Understanding ourselves to protect our future – Yes, we need to better understand our evolutionary programming and accordingly act to overcome the inherent hurdles.

We are fortunate to live amidst the breathtaking beauty and spiritual serenity of the Himalayas. Our lives and livelihoods are deeply connected to these mountains, their forests, and rivers, and together these have shaped the traditions of its people. We have thus to understand ourselves and our traditions to protect ourselves and our future.

Living amidst majestic Himalayas however also bestows upon us the responsibility of understanding and respecting nature’s immense power.

You and I, we regularly witness the monsoon‘s fury bringing landslides, the sudden terrifying rush of flash floods down the narrow valleys and the unsettling tremors of the earth, together with the challenges of heavy winter snows.

These are not distant news stories; these are part of the reality of the communities across the Himalayan region.

Given these clear risks, it’s puzzling and concerning when disasters strike and cause widespread losses. It’s easy to fall into the trap of blaming those affected, suggesting they were careless or ignored warnings.

But this “Blame the Victim” thinking is often unfair and prevents us from exploring the real, and more complex reasons behind vulnerability.

The truth lies deeper, woven into the very fabric of how human beings think and feel – patterns shaped over thousands of years – and sometimes connected to how our history in these mountains is recorded and remembered.

If we truly want to build a safer future – protect our future, we first need to understand ourselves.

Our Hopeful Minds

Humans are generally hopeful creatures. We tend to look on the brighter side, and that includes believing we might be luckier than others when it comes to risks.

This “Optimism Bias” is a natural part of being human.

Think about it: Our ancestors needed optimism to explore new lands, try new farming methods, or even just venture out each day facing unknown dangers.

Without hope and a belief in positive outcomes, progress would stall.

Without this optimism our ancestors, equally unspecialised like us, would have never left the safety of trees and descended to the ground that was full of predators.

In the mountains  this plays out in many ways. Someone whose family has lived on a particular slope for generations might routinely see landslides happen further up or down the valley, but still feel their specific location as being somehow protected or blessed.

“It hasn’t moved a bit in 50 years, why should it now?” is a common thought.

We might see cracks developing on a nearby hillside, but convince ourselves that our section is built on stronger and stable rock mass.

After a major flood devastates one river valley, communities living in nearby valleys might feel relief mixed with a sense that “lightning won’t strike twice” or that the conditions were unique to that specific valley.

It’s also easy to get used to routine and not so threatening warnings – minor cracks, small stones falling frequently. Because nothing major happens immediately, our vigilance drops, and we start underestimating the possibility of a sudden, large event. This is what caused massive losses in  Malpa landslide of 1998.

But then, this isn’t ignorance – it’s our optimistic brain trying to help us feel safe in a place we call home.

When the Memory of Fear Loses its Power 

Believe it or not, but our minds have a remarkable ability to heal from bad experiences.

You might well have experienced the sharp sting of fear, grief, or panic we feel during a traumatic event  fading naturally over time. In reality we don’t forget the incidence or what had happened, but the emotional intensity attached to it reduces with the passage of time.

Psychologists call this the “Fading Affect Bias.”

It’s like our brain turns down the volume on bad memories so as to help us cope, recover, and carry on with life without being paralysed by the horrors of past incidences.

Really speaking, it’s essential for our mental health and resilience.

Think back to the aftermath of a major disaster, like the 2013 Kedarnath floods or 2023 Joshimath  ground subsidence or a significant local landslide.

Immediately afterwards, the fear is palpable, and the resolve to be safer is strong. But as weeks turn into months, and months into years, that intense feeling fades.

Life’s immediate pressures – earning a living, farming the land, rebuilding a home, children’s education – take over.

The practical ground realities to live often means returning to areas that might still be risky, because safe land is scarce or livelihoods are tied to the risky place.

The memory of the event is still there, but it doesn’t trigger the same urgent alarm bells.

This makes it harder to maintain focus on long-term preparedness or push for costly safety measures when the feeling of imminent danger has subsided.

Whispers from the Past

India has an incredibly rich and ancient civilization, gifting the world immense knowledge in philosophy, science, astronomy, mathematics, medicine, arts, and spirituality.

Our traditions however didn’t always emphasize keeping detailed, continuous written records of every single event, especially natural disasters happening centuries ago.

While epics, religious texts, and philosophical treatises were meticulously preserved, chronicles listing specific dates, locations, and impacts of floods, earthquakes, or landslides over very long periods are often less common compared to some other cultures, like China‘s earthquake records.

This historical context matters immensely. Oral traditions passed down through generations might speak of “a great flood long ago” or “a time the earth shook violently,” but specific details crucial for scientific understanding; like exact timing or extent, might be lost.

Official records might only be reliable for the last century or so.

This lack of deep, documented history creates a false sense of security.

If there’s no easily accessible record of major disasters striking a particular area for the last 200-300 years, it’s natural for people to assume that it’s relatively safe.

This affects modern planning too. Building safe roads, dams, or towns requires knowing how often big earthquakes or floods might hit – what scientists call “return periods.”

Without deep historical data, these estimations can be inaccurate, potentially underestimating the true long-term risk.

We sometimes only learn the true risk level after a major event occurs, forcing urgent revisions of safety maps and building codes, as happened after the Bhuj earthquake and has influenced thinking in our seismically active Himalayan region too.

Key to Safety

Putting it all together – our hopeful nature, our fading memory of fear, and the gaps in our long-term historical records – reveals a crucial insight.

Our minds have been  shaped by evolution to deal with immediate problems and recover from shocks, and aren’t hard wired for the kind of constant vigilance and proactive planning needed for rare but catastrophic disasters.

These very human traits become hurdles when we try to build a culture of long-term safety and preparedness.

Hope and Action 

Recognising these challenges isn’t however a cause for despair.

It’s the necessary first step towards finding solutions that work.

And we know significant change is possible because we’ve seen it happen in our own lifetimes in India.

Changing Habits

Think about the nationwide shift towards smaller families over the last few decades, driven by sustained awareness campaigns that changed deeply held social norms.

Or consider how everyday practices around food preparation and eating have evolved, showing that even fundamental social customs can adapt.

These examples prove that dedicated, long-term efforts focused on awareness, providing alternatives, and understanding people’s perspectives can lead to real behavioral change.

Towards a New Strategy for Himalayan Safety

This understanding demands a shift in how we approach Disaster Risk Reduction (DRR).

Simply providing scientific data or issuing warnings isn’t enough.

We need smarter, more empathetic, and more persistent strategies that revolve round the following:

Listen First, Plan Later

Truly understand the daily realities, economic pressures, and traditional knowledge of mountain communities.

Safety plans must be practical and integrated with local life, not just imposed from outside.

Communicate Wisely

Talk about risks in ways that connect personally.

Use local languages, tell stories of resilience and preparedness from nearby areas, use simple visuals, and involve trusted local figures – elders, teachers, religious leaders.

Acknowledge the optimism bias and find ways to make future risks feel more concrete and immediate by indulging in community risk mapping exercises, where people identify risks around their own homes.

Keep Memories Alive, Respectfully

Help communities remember past events and lessons learned without re-traumatizing them.

This could be through local story-telling projects, simple memorials, community discussions, or regular, practical safety drills that build “muscle memory” for preparedness.

Value All Knowledge

Combine modern science; like geological studies to uncover past events where records are missing, with the invaluable traditional knowledge of people who have lived in these mountains for generations.

Commit for the Long Haul

Building a safety culture takes years, even decades.

It requires continuous effort – regular awareness programs, ongoing community dialogue, incremental improvements in safety practices – not just a flurry of activity after a disaster.

Conclusion: Our Shared Responsibility

Living in the Himalayas gifts us with immense beauty but also demands responsibility.

Our human nature presents challenges to staying prepared for disasters.

But by understanding these challenges – our biases, our memory, our history – and by drawing inspiration from our own capacity for change, we can forge a new path.

Let’s move beyond simply blaming victims or relying on old methods.

Let’s invest patiently and persistently in awareness, community engagement, and solutions that respect both science and local realities. Working together, we can cultivate a culture of safety and ensure a more resilient future for ourselves and generations to come in these magnificent mountains.