After the devastating flash floods struck Nepal, many were surprised, even offended, when the Himalayan nation politely declined offers of international rescue assistance. For many, it appeared arrogant, but it wasn’t. It was a wise decision born of experience.
Nepal’s decision was shaped by the lessons of the 2015 earthquake. The tragedy triggered an extraordinary outpouring of global goodwill. Unfortunately, goodwill soon became a logistical burden and another disaster to manage.
Instead of concentrating solely on rescuing survivors, Nepali authorities found themselves coordinating 76 international urban search-and-rescue teams from 34 countries, besides foreign military and medical contingents.
Many rescuers were unfamiliar with the language, terrain and local systems. Soon the help became useless; worse, help itself ended up needing help. Precious manpower was diverted from saving victims to managing the international rescue workers instead.
We witnessed a similar lesson much closer home. In August 2014, a massive landslide buried the village of Malin near Pune. The rescue operation was hampered not only by relentless rain but by hundreds of well-meaning volunteers who headed to the village but then got stuck in the mud and needed rescuing themselves!
Then there was a ten-kilometre traffic jam caused by volunteers’ vehicles and because of this, ambulances struggled to move to the heart of the disaster site.
Compassion ended up causing congestion that severely hindered the rescue operation.
I encountered the same paradox while reporting on the Kodagu floods in 2018.
As I was covering the rescue operation, suddenly a truck arrived carrying nearly 500 kilograms of wheat flour donated by a private company. It was undoubtedly a generous gesture.
But the company that sent this atta did not stop to think and ask… do relief camps have the time, the utensils and the manpower to knead dough, roast it on pans and make chapatis?
Worse, this atta ended up taking precious godown space which could instead store water, fruits and medicines.
Similarly, there was also a rice problem. At Madapura camp, I met Kaveri, an estate worker. She had been cooking from 6 am till 11 pm every day for six days. Kaveri informed me they had a rice problem?! It seems they had too many varieties of rice!
She said two types of rice cannot be cooked together as each has its own water-to-rice ratio and cooking time. So they had to spend time assimilating similar varieties of rice and cook multiple batches of rice, which meant more time wasted.
This was the same complaint even in Suntikoppa Camp and finally the cooks from the camps requested the Kodagu Deputy Commissioner to send a message to all organisations to send only one type of rice!
In other camps, trucks arrived with items no one had requested and exhausted volunteers had to unload tonnes of supplies with nowhere to put them!
Some drivers, unable to locate relief centres, simply left the material by the roadside, causing traffic hindrance and litter.
This confusion happened because it was compassion without responsibility. It was chequebook charity. It was compassion which was self-serving, a donation for a ‘feel-good factor’.
This is why experienced relief agencies repeatedly advise that unless specific items have been requested, money is often the most effective donation.
It allows trained responders to purchase exactly what is needed, where it is needed and when it is needed.
Another recurring obstacle in India is the arrival of the white khadi brigade and now ‘Instagrammers’.
No sooner does disaster strike than politicians descend upon the scene. Officers, who should be coordinating rescue operations, suddenly find themselves coordinating photo opportunities.
The age of social media has created another challenge. Performative compassion.
Every disaster now not only attracts genuine volunteers but also smartphone volunteers eager to collect selfies, livestream relief work and post carefully curated acts of kindness.
Today, most young people seem compelled to attend everything, from café openings to disaster sites, not because they are needed or care but because they wish to be seen.
The line between volunteering and virtue- signalling has become increasingly blurred.
Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do after a disaster is resist the urge to rush in. Give professional responders time to assess the situation. Wait until they ask for volunteers. Donate what they need and not what makes us feel generous.
The fact remains that the measure of compassion is not how quickly we offer help but to ask ourselves whether our ‘blind’ help actually helps the victims or does it actually help us… to feel good and get more followers?
Also, not every crisis requires more hands. Sometimes, it simply requires fewer people getting in the way.
e-mail: vikram@starofmysore.com
This post was published on August 29, 2026 7:30 pm