What my family’s experience with earthquakes taught me about fear, faith, ethics and responsible technology
Disasters do not destroy only buildings, roads and livelihoods. They also disturb something less visible but equally important: our sense of certainty.
When the earth shakes, when a flood rises, when a landslide blocks a road, or when a community faces an unfamiliar danger, people suddenly discover how fragile their sense of control can be. They want to know what is happening, why it is happening, and what will happen next. When reliable answers are unavailable, fear searches for an explanation. Sometimes that explanation comes from science. Sometimes it comes from family experience, community knowledge or religion. Sometimes it comes from rumours. And sometimes, tragically, fear becomes an opportunity for someone else to make money or gain influence. This is the central concern that has stayed with me throughout my life:
When people are frightened, what is our ethical responsibility toward them?
Do we increase their fear? Do we give them unsupported certainty? Do we persuade them to spend money to protect themselves from something we cannot actually prevent? Or do we give them truth, compassion, practical knowledge and the means to protect themselves?
My own understanding of this question goes back across generations—to my mother's childhood during the great earthquake of 1934, to my family's experience of earthquake fear in B.S. 2018, and to what I personally witnessed in Kathmandu during the 2015 earthquake. Today, I see the same ethical question appearing in a new form through misinformation, artificial intelligence and economic insecurity. The technology has changed. The human vulnerability has not.
My Mother's First Lesson: A Disaster Should Bring Out Service
My mother, Heera Devi Yami, was about eleven or twelve years old when the great Bihar–Nepal earthquake struck on January 15, 1934. The earthquake was catastrophic. The United States Geological Survey records it as a magnitude 8.0 earthquake, and historical studies document widespread destruction in Nepal and northern India.
My mother's family was a large joint family involved in business in Lhasa trade. They had substantial resources and, as part of their social and community life, possessed a very large copper cooking vessel—a traditional Tibetan-style vessel used for preparing food for large numbers of people during feasts and community occasions. After the earthquake, the family used that resource to help serve people affected by the disaster. My mother was only a child, but she witnessed something that remained part of her moral inheritance. When people were suffering, the response was not to frighten them further. It was to feed them. The large copper vessel was not simply a household possession. In a time of crisis, it became a community resource. That memory is important to me because it represents one of the most basic forms of disaster ethics:
If you have something that can help people who are suffering, use it to help them.
Do not ask first how much you can gain. Do not make vulnerable people more frightened. Do not sell them protection. Give them whatever practical assistance you can. My mother's childhood experience taught her, through action rather than theory, that disaster should bring out solidarity.
B.S. 2018: When Fear Became a Marketplace
Another earthquake memory from my childhood has stayed with me throughout my life. In B.S. 2018, there was intense fear that a very powerful earthquake—described as a very high-Richter-scale earthquake—would strike Nepal and that large numbers of people would perish. I remember the atmosphere of fear. People did not simply discuss the possibility of an earthquake. Many believed that a catastrophic earthquake was imminent. And fear created a marketplace.
There were many rituals and pujas. People spent money. Offerings were made to pandits and religious practitioners in the hope that these actions would save them and their families.
My father, Dharma Ratna Yami, was completely opposed to this. He went around telling people that what was happening was wrong. He believed that people were being frightened and that their fear was being monetized. He was not saying that earthquakes were impossible. He was challenging the certainty of an unsupported prediction and the financial exploitation that, in his view, had grown around it. This distinction is important.
Faith and prayer can provide comfort. A religious ceremony can bring a community together. But my father's objection was to turning an unverified prediction into a source of fear and then persuading frightened people to spend money in order to obtain protection.
He saw this as a form of exploitation.
The fear became so intense that local communities and relatives came to our land and established tents. They intended to stay there for several weeks because they believed that remaining outside their houses would protect them from the predicted earthquake. I remember one night particularly clearly. Some people came to our house and spoke to my mother. Their message was essentially: "If you want to die, die. But at least save your seven children. Why do you want to kill them also?" My mother flatly refused. She tried to explain that she did not believe the prediction and that people were being driven by fear. She would not send her seven children to sleep in the tents simply because everyone around her was frightened. The people became angry. They called my parents mad. To them, refusing to participate in the collective fear was itself evidence that my parents were irrational. But my parents stood their ground. Looking back, what strikes me is the power of social fear. Once enough people believe something, the person who questions it can become the outsider. "Everyone else believes it." "Everyone else is doing it." "Surely they cannot all be wrong."
But numbers do not turn a prediction into evidence. And fear does not become truth simply because many people share it. My father's response was to question the claim. My mother's response was to protect her children from fear-driven decisions. That was one of the earliest lessons I learned about the difference between preparedness and panic.
Preparedness says:
"An earthquake is a real hazard. Let us make our buildings safer and prepare ourselves." Panic says: "Something terrible will definitely happen. We must do whatever someone tells us to do." Preparedness increases people's ability to act. Panic increases their dependence.
What Is the Difference Between Faith and Exploitation?
I want to make an important distinction. I do not believe that faith itself is the problem. People have always prayed during disasters. People pray because they are frightened. They pray because they are grieving. They pray because they want hope. They pray because religious traditions provide community, identity and emotional strength. There is value in compassion, prayer and solidarity.
The ethical boundary is crossed when an unsupported supernatural claim is presented as a factual guarantee of physical protection—and fear is then used to persuade vulnerable people to spend money. Imagine telling a frightened family: "A disaster is coming." Then: "I know how to protect you." And finally: "You must perform this special ritual or make this offering." The more frightened the family becomes, the more valuable the promised protection appears. That creates a dangerous cycle:
This is why the monetization of fear is an ethical issue. The question is not whether someone is religious. The question is whether someone's vulnerability is being used for financial gain, power or dependence.
2015: When I Saw Disaster and the Search for Meaning
The 2015 earthquake brought these questions back to me in a very personal way. I was in the core area of the Kathmandu Valley, where many old buildings were damaged or collapsed. I did not experience the earthquake as something I learned about later from newspapers or television. I saw the destruction. I saw the confusion. I saw people trying to understand what had happened. In courtyards and open spaces, religious people gathered to conduct rituals and pujas. People were frightened and grieving. And again I heard explanations that the disaster had occurred because God was angry.
I remember an older woman talking about the damaged temples. Some temples had developed cracks and some had suffered serious damage. She explained that the gods had protected the surrounding people by diverting the destructive force of the earthquake into the temples. In her understanding, the damage to the temples was evidence that the gods had absorbed or redirected the destruction.
I remember thinking about the contradiction.
If God was angry, why would the temples have to absorb the damage? And if the temples were damaged because the gods had diverted the earthquake away from the people, what exactly did that say about the nature of that protection? I do not tell this story to ridicule that woman. She was trying to make sense of something terrifying. That is precisely why the story matters.
Human beings have a deep need to make meaning out of suffering.
When we do not have an immediate scientific explanation, we often create one. A building falls. A temple cracks. A water tank falls. People naturally ask: "Why?" And when we do not know, we search for an explanation that makes emotional sense. But emotional meaning and physical causation are not necessarily the same thing.
The Physical Causes of Disaster Matter
I remember, in particular, the danger created by falling overhead water tanks. In the destruction around us, heavy objects and structural elements could become deadly. There is nothing supernatural about a heavy water tank falling. There are physical forces. There are questions of structural design, anchoring, construction quality, maintenance and location. Likewise, when an old building collapses, we should ask: Was it structurally sound? Was it designed for seismic forces? Was it maintained? Was it altered over time? Was construction carried out according to standards?
These are questions that can save lives.
Nepal has developed national seismic building standards and guidelines specifically for earthquake-resistant construction. The current government building-code resources include seismic design standards and guidelines for different forms of construction.
The government's building-code programme also emphasizes the importance of compliance, design checking, construction inspection, engineering supervision and quality control.
That is where disaster response should lead us. A collapsed building should make us improve construction. A fallen water tank should make us improve safety. A damaged historic structure should make us think about preservation and strengthening. A death should make us ask how another death can be prevented. A rumour should make us improve communication. A disaster should become a teacher.
Fear After the Disaster Can Become Another Disaster
The earthquake did not end when the ground stopped shaking. Fear continued. People searched for explanations. I remember hearing fears connected to other disasters, including the tsunami. Some people interpreted disasters as evidence that God was angry and feared that similar divine punishment could come to Nepal. This fear could then be connected to calls for more rituals, more pujas and more offerings. People were encouraged to spend money with religious practitioners so that such disasters would not happen to them or to Nepal. I remember this as part of the atmosphere of fear surrounding disaster. Again, my concern is not that people prayed. My concern is when fear becomes connected to a claim that spending money on a particular ritual will prevent a physical disaster. A frightened person is not always making a calm economic decision. They may be thinking: "What if it is true?" "What if I do not make the offering?" "What if something happens to my family?" Fear can make an uncertain promise appear worth any price. That is why I believe that creating fear and then monetizing it should be recognized as an ethical problem. When people are frightened, those who have influence have a greater responsibility—not a greater opportunity to exploit them.
Information Is Part of Disaster Response
One of the most important lessons from the 2015 earthquake was the importance of reliable information. After the earthquake, Internews launched Open Mic Nepal, a project to track rumours and provide verified information to affected communities. The project worked with journalists and community radio stations and specifically addressed rumours, questions and misinformation emerging from earthquake-affected communities. This matters because information itself can become a life-safety issue.
When people do not know what is happening, an information vacuum develops.
Into that vacuum can enter: rumours; exaggerated predictions; conspiracy theories; false warnings; fabricated explanations; and claims of supernatural certainty.
The United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction now explicitly describes harmful information as a disaster-risk concern because it can undermine protective action, disrupt response and erode trust.
This confirms something I learned from personal experience: Disaster preparedness must include information preparedness. People need trusted sources. They need timely communication. They need to know what is known and what is unknown. And they need the confidence to question frightening claims.
Fear Is Not Evidence
There are several distinctions that every citizen should learn.
Prediction is not evidence.
Confidence is not accuracy.
Repetition is not truth.
Coincidence is not causation.
A person can speak with absolute confidence and still be wrong.
A prediction can occasionally appear to come true by chance.
A person may remember the one prediction that seemed accurate and forget the many predictions that failed.
A ritual may make someone feel calmer without changing the physical hazard.
The emotional relief is real.
The claimed physical protection may not be.
This is why I believe we should teach people to ask four simple questions:
Who is making this claim?
What evidence supports it?
Can it be independently verified?
What practical action can I take to reduce the actual risk?
These questions are useful during earthquakes.
They are useful during epidemics.
They are useful during floods.
They are useful when someone forwards a frightening message on social media.
And they are increasingly important when the message may have been generated by artificial intelligence.
From Panic to Preparedness
We cannot prevent every earthquake.
We cannot prevent every flood or landslide.
But we can reduce vulnerability.
We can construct safer buildings.
We can enforce building standards.
We can secure heavy equipment.
We can prepare emergency supplies.
We can train first responders.
We can develop evacuation plans.
We can establish reliable warning systems.
We can teach first aid.
We can protect children, older people and people with disabilities.
We can provide accurate information in languages people understand.
And we can support communities after the immediate disaster has passed.
This is what real preparedness looks like.
Nepal's national building-code system already provides a technical foundation for seismic safety. The challenge is implementation: ensuring that design, construction, inspection and supervision actually follow the standards.
A ritual may give temporary emotional comfort.
A safe building gives physical protection.
A prayer may give courage.
An emergency plan gives people something to do.
Both emotional support and practical preparation have their place—but we should not confuse them.
Shaking
There is another dimension of disaster that deserves much greater attention: mental health.
A person may survive an earthquake but remain frightened whenever the ground moves.
Someone who loses a home may continue to feel insecure.
Someone who witnesses death may carry painful memories long after the rescue operation ends.
A community can rebuild its houses while people remain psychologically wounded.
Mental-health care therefore needs to be part of disaster preparedness and recovery.
At the same time, we must avoid another dangerous form of fear: the assumption that mental illness automatically means violence.
Mental illness should not be equated with violence.
People experiencing mental-health difficulties may themselves be vulnerable to neglect, abuse, discrimination and exploitation.
Where someone is experiencing a severe psychological crisis, Nepal needs humane, professional and rights-respecting services that can provide assessment, treatment and appropriate temporary protection when necessary.
Such services should focus on:
- psychiatric and psychological assessment;
- medical care;
- crisis intervention;
- substance-use treatment where clinically appropriate;
- trained crisis-response staff;
- temporary protected accommodation when necessary;
- family counseling;
- rehabilitation;
- risk assessment;
- and social reintegration.
The goal should not be to hide people.
The goal should be safety, treatment, dignity and recovery.
A New Source of Fear: Artificial Intelligence
Today, we are entering another period of uncertainty.
Artificial intelligence is changing how people work, learn and communicate.
People are asking:
"Will AI take my job?"
"Will my skills become obsolete?"
"How will young people find employment?"
"What happens to workers who cannot afford to retrain?"
These are legitimate concerns.
We should not dismiss them.
But we should also not allow fear about AI to become another marketplace of manipulation.
Some people may exaggerate the dangers of AI to attract attention.
Others may make unrealistic promises about getting rich through AI.
Still others may use AI to create misinformation, impersonate people, manipulate images and voices, or manufacture convincing stories at enormous scale.
This is why AI security and responsible AI must become part of public education.
UNESCO's global Recommendation on the Ethics of Artificial Intelligence emphasizes human dignity and human rights, safety and security, accountability, transparency, human oversight, and public awareness and AI literacy. It specifically recognizes the importance of media and information literacy and critical thinking in addressing misinformation and disinformation.
These principles are directly relevant to Nepal.
AI Security Is Also Citizen Security
When we hear the words AI security, we may immediately think about cybersecurity, data breaches, hacking or attacks on AI systems.
Those issues are important.
But AI security also has a human dimension.
What happens if people receive thousands of AI-generated messages claiming that a major earthquake is about to occur?
What happens if a fake video appears to show a government official ordering an evacuation?
What happens if an artificial voice imitates a trusted scientist or community leader?
What happens when false information is translated instantly into multiple local languages and distributed through social media?
What happens when an AI system gives a confident but incorrect answer about a medical emergency or disaster?
These are not only technical problems.
They are social, ethical and security problems.
Citizens therefore need to learn to ask:
Who created this information?
What is the source?
What evidence supports it?
Can I verify it independently?
Who benefits if I believe it?
Is this information trying to make me afraid?
Is someone trying to make money from that fear?
The ability to ask these questions is becoming a form of civic self-defense.
We Must Teach People to Think Alongside AI
AI literacy should not mean simply teaching people how to write prompts.
It should mean teaching people how to think alongside AI.
People should understand that AI can be useful but can also produce errors, misleading information and fabricated material.
Students should learn how to verify AI-generated information.
Teachers should learn how to use AI without surrendering their professional judgment.
Government officials should understand both the opportunities and risks of AI.
Journalists should be able to identify synthetic content.
Older citizens should not be left behind simply because technology changes quickly.
Rural communities should have access to AI literacy in languages they understand.
Workers whose jobs are changing should have opportunities for reskilling.
AI should expand human capability—not create a new class of people who are dependent on systems they cannot understand.
The goal should be:
AI as an assistant, not AI as an unquestioned authority.
Responsible AI Is an Ethical Responsibility
The same ethical principle that applies to disaster information applies to artificial intelligence:
Do not exploit vulnerability.
If someone is frightened, do not manufacture more fear for profit.
If someone does not understand technology, do not deliberately deceive them.
If people depend on your system for important decisions, do not hide its limitations.
If you develop a powerful technology, take responsibility for how it can be misused.
UNESCO's framework for ethical AI explicitly calls for safety and security, responsibility and accountability, transparency and explainability, human oversight, awareness and literacy, and fairness.
These are not abstract international principles.
They are practical requirements for protecting ordinary citizens.
The ethical question is always:
Who is vulnerable, who has power, and what responsibility does the powerful person or institution have toward the vulnerable person?
That question applies to a pandit speaking to a frightened family.
It applies to a politician addressing a population during an emergency.
It applies to a journalist reporting a disaster.
It applies to a technology company deploying an AI system.
It applies to a social-media platform distributing information.
The tools are different.
The ethical responsibility is remarkably similar.
Citizens Need Ethical Literacy, Not Only Technical Literacy
We teach children mathematics.
We teach them science.
We teach them computer skills.
We should also teach them ethical reasoning.
A citizen should understand:
- the difference between evidence and belief;
- the difference between uncertainty and certainty;
- the difference between coincidence and causation;
- the difference between information and misinformation;
- the difference between faith and exploitation;
- the difference between preparedness and panic;
- the difference between using AI and surrendering judgment to AI;
- and the difference between legitimate persuasion and manipulation.
This should begin in schools and continue throughout life.
Community organizations, universities, local governments, media organizations, professional bodies and religious institutions all have a role.
UNESCO's current work on media and information literacy in Nepal similarly emphasizes critical thinking, digital safety, information integrity and responsible participation in the digital environment.
This is exactly the direction we need.
The Ethics of Leadership During Fear
Leaders have an especially important responsibility during disasters.
When people are frightened, they are more likely to believe confident voices.
A responsible leader should therefore distinguish between:
what we know;
what we think;
what we do not know;
and
what we are doing to find out.
Saying "We do not know yet" is not weakness.
It is intellectual honesty.
A responsible leader does not manufacture certainty simply because people desperately want reassurance.
A responsible leader does not deliberately amplify fear to gain attention.
A responsible leader does not make people dependent on a single source of authority.
Instead, good leadership gives people the information and skills they need to make informed decisions themselves.
That is the opposite of exploitation.
The Same Lesson Runs Through Three Generations
When I look at the experiences that shaped my thinking, I see a thread running through three generations.
In 1934, my mother was a young girl when a devastating earthquake struck. Her family used its resources—including a large copper cooking vessel—to help feed earthquake victims.
Her lesson was about service.
In B.S. 2018, my father challenged a climate of earthquake fear and the spending and rituals associated with it. My mother refused to send her seven children into tents simply because frightened people believed an earthquake was coming.
Their lesson was about questioning fear and protecting independent judgment.
In 2015, I personally witnessed the destruction in the core Kathmandu Valley and saw people trying to explain the disaster through ideas of divine anger and supernatural protection.
My lesson was about the human need for meaning—and the danger of allowing that need to replace evidence.
Today, in the age of artificial intelligence, I see the same question returning in a new form.
Technology can now amplify information at extraordinary speed.
It can also amplify fear.
It can help us prepare for disasters.
It can also help someone manufacture misinformation.
It can support human decision-making.
It can also be used to manipulate human decisions.
Therefore, the central question remains unchanged:
What do we do with another person's fear?
A Disaster Is Also a Test of Character
A disaster is not only a test of buildings.
It is a test of institutions.
It is a test of communication.
It is a test of leadership.
And it is a test of character.
When people are frightened, do we help them?
Do we tell them the truth?
Do we admit what we do not know?
Do we give them practical ways to protect themselves?
Do we feed them?
Do we rescue them?
Do we listen to them?
Do we help them recover?
Or do we frighten them further?
Do we sell them protection?
Do we create dependency?
Do we use their vulnerability to gain money or influence?
That is the ethical choice.
A resilient society should leave people more capable after a crisis, not more dependent.
What Should We Teach Our Children?
Perhaps the most important disaster-preparedness lesson is not an emergency kit.
It is a habit of thinking.
We should teach children to ask:
How do we know this?
What is the evidence?
Who is a trustworthy source?
What can I do to reduce the risk?
These questions are useful during an earthquake.
They are useful when someone sends a frightening message.
They are useful when someone predicts a disaster.
They are useful when a miracle cure is advertised.
They are useful when a politician makes an alarming claim.
They are useful when artificial intelligence produces an impressive-looking answer.
They are useful whenever someone says:
"Trust me. I know what will happen."
Critical thinking is not disrespect.
Questioning is not disobedience.
Asking for evidence is not a rejection of culture.
It is a form of self-protection.
What We Should Build Instead
If we genuinely want a resilient Nepal, we need to build systems that reduce people's vulnerability to both physical and informational disasters.
We need safer buildings.
We need stronger enforcement of building standards.
We need trained emergency responders.
We need reliable early-warning systems.
We need trusted community communication.
We need disaster information in local languages.
We need mental-health services.
We need protection against financial exploitation.
We need media and information literacy.
We need AI literacy.
We need AI security.
We need responsible AI governance.
We need opportunities for workers to reskill.
We need to make sure rural communities and older generations are not excluded from technological change.
And we need citizens who understand that they have both rights and responsibilities in an information society.
Citizens have the right to accurate information.
They have the right to question claims.
They have the right to know how their data is used.
But they also have a responsibility not to forward unverified information simply because it is frightening.
They have a responsibility not to turn another person's fear into a rumour.
They have a responsibility not to exploit vulnerability.
That is ethical citizenship.
From Fear to Preparedness
My mother's generation responded to disaster with a large copper vessel and food.
My father's response to fear was questioning.
My mother's response to the frightened people around our home was courage.
My own experience in 2015 taught me how quickly people search for explanations when their world is suddenly shaken.
Today, we have far more powerful tools than my parents had.
We have engineering.
We have seismology.
We have telecommunications.
We have satellites.
We have modern emergency systems.
We have digital networks.
And we have artificial intelligence.
But technology alone will not make us safe.
The most important question is still an ethical one:
How will we use our knowledge and power when another human being is vulnerable?
Will we use it to frighten?
Will we use it to profit?
Will we use it to create dependence?
Or will we use it to empower?
That choice belongs to all of us.
Fear Should Become Preparedness—not Profit
A disaster is already cruel enough.
People lose homes.
Families lose loved ones.
Communities lose livelihoods.
Children become frightened.
Older people become vulnerable.
Workers lose income.
The last thing vulnerable people need is someone turning their fear into a marketplace.
My mother saw disaster and learned to serve.
My father saw fear and learned to question.
I saw destruction and learned how urgently people need both compassion and truth.
These lessons remain relevant today.
Let people pray if prayer gives them strength.
Let communities preserve their traditions.
Let spiritual leaders provide comfort and solidarity.
But when decisions concern physical safety, let evidence guide us.
Strengthen the building.
Secure the water tank.
Prepare the emergency supplies.
Train the rescuers.
Protect the vulnerable.
Verify the information.
Listen to frightened people.
Support those experiencing trauma.
Teach citizens to recognize misinformation.
Teach young people to think critically.
Give workers opportunities to reskill.
Teach communities about AI security.
Promote responsible AI.
Make technology serve people rather than make people dependent on technology.
And never use another person's vulnerability as an opportunity for exploitation.
We cannot always prevent the earthquake.
We cannot always prevent the flood.
We cannot always predict what technology will change.
But we can decide how we respond.
We can choose evidence over unsupported certainty.
We can choose preparedness over panic.
We can choose compassion over exploitation.
We can choose service over profit from suffering.
And we can choose ethical technology over technology without responsibility.
Fear is human.
Exploiting fear is a choice.
Let fear become preparedness—not profit.