Tectonic Fury: Why Myanmar’s Earthquake Took So Many Lives

By IndraStra Global Editorial Team

Cover Image Attribute: The collapsed Maha Myat Muni Buddhist pagoda following an earthquake in Mandalay, Myanmar, on Friday (28 March 2025) / Source: EPA

On March 28, 2025, a devastating 7.7-magnitude earthquake struck central Myanmar, leaving a trail of destruction that has claimed over 1,600 lives and injured thousands more, with the toll expected to rise as rescue efforts continue. The epicenter, located near Mandalay, Myanmar’s second-largest city, unleashed a force so powerful that it flattened buildings, buckled roads, and sent shockwaves as far as Bangkok, Thailand, over 600 miles away, where a high-rise under construction collapsed, killing at least nine people. This seismic event, one of the most powerful to hit mainland Southeast Asia in over a century, has plunged an already struggling nation deeper into crisis, compounding the misery of a population ravaged by civil war and poverty. As rescuers dig through rubble with their bare hands and international aid begins to trickle in, the question looms: why did this earthquake happen, and why has it proven so deadly?
Myanmar sits at a geological crossroads, a region where the restless movements of the Earth’s tectonic plates converge with unrelenting force. The country straddles the boundary between the Indian Plate and the Eurasian Plate, with the smaller Burma microplate and Sunda Plate adding to the complexity of this tectonic tapestry. The Indian Plate, pushing northward at a rate of about four centimeters per year, is subducting beneath the Eurasian Plate along the Andaman and Nicobar Islands to the southwest, a process that has fueled some of the region’s most infamous seismic events, including the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami. Yet, the March 28 quake owes its origin not to subduction but to a different kind of tectonic dance: a strike-slip motion along the Sagaing Fault. This fault, a colossal fracture slicing through Myanmar from north to south for over 1,200 kilometers, is where two blocks of the Earth’s crust slide horizontally past each other. Early data suggests that this lateral movement triggered the earthquake, releasing energy that had been building up for decades, perhaps centuries, as the plates strained against one another. Seismologists describe the process as a slow accumulation of stress, like a coiled spring, until the rocks can no longer hold, snapping with a violence that ripples through the ground. At a shallow depth of just 10 kilometers, the quake’s energy had little distance to dissipate before reaching the surface, amplifying its destructive power.
The Sagaing Fault is no stranger to such events—Myanmar has experienced six quakes of magnitude 7 or higher between 1930 and 1956—but the infrequency of major temblors in recent decades may have lulled the region into a false sense of security. Geologist Jess Phoenix likened the force of this 7.7-magnitude event to “334 atomic bombs,” while James Jackson from the University of Cambridge noted that the rupture lasted a full minute, slicing through the Earth like a “great knife.” This prolonged shaking, combined with the shallow depth, ensured that the energy unleashed was felt with maximum intensity across a wide swath of central Myanmar, from Mandalay to the capital, Naypyitaw, and beyond. Aftershocks, including a 6.4-magnitude jolt just 12 minutes later and a 5.1-magnitude quake on March 30, further destabilized already weakened structures, complicating rescue efforts and adding to the chaos.
But tectonic forces alone don’t explain the staggering death toll and widespread devastation. Myanmar’s vulnerability lies as much in its human landscape as in its geological one. The country has undergone rapid urbanization in recent decades, with cities like Mandalay sprouting high-rise condos and gleaming skyscrapers at a breakneck pace. Yet, as Dr. Ian Watkinson of Royal Holloway University pointed out, few of these buildings were likely constructed to withstand earthquakes. Unlike regions like Japan or California, where strict seismic building codes are enforced, Myanmar’s infrastructure lacks the resilience needed to endure such shaking. Reinforced concrete towers, while symbols of progress, can become death traps when not designed with earthquakes in mind. The U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) highlighted another deadly factor: liquefaction, where intense shaking turns soil into a slurry, causing foundations to sink or collapse. In a nation already stretched thin by conflict, resources for retrofitting or enforcing seismic standards have been scarce, leaving millions exposed.
The timing of the quake—midday on a Friday—could hardly have been worse. In Mandalay, bustling markets and crowded mosques were full when the ground began to tremble. Reports indicate that at least 50 mosques collapsed during Friday prayers, killing nearly 300 worshippers, according to local outlet Khit Thit News. Hotels, universities, and hospitals crumbled, trapping countless people beneath debris. In Naypyitaw, the control tower at the international airport fell, killing all controllers inside, while in Bangkok, a building under construction near the popular Chatuchak market pancaked, leaving dozens missing. The shallow depth and high magnitude ensured that the shaking was not only violent but widespread, affecting nearly 800,000 people in the zone of most intense tremors, per USGS estimates. Preliminary models suggest the death toll could climb past 10,000, a grim projection that reflects both the quake’s power and the region’s fragility.
Myanmar’s ongoing civil war, pitting the military junta against pro-democracy fighters and ethnic rebel groups since the 2021 coup, has only magnified the disaster’s impact. Nearly 20 million people were already without adequate food or shelter before the quake struck, and the junta’s censorship has stifled communication from the hardest-hit areas. Damaged roads and downed power lines have slowed relief efforts, forcing survivors in Mandalay to search for loved ones with their bare hands. “There’s too much rubble, and no rescue teams have come for us,” one survivor told Reuters, a sentiment echoed across the region. The junta, which has lost swathes of territory to insurgents, made a rare plea for international aid, declaring a state of emergency across six regions. Yet, the country’s isolation—both self-imposed and due to global sanctions—has left its medical system and infrastructure in tatters, ill-equipped to handle a catastrophe of this scale. The National Unity Government, a shadow administration opposing the junta, called for cooperation in relief efforts and announced a two-week pause in offensive operations by its People’s Defence Force, a small gesture amid the overwhelming need.
Internationally, aid has begun to flow, albeit slowly. Both China and India dispatched a search-and-rescue team, while the European Union pledged 2.5 million euros and the United Nations allocated $5 million in emergency funds. South Korea, Malaysia, and Singapore have also offered support, but wrecked infrastructure and ongoing conflict hinder delivery. In Thailand, where 13 provinces felt the quake’s effects, a state of emergency was declared in Bangkok, and rescuers raced to free 80 people still trapped in the collapsed high-rise. The cultural toll is equally profound—Bagan’s ancient Buddhist temples, already damaged by a 2016 quake, face uncertain damage, threatening a UNESCO World Heritage site that once drew thousands of tourists.
So why was this earthquake so deadly? It’s a perfect storm of geological fury and human fragility. The 7.7-magnitude strike-slip along the Sagaing Fault unleashed a shallow, violent quake that shook a densely populated region unprepared for its force. Rapid, unregulated urbanization left buildings vulnerable, while poverty and war stripped away the means to mitigate or respond. The midday timing caught people in vulnerable places—prayer halls, markets, workplaces—while aftershocks prolonged the terror. Myanmar’s location on a tectonic powder keg ensured the event was inevitable; its socio-political state ensured it was catastrophic. As the world watches, the resilience of Myanmar’s people shines through the rubble, but the road to recovery will be long and fraught, a stark reminder of nature’s power and humanity’s limits.

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