In the early hours of the morning, before sunrise could stretch across the skies of Myanmar, the earth convulsed beneath the feet of its people. A major earthquake rocked central regions including Sagaing and Kachin, areas already scarred by years of civil war. As dust and screams filled the air, homes reduced to rubble, and families dug frantically for loved ones, another horror unfolded—this time not born of nature, but of power.
Amid the cries of the injured and the mourning of the bereaved, the roar of helicopter blades and the whistle of bombs fell upon towns and villages. Myanmar’s military junta, instead of responding with aid, chose aggression. Fighter jets and helicopters—some reportedly Russian- and Chinese-made—pounded territories known for harboring resistance forces. These strikes did not discriminate; they slammed into schools, monasteries, and homes alike. The quake may have shattered buildings, but it was the junta’s air raids that shattered hope.
The cruelty was not new. But the timing—immediately after a natural catastrophe—exposed, yet again, the junta’s ruthless priorities: absolute control, no matter the cost.
Earthquakes and Airstrikes: A Deadly Combination
For many in Myanmar, the earthquake was not just a test of nature’s fury, but a reminder of the fragility of life under authoritarian rule. Natural disasters often unite nations—rescue efforts, international aid, and national mourning transcend political divisions. But in Myanmar, such unity is a fantasy.
Within hours of the earthquake, the National Unity Government (NUG)—Myanmar’s shadow administration formed after the military coup in 2021—began reporting aerial bombardments near the quake’s epicenter. These were not isolated incidents. Villages that had once enjoyed a moment of reprieve from direct military confrontations found themselves under attack again, their ruins targeted even before the dust of the quake had settled.
In Sagaing, a known rebel stronghold and heavily populated by civilians, witnesses described scenes where the sound of collapsing roofs from the earthquake was quickly followed by explosions from above. Locals dug out survivors by hand, only to be scattered by gunfire and rockets from low-flying aircraft. Entire families vanished under the dual assault of nature and militarism.
The question quickly surfaced: Why strike now? The timing points not to a strategic military necessity but to a deliberate show of dominance. The junta sought to prove that not even natural disasters would pause its campaign against opposition-held regions. In the eyes of military leadership, chaos is not a deterrent—it is an opportunity.
Imported Power: The Role of Foreign Military Equipment
The junta’s ability to maintain and escalate such operations amid widespread devastation relies heavily on foreign military partnerships. Russian-supplied helicopters and Chinese fighter aircraft were reportedly used in the aerial assaults following the earthquake. This isn’t conjecture—it’s part of a long, traceable pattern of armament imports from these countries, who view Myanmar as both a customer and a strategic ally.
Russia, locked in its own geopolitical tensions, has deepened military ties with Myanmar since the 2021 coup. In return, the junta provides a lucrative arms market and a political ally in Southeast Asia. Chinese support, while more reserved publicly, is no less significant. Myanmar offers China a vital buffer zone, access to the Indian Ocean via the China-Myanmar Economic Corridor, and leverage against Western influence in the region.
The irony is grotesque: while families in Myanmar flee falling debris and dig for their children under collapsed homes, the aircraft circling above them were sold with the ink of international diplomacy. This complicity is not merely transactional—it is geopolitical.
Information Blackouts and the Fog of Disaster
Myanmar’s information landscape is now a patchwork of silenced voices and scattered fragments. In the aftermath of the earthquake, communication networks in affected regions collapsed—either due to infrastructure damage or deliberate suppression by the military. Roads crumbled or were rendered impassable. Villages lay cut off, with no internet, no mobile signals, and no way to call for help.
This blackout is more than a logistical hurdle—it’s a strategic advantage for the junta. By controlling the flow of information, they obscure the scale of their military strikes, silence reports of civilian casualties, and manipulate narratives about the quake’s aftermath.
Local journalists, activists, and humanitarian workers risk arrest or worse just to transmit photos or field reports. Satellite images, grainy and delayed, become one of the few ways the international community gets glimpses into the destruction.
Meanwhile, survivors in rural areas wait. They wait for food, for water, for medicine—and for the world to notice.
Echoes from the Past: Cyclone Nargis and the Repetition of History
This is not the first time a natural disaster has revealed the junta’s disregard for human suffering. In 2008, Cyclone Nargis killed more than 130,000 people in the Irrawaddy Delta. The military regime at the time blocked international aid, fearing it would expose their incompetence or spark civil unrest.
Foreign ships carrying medicine and relief supplies were turned away. Aid workers were denied visas. Survivors begged for food while generals held banquets in Naypyidaw. Eventually, when aid was allowed, it was rerouted through military networks, used to buy loyalty or reward cronies.
Fast forward to 2025, and the pattern has returned. Only this time, the disaster is compounded by civil war. Once again, the regime responds to catastrophe not with empathy, but with cold calculation.
Follow the Money: The Misuse of International Aid
In recent days, multiple countries have pledged aid to Myanmar. The United States has allocated $2 million; the European Union, $2.5 million. But there’s a catch—all this aid must be funneled through the military-controlled agencies. There is no independent verification of where the money is going, no guarantees that food or medicine is reaching the people who need it most.
Ground reports from both journalists and local NGOs paint a bleak picture: not a single military-led search and rescue team has been seen in the worst-affected areas. No helicopters dropping supplies, no bulldozers clearing roads, no medical camps run by the regime. Instead, civilians form bucket chains to rescue those buried alive. Schoolteachers become medics. Monks convert temples into makeshift shelters.
There is real fear that foreign aid is being siphoned off for military use. Humanitarian dollars may be buying jet fuel. This is not mere corruption—it is a weaponization of compassion.
When the People Step In: Rebel-Led Relief Efforts
With the military absent or hostile, the burden of disaster response has fallen to an unlikely source: rebel groups. The People’s Defense Forces (PDF), along with ethnic militias like the Kachin Independence Army and the Karen National Liberation Army, have stepped into the vacuum.
These groups, once solely focused on resisting military rule, are now organizing search-and-rescue missions, establishing field hospitals, and distributing food. They operate under constant threat of airstrikes, with limited resources and no international recognition. Yet they are, in many areas, the only lifeline for civilians.
Their effectiveness raises critical questions about legitimacy and sovereignty. Who is the real government when one side bombs the dying and the other bandages the wounded?
The rebel-led relief efforts are not just acts of survival—they are declarations of authority, of moral leadership. And for the people trapped in the wreckage, it is the rebels—not the regime—who embody hope.
Resistance, Reimagined: The Civil War’s Evolving Frontlines
Myanmar’s civil conflict traces its most recent eruption to February 1, 2021, when the military annulled the results of democratic elections and arrested leaders including Nobel laureate Aung San Suu Kyi. Millions protested. Civil servants went on strike. Students, doctors, engineers, and artists joined in what became a nationwide uprising.
When protests were crushed with bullets, the resistance evolved. Young professionals fled to the jungle, joining forces with long-standing ethnic militias. They trained in guerrilla tactics, learned to build crude weapons, and transformed from demonstrators to insurgents.
This is no longer a simple political struggle—it is an intergenerational fight for identity, autonomy, and dignity. The earthquake has only deepened the divide, crystallizing the moral chasm between the junta and the people.
The Global Stage: Allies, Apologists, and Apathy
The junta remains diplomatically insulated by a small but powerful circle of allies. Russia provides arms and political cover. China offers economic deals and muted criticism. North Korea and Israel supply technical assistance, from surveillance systems to drones.
On the other side, the resistance receives occasional statements of support from the West but little material help. Sanctions are symbolic. Resolutions at the UN stall. Humanitarian aid is tied up in red tape and funneled through the very regime it’s meant to hold accountable.
Myanmar is rapidly becoming a geopolitical fault line—a place where global powers test the limits of their influence while civilians pay the price. As international media attention ebbs and flows, the people of Myanmar are left with the bitter knowledge that justice, like aid, is always delayed.
Living Through Layers of Trauma
For civilians in Myanmar, survival means navigating not just physical danger, but layers of psychological and emotional trauma. There is the trauma of the earthquake: the suddenness, the helplessness, the buried children. Then there is the trauma of war: the airstrikes, the disappearances, the constant fear.
Families grieve in silence, often unable to retrieve the bodies of loved ones due to continued bombing or blocked roads. Entire communities are now displaced, not by the quake alone, but by the junta’s insistence on turning disaster zones into battlegrounds.
Mental health is a luxury few can afford. Religious leaders and community elders try to provide comfort, but the scale of grief is overwhelming. Hope, however, is a stubborn thing—it lives in the actions of neighbors pulling each other from rubble, in rebels risking airstrikes to bring water, and in exiled doctors stitching wounds under candlelight.
The Moral Earthquake
The physical earthquake that shook Myanmar was a catastrophe. But the true devastation lies in the moral earthquake that followed. A government that bombs its own people in the wake of a natural disaster is not simply failing—it is forfeiting its claim to legitimacy.
The junta’s actions reveal a governing philosophy not of protection, but of domination. Their international allies must now decide whether they are complicit in this cruelty or willing to act. The world, too, faces a test: will it continue to turn away from Myanmar, or will it see in its tragedy a mirror of humanity’s worst and best instincts?
For Myanmar, recovery is not just about rebuilding homes—it is about reclaiming the right to live without fear. The battle is not over rubble, but over the very soul of a nation.