Nepal’s disaster management system: A chronic liability
To put it bluntly, Nepal’s disaster management system is a chronic liability for the nation’s economy and development. Year after year, the same pattern repeats: infrastructure buckles under predictable monsoon pressure, commerce grinds to a halt and the government scrambles to provide the bare minimum response. From a commoner’s perspective, this is not just a humanitarian crisis; it’s a fundamental risk to growth, and public trust.
Let’s look at last week’s flood as a case study. Over 120 millimeters of rain in the Kathmandu valley, and what happens? The Bagmati river overflows, settlements get submerged and thousands of travelers get stuck. Major roads, the arteries of trade and mobility, are paralyzed. The cascading impact on businesses, logistics and supply chains is enormous. Missed deliveries, spoiled goods, delayed projects: these translate directly into lost revenue.
The government’s response? Only warnings and temporary road closures. That’s risk mitigation at its most reactive, not proactive. This signals a systemic weakness. If the capital city can’t guarantee basic resilience for its infrastructure, what does that say to entrepreneurs or multinationals considering Nepal as a regional hub? It’s not just embarrassing; it’s a red flag.
What’s truly troubling is that none of this was unforeseen. Meteorological departments both local and international had issued alerts. Risk maps were available. The knowledge was there, but execution was absent. In the private sector, such a disconnect between planning and action would be deemed operational failure. Heads would roll. In the government, it’s business as usual, and that’s a problem.
The root cause isn’t the rain or the rivers or even climate change in isolation; it’s governance. Subpar infrastructure isn’t a quirk of nature; it’s the result of weak regulations, poor enforcement and a culture of shortcuts. When roads collapse or bridges fail, it’s often because substandard materials were used, inspections were skipped or contracts were awarded based on connections rather than competency. This is inefficiency that costs lives but also eats into GDP.
Every broken bridge or flooded market is a direct hit not only to the public purse, but to the broader economy. Taxpayer money gets funneled into rebuilding the same structures year after year, a recurring expense with no strategic return. Meanwhile, the opportunity cost is massive: funds that could go into education, healthcare, technology or even modernizing infrastructure are instead funneled into endless repairs.
And the cycle is disturbingly predictable. Disaster strikes, there’s a flurry of aid, some short-term fixes, and then the urgency fades. Budgets shift elsewhere, reports are filed and forgotten, and nothing really changes before the next crisis. This isn’t just bureaucratic inertia; it’s a structural risk that anyone would flag immediately. You can’t build a future on such shaky ground.
As climate volatility makes weather patterns more extreme and unpredictable, designing for “average conditions” is a recipe for failure. For Nepal to position itself as a viable market, it must engineer infrastructure to withstand not just the probable, but the possible. This means higher upfront costs, yes, but also far greater long-term returns and resilience.
Unplanned construction along rivers and unstable slopes is no longer a public safety issue; it’s a long-term occupational risk. Relocation of vulnerable communities should be done with foresight and dignity, not as a panicked reaction when disaster hits. Every major development project must include a robust climate risk assessment as part of due diligence. To ignore this is, quite literally, to invite future losses.
Accountability remains the missing ingredient. Nepal’s disaster agencies are good at issuing warnings but poor at delivering results. Coordination is weak, resources are stretched and responsibility is diffuse. In the private sector, a failure to deliver on risk management would mean restructuring, tighter oversight and clear consequences. The public sector must adopt a similar approach if it wants to foster sustainable growth and protect both lives and livelihoods.
This endless loop of crisis and neglect is not just unsustainable; it’s a major drag on competitiveness. It normalizes inefficiency, stifles innovation and discourages the kind of long-term planning that underpins successful economies.
Why do the same roads collapse every year? Why does reconstruction always cost more than prevention?
These are some of the questions the government must address, without further delay.
Accepting this as normal guarantees the same losses, year after year. If Nepal wants to break the cycle, disaster management must become a strategic priority, not an afterthought. This means investing in maintenance, building up local response capabilities, keeping risk maps updated and ensuring seamless coordination between agencies.
Relief efforts can only do so much; they’re a band-aid on a festering wound. True preparedness, the kind that saves lives and preserves economic stability, starts long before the rain begins to fall. Every failed bridge, every flooded street, every preventable tragedy should be a catalyst for investigation and reform, not just another line item in next year’s budget. Nepal can no longer afford to treat disaster management as a seasonal inconvenience. It’s a catastrophic risk and the cost of inaction is mounting.
The author is an engineer and certified project management professional advocating for enhancing project management practices in Nepal
