Chipursan quake: manufactured resilience, real abandonment

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by Sultan Ahmed

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As the winter chill settles over the high-mountains of the Pamirian Knot, a quiet yet devastating humanitarian crisis is unfolding in the Hunza District’s Chipursan Valley, bordering the Wakhan Corridor.

Since October 2025, the strategically important Valley has been haunted by unexplained subterranean tremors, culminating in a powerful earthquake on January 19, 2026 and a series of aftershocks. Hundreds of families have since been forced out of their ancestral homes. By day, they struggle to tend their herds and salvage the remnants of their lives; by night, they huddle in makeshift tents enduring sub-zero temperatures with little protection and fading hope.

When resilience replaces responsibility

While the world often romanticises the “resilience” of indigenous mountain communities, treating it as an admirable and almost limitless trait. The term ‘resilience’ in fact masks the need for the marginalised people to endure exploitation and adapt to precarious conditions, rather than challenging the exploitative system and state apathy.

The unfolding crisis in Chipursan exposes a far more troubling reality: ‘resilience’ is neither infinite resource, nor neutral. It is increasingly used by authorities as a convenient shield to deflect responsibilities and accountability.

In disaster discourse, resilience is often celebrated as the capacity of people to “bounce back.” In Chipursan, however, the overemphasis on resilience has become a double-edged sword. When institutional actors take people’s endurance for granted, resilience turns into a silent expectation rather than a supported capacity. The result is a pressure-cooker environment where endurance is demanded but assistance remains absent.

By assuming that affected people will simply find a way to survive, adapt and endure, institutions create a dangerous vacuum of responsibility. In this framing, “resilience” becomes an excuse for inaction rather than a pathway to justice. Yet resilience has limits, and once those limits are crossed, it produces harm instead of empowerment.

When a father is forced to choose between sheltering his family in a freezing tent or returning to a cracked and unstable home, what is praised as “resilience” is in fact the absence of alternatives. It is not strength freely exercised, but endurance imposed by systemic callousness and state apathy. To continue celebrating such endurance is to normalise neglect.

Indigenous fortitude must no longer be weaponised to justify institutional silence or withdrawal by state authorities. Strength should never substitute for rights, protection or state obligation. Recognition without responsibility is not respect, it is abandonment.

From ‘natural’ disaster to risk creation

The January 19 quake is not merely a story of a natural disaster. This is a classic case of disaster risk creation. Vulnerability is rarely an inherent trait of a people; rather, it is the outcome of historical systemic negligence and the absence of mitigation strategies—a hallmark of Pakistan and its administered Gilgit-Baltistan region. The fact that three villages — Zoowud Khoon, Shetmerg and Ispange — were nearly levelled, while others remain in a precarious state of partial damage, is not just a geological accident; it is the result of being stuck in a “response-only” mindset, one that intervenes too late and withdraws too early. While the global community moves toward proactive risk reduction, Chipursan remains trapped in a half-hearted reactive cycle.

The urgent need is to challenge the framing of this crisis as a purely “natural” disaster. The seismic tremors and unusual underground movements were reported as early as October 2025. Yet, the absence of an early warning system and an effective preparedness or mitigation strategy meant that when the January 19 quake struck, with its epicenter lying at the very edge of the valley, the community was left in a state of awe, exposed and vulnerable.

The shadow of bureaucracy

The recent assessments by the Gilgit-Baltistan Disaster Management Authority (GBDMA) have only deepened the sense of deprivation. By under-reporting damages and narrowing the “calamity-hit” zone, the state has demonstrated its traditional lack of seriousness and callousness.

To regain the trust of the local people, public institutions must move beyond the typical “bureaucratic approach.” True disaster management requires empathy and a presence that reflects the reality on the ground. When the state underestimates a disaster, it doesn’t just save money, it loses the trust of its citizens–the most valuable asset in any crisis.

A global solidarity

Despite the institutional failures, a remarkable story of solidarity is being written by the Wakhi people globally, as well as other communities of Gilgit-Baltistan. From student-led campaigns in Lahore to diaspora organisations like ASWED and GECA in Karachi and Islamabad, the community is mobilising.

I was recently moved by a video message from Wakhi youth in Afghanistan. Despite their own dire economic crisis and the looming threat of forced religious conversions under the current regime, they reached out via social media just to offer their prayers. This digital and physical network is a practical demonstration of indigenous solidarity. But let this be clear: this solidarity should be viewed as an additional resource, not a replacement for state-led protection.

While much of the world has begun shifting toward proactive disaster risk reduction, Chipursan remains trapped in a reactive cycle of emergency response without long-term commitment. This cycle does not merely respond to crises; it actively reproduces them. Until this structural failure is acknowledged and addressed, resilience will continue to be demanded where responsibility should have been assumed.

The “unexplained tremors” in the mountains of the Pamirs are a warning. The people of Chipursan have shown they can survive the cold and the shocks, but they should not have to do it alone. It is time for a strategic shift, from admiring resilience to supporting it; and from bureaucratic distance to human-centred care.

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