest, I was ready for death. Just a few days earlier, I had completed a final act — burying my mother’s ashes. I had delayed it for nearly a year, postponed by my arrest during the previous government in Sri Lanka. The weight of that unfinished duty had hung over me, but now, with it done, I felt a strange calm amidst the turmoil.

I survived. Like many others, I was caught in the quake’s fury, just as the earth continued to tremble beneath us. Mandalay, lying on the eastern end of the Alpide Belt — one of the world’s most active seismic zones — has always been vulnerable. Yet vulnerability rarely prepares one for the shock. Thousands lay dead, more than 3,600 injured. The numbers, still uncertain, would only rise as rescue teams unearthed the buried from their cement graves. As I watched the scene unfold, I couldn’t help but see a reflection of the geopolitical tremors I had written about. The shifting alliances, the silent aggressions — fragile structures that seemed permanent until they suddenly weren’t. The earthquake was more than just a natural disaster; it was a reminder that instability waits for a moment to break free beneath the surface, whether of the earth or nations. Today, the people of Myanmar lie buried beneath rubble, but perhaps we are all buried under the same rubble of our own making.

The under-construction headquarters for the Auditor General’s office was the only building that collapsed among the many non-quake-resistant structures sitting on the soft soil of Bangkok. Another tremor of a similar magnitude would have taken down the apartment building I was staying in, where cracks had seeped through on every floor. Cyclone Nargis in Myanmar killed over a hundred thousand, floods and landslides continue to claim lives, and yet, disaster preparedness in the region lingers as an afterthought.

Transcending politics in times of crisis

Leaders of the Bay of Bengal Initiative for Multi-Sectoral Technical and Economic Cooperation (BIMSTEC) gathered in Thailand. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi will arrive, speaking of resilience, shared responsibility in the Bay of Bengal region, and BIMSTEC’s vision for collaborative disaster management. Afterward, Modi continued to Sri Lanka, where the new Marxist president, Anura Kumara Dissanayake, awaits. Politics will resume, but the earth has imposed its brutal order, disrupting human plans with indifferent force.

A Sri Lankan journalist I interviewed in Colombo shared a striking story. A Chinese fishing vessel, Lu Peng Yuan 028, capsized, resulting in the deaths of several fishermen. Sri Lankan naval officers salvaged it using a U.S.-donated vessel and salvage and diving training from India. This episode highlights a crucial lesson: when human lives are at risk, we set aside geopolitical competition in favor of synergy — a collective human responsibility toward a greater cause.

As people lie buried under rubble from the devastating earthquake, nations have come together, putting aside internal geopolitical tensions, including the ongoing civil war in Myanmar, to assist and save lives. In times of catastrophe, humanity transcends politics — a rare but powerful reminder of our shared fragility.

[Liam Roman edited this piece.]