Living in Zone-V: The vulnerability we all should know
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Kosygin Leishangthem
The earth beneath Manipur is not as solid as it appears. It is a restless, shifting force that has shaped our landscape and history through violent tremors and devastating quakes. The recent 7.7 magnitude earthquake that struck Myanmar on March 28, 2025, while centered 400 kilometers from Imphal, was not just another tremor—it was nature’s latest warning to a region living on borrowed time. The terrifying truth we must face is this : had the epicenter been just 200 kilometers closer, our capital city might now be a graveyard of collapsed buildings and broken lives. The numbers tell a story we cannot ignore—the energy released in that single seismic event could have powered all of Manipur for 264 days, while the 2016 quake’s energy output could have met our power needs for over eight days. These are not abstract statistics; they are measurements of destruction that our fragile buildings are completely unprepared to withstand.
Manipur sits among the world’s most dangerous earthquake zones, sharing its Zone-V classification with only five other global seismic hotspots: Mexico, Taiwan, California, Japan, and Turkey. While these Nations have learned to build and prepare for the inevitable, we continue to ignore the lessons written in rubble across seismic history. Our region’s violent past speaks through the numbers—more than 3,000 recorded earthquakes within 500 kilometers since 1905, including fifteen catastrophic events above magnitude 7. The 1950 Assam earthquake, a terrifying 8.6 magnitude event, struck just 470 kilometers from Kangla, while 60 earthquakes above magnitude 6 have shaken our immediate vicinity. The proposed upgrade to Zone-VI in the draft IS-1893:2023 should have sent shockwaves through our construction practices, yet life goes on as usual, with new buildings being erected with the same fatal flaws as the old ones.
The structural vulnerability of Imphal is nothing short of alarming. Approximately 90% of our buildings—including the schools where our children learn, the hospitals where lives are saved, and the Government offices that coordinate emergency responses—would likely collapse in a major quake. Many of these structures were never designed for their current use, having been carelessly converted from residential or commercial buildings without proper reinforcement. We have, in effect, turned our most vulnerable citizens—schoolchildren sitting in poorly constructed classrooms, patients recovering in unstable hospital wards, the elderly resting in fragile homes—into unwilling participants in a deadly gamble with nature. The 2016 earthquake was merely a preview of what is to come; the main event still looms on the horizon, and our current state of unpreparedness borders on collective negligence.
Our vulnerability is not the result of ignorance but of deliberate inaction. Across Manipur, buildings continue to rise without soil testing, without proper engineering oversight, without even the most basic earthquake-resistant techniques. We have normalized construction practices that would be considered criminal negligence in other seismic zones. Structural engineers warn that in a major quake, weak foundations will give way, substandard materials will crumble, and the very institutions meant to be safe havens will become tombs. Even if some structures miraculously remain standing, Imphal’s congested lanes and chaotic urban planning will create secondary disasters—blocking emergency vehicles, trapping survivors under debris, and turning what could be rescue operations into grim recovery missions.
The path to resilience requires nothing short of a revolution in how we build and prepare. Earthquake-resistant construction must become non-negotiable, with low-rise buildings of one or two stories being the standard when properly reinforced. Every construction project, from a roadside tea shop to a Government complex, must involve qualified engineers who understand how to make structures move with seismic forces rather than collapse against them. Soil testing should be as fundamental to construction as laying foundations, with mandatory testing protocols that account for our region’s unpredictable geology. Our architectural tastes must evolve—those ornate facades and cantilevered balconies we admire today could become instruments of death tomorrow when the ground begins to shake.
Material choices carry life-or-death consequences in seismic zones. The traditional brick and concrete construction we’ve relied on for generations becomes dangerously heavy during quakes. Modern alternatives like hollow concrete blocks, fiber composites, and steel frames offer superior performance, yet their adoption remains painfully slow. We need only look to Japan to see how proper engineering and material selection can turn potential disasters into survivable events. Their buildings are designed to dance with earthquakes; ours are destined to die in them.
The human element of this crisis demands immediate attention. Our construction workforce—the hands that shape our vulnerable skyline—often lacks formal training in seismic-resistant techniques. Mandatory certification programs could transform this situation, but they require political courage and investment. Equally troubling is our cultural acceptance of “random starts”—construction projects begun without professional input. This dangerous practice must be replaced with a system where no structure rises without proper engineering oversight.
Inside our homes and offices, hidden dangers wait in plain sight. Decorative false ceilings become deadly projectiles during quakes. Large glass windows transform into flying shrapnel. Wall-mounted shelves heavy with books or traditional Korphu utensils turn into falling hazards. The solutions—lightweight alternatives, tempered glass, secured storage—are well-documented but rarely implemented. This gap between knowledge and action will be measured in lives lost when the next big quake strikes.
Government action is needed at every level. Mobile construction clinics could bring expert advice to remote areas. Subsidized retrofitting programs could strengthen existing vulnerable structures. Community workshops could teach life-saving preparedness techniques. But awareness alone is insufficient—we need rigorous enforcement. Mandatory seismic audits for public buildings, strict penalties for illegal construction, and regular disaster drills must become non-negotiable elements of urban governance.
The 2016 earthquake was a warning we largely slept through. The 2025 tremor was nature’s more violent wake-up call. There will not be another alert—the next major seismic event will be the real test, and our performance will be judged in lives lost rather than buildings damaged. Seismologists are unani- mous—the question is not if a major quake will strike near Imphal, but when. When it does, will we be the generation that acted or the one that failed its most fundamental duty to protect its people ?
The ground beneath us will move—this is geological fact. What we build upon that shifting foundation is entirely our choice. Right now, we are choosing vulnerability over resilience, risk over precaution, and in too many cases, potential tragedy over certain safety. This does not have to be our legacy. We can choose instead to build wisely, prepare thoroughly, and give future generations a fighting chance against the seismic forces that define our land.
Time is the one commodity we cannot replenish. The next major earthquake could come tomorrow, next year, or in a decade—but it will come. When it does, the quality of our preparation will determine whether Manipur is remembered for its foresight or its failure. The answer lies in the decisions we make today—on construction sites, in Government offices, and in our own homes. Our collective survival may well depend on these choices, for the earth’s patience is not infinite, and our window to act grows narrower with each passing day. The clock is ticking, and the ground is stirring—will we be ready when it finally erupts beneath our feet?
The writer is Coordinator, Disaster Management Cell, Assistant Professor, Department of Civil Engineering, Manipur Technical University
The earth beneath Manipur is not as solid as it appears. It is a restless, shifting force that has shaped our landscape and history through violent tremors and devastating quakes. The recent 7.7 magnitude earthquake that struck Myanmar on March 28, 2025, while centered 400 kilometers from Imphal, was not just another tremor—it was nature’s latest warning to a region living on borrowed time. The terrifying truth we must face is this : had the epicenter been just 200 kilometers closer, our capital city might now be a graveyard of collapsed buildings and broken lives. The numbers tell a story we cannot ignore—the energy released in that single seismic event could have powered all of Manipur for 264 days, while the 2016 quake’s energy output could have met our power needs for over eight days. These are not abstract statistics; they are measurements of destruction that our fragile buildings are completely unprepared to withstand.
Manipur sits among the world’s most dangerous earthquake zones, sharing its Zone-V classification with only five other global seismic hotspots: Mexico, Taiwan, California, Japan, and Turkey. While these Nations have learned to build and prepare for the inevitable, we continue to ignore the lessons written in rubble across seismic history. Our region’s violent past speaks through the numbers—more than 3,000 recorded earthquakes within 500 kilometers since 1905, including fifteen catastrophic events above magnitude 7. The 1950 Assam earthquake, a terrifying 8.6 magnitude event, struck just 470 kilometers from Kangla, while 60 earthquakes above magnitude 6 have shaken our immediate vicinity. The proposed upgrade to Zone-VI in the draft IS-1893:2023 should have sent shockwaves through our construction practices, yet life goes on as usual, with new buildings being erected with the same fatal flaws as the old ones.
The structural vulnerability of Imphal is nothing short of alarming. Approximately 90% of our buildings—including the schools where our children learn, the hospitals where lives are saved, and the Government offices that coordinate emergency responses—would likely collapse in a major quake. Many of these structures were never designed for their current use, having been carelessly converted from residential or commercial buildings without proper reinforcement. We have, in effect, turned our most vulnerable citizens—schoolchildren sitting in poorly constructed classrooms, patients recovering in unstable hospital wards, the elderly resting in fragile homes—into unwilling participants in a deadly gamble with nature. The 2016 earthquake was merely a preview of what is to come; the main event still looms on the horizon, and our current state of unpreparedness borders on collective negligence.
Our vulnerability is not the result of ignorance but of deliberate inaction. Across Manipur, buildings continue to rise without soil testing, without proper engineering oversight, without even the most basic earthquake-resistant techniques. We have normalized construction practices that would be considered criminal negligence in other seismic zones. Structural engineers warn that in a major quake, weak foundations will give way, substandard materials will crumble, and the very institutions meant to be safe havens will become tombs. Even if some structures miraculously remain standing, Imphal’s congested lanes and chaotic urban planning will create secondary disasters—blocking emergency vehicles, trapping survivors under debris, and turning what could be rescue operations into grim recovery missions.
The path to resilience requires nothing short of a revolution in how we build and prepare. Earthquake-resistant construction must become non-negotiable, with low-rise buildings of one or two stories being the standard when properly reinforced. Every construction project, from a roadside tea shop to a Government complex, must involve qualified engineers who understand how to make structures move with seismic forces rather than collapse against them. Soil testing should be as fundamental to construction as laying foundations, with mandatory testing protocols that account for our region’s unpredictable geology. Our architectural tastes must evolve—those ornate facades and cantilevered balconies we admire today could become instruments of death tomorrow when the ground begins to shake.
Material choices carry life-or-death consequences in seismic zones. The traditional brick and concrete construction we’ve relied on for generations becomes dangerously heavy during quakes. Modern alternatives like hollow concrete blocks, fiber composites, and steel frames offer superior performance, yet their adoption remains painfully slow. We need only look to Japan to see how proper engineering and material selection can turn potential disasters into survivable events. Their buildings are designed to dance with earthquakes; ours are destined to die in them.
The human element of this crisis demands immediate attention. Our construction workforce—the hands that shape our vulnerable skyline—often lacks formal training in seismic-resistant techniques. Mandatory certification programs could transform this situation, but they require political courage and investment. Equally troubling is our cultural acceptance of “random starts”—construction projects begun without professional input. This dangerous practice must be replaced with a system where no structure rises without proper engineering oversight.
Inside our homes and offices, hidden dangers wait in plain sight. Decorative false ceilings become deadly projectiles during quakes. Large glass windows transform into flying shrapnel. Wall-mounted shelves heavy with books or traditional Korphu utensils turn into falling hazards. The solutions—lightweight alternatives, tempered glass, secured storage—are well-documented but rarely implemented. This gap between knowledge and action will be measured in lives lost when the next big quake strikes.
Government action is needed at every level. Mobile construction clinics could bring expert advice to remote areas. Subsidized retrofitting programs could strengthen existing vulnerable structures. Community workshops could teach life-saving preparedness techniques. But awareness alone is insufficient—we need rigorous enforcement. Mandatory seismic audits for public buildings, strict penalties for illegal construction, and regular disaster drills must become non-negotiable elements of urban governance.
The 2016 earthquake was a warning we largely slept through. The 2025 tremor was nature’s more violent wake-up call. There will not be another alert—the next major seismic event will be the real test, and our performance will be judged in lives lost rather than buildings damaged. Seismologists are unani- mous—the question is not if a major quake will strike near Imphal, but when. When it does, will we be the generation that acted or the one that failed its most fundamental duty to protect its people ?
The ground beneath us will move—this is geological fact. What we build upon that shifting foundation is entirely our choice. Right now, we are choosing vulnerability over resilience, risk over precaution, and in too many cases, potential tragedy over certain safety. This does not have to be our legacy. We can choose instead to build wisely, prepare thoroughly, and give future generations a fighting chance against the seismic forces that define our land.
Time is the one commodity we cannot replenish. The next major earthquake could come tomorrow, next year, or in a decade—but it will come. When it does, the quality of our preparation will determine whether Manipur is remembered for its foresight or its failure. The answer lies in the decisions we make today—on construction sites, in Government offices, and in our own homes. Our collective survival may well depend on these choices, for the earth’s patience is not infinite, and our window to act grows narrower with each passing day. The clock is ticking, and the ground is stirring—will we be ready when it finally erupts beneath our feet?
The writer is Coordinator, Disaster Management Cell, Assistant Professor, Department of Civil Engineering, Manipur Technical University