Naypyitaw’s cracks: Can a damaged capital survive a failing regime?

Nearly two decades ago, on November 6, 2005, Myanmar’s then-dictator Than Shwe abruptly uprooted the country’s administrative capital, moving it from Yangon to Naypyitaw. As we approach the 20th anniversary of this perplexing decision, the impact of the recent devastating earthquake on the city casts a harsh light on its long-term viability and the regime’s inherent failures. When it was first unveiled, Naypyitaw became an instant symbol of the military’s grandiosity, isolation, and paranoia. Erected in the country’s desolate interior, its detachment from Yangon, Myanmar’s true hub of international engagement, and the rest of the nation was perfectly encapsulated by the infamous images of its deserted 20-lane highways. 20-lane highway that leads to the Parliament buildings in Naypyitaw (Min Min/Myanmar Now) The generals’ rationale for this costly relocation has always been shrouded in mystery. Was it, as some speculated, driven by Than Shwe’s desire to shun the international community—a theory supported by the fact that even now, most foreign embassies remain in Yangon? Or was it perhaps the regime’s fears of a US invasion that prompted it to move inland? The junta's official explanation—a desire for a geographically central capital to improve governance—now rings hollow in the face of recent events. The powerful earthquake that struck on March 28, centred just west of Mandalay in Sagaing Region, has not only ravaged communities but has also struck at the very foundation of the junta’s power. Despite being more than 150 miles south of the epicentre, Naypyitaw suffered extensive damage to critical infrastructure, including the Parliament building, numerous government offices, and residential areas, exposing the inherent vulnerability of this capital. The strategic wisdom of its location, supposedly chosen for security, now appears tragically flawed. Over the past two decades, Naypyitaw has functioned as a monument to the supposed stability of military rule. With its superficially “green” urban centre, it even aspires to represent the country’s potential for growth, despite decades of stagnation under successive dictatorships. Now, however, the cracks in its infrastructure mirror the deepening fissures within the junta itself. Junta generals inspect parliamentary buildings in Naypyitaw that were damaged by the March 28 earthquake. (CINCDS) While the world’s attention has rightly focused on the suffering in Mandalay, where the damage and casualties from the quake have been the greatest, the regime has deliberately downplayed the extent of the death and destruction in Naypyitaw. The truth, however, is seeping out. Significant structural damage has been confirmed at the Hluttaw (parliament building), the Presidential Office (the junta’s current seat of power), and key ministries—Defence, Home Affairs, Border Affairs, Foreign Affairs, Information, and Planning and Finance. Beyond administrative buildings, the earthquake has also reportedly impacted cultural cornerstones like the National Archives, the National Museum, and the National Library, as well as vital telecommunications infrastructure, including the National Cyber Security Centre. This disaster has starkly revealed Naypyitaw’s precarious position within the active Sagaing earthquake zone, a geological reality that poses an enduring threat to its stability. Failures of leadership Myanmar is no stranger to earth-shattering natural disasters. Cyclone Nargis, which struck in 2008 during Than Shwe’s brutal reign, exposed his regime’s callous indifference to its own people in the face of immense suffering. Seventeen years later, the Sagaing earthquake strikes a nation already reeling under the iron fist of a new junta led by Than Shwe’s successor, Min Aung Hlaing, who has spent the past four years trying to crush nationwide resistance to his rule. Both disasters occurred during periods of profound economic hardship and brutal military oppression, underscoring a consistent pattern of neglect and mismanagement. An aerial view of the damage caused by Cyclone Nargis in the Ayeyarwady delta region, along the shores of the Andaman Sea (United Nations) While the international community, particularly the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), responded with diplomatic overtures after the earthquake, it is crucial to recognise the fundamentally altered political landscape. The context of Cyclone Nargis and the Sagaing earthquake are vastly different; the latter unfolds against a backdrop of widespread popular resistance against an illegitimate regime. The swift response of ASEAN and neighbouring countries to the earthquake is commendable. However, the focus must remain on delivering aid to those who desperately need it, not on bolstering the damaged infrastructure of a failing military regime. Tellingly, despite the scale of the disaster, Min Aung Hlaing did not mobilise his forces for widespread rescue and relief efforts in the most affected areas of Mandalay and Sagaing. The junta’s response has been a predictable exercise in self-preservation. While Min Aung Hlaing made a swift appearance in Naypyitaw, state-controlled media amplified images of generals visiting affected areas—a chilling echo of the propaganda campaigns that followed Cyclone Nargis. This performative concern stands in stark contrast to their consistent failure to invest in genuine long-term disaster preparedness. Unlike responsible governments that train specialised teams and allocate emergency funds, the junta has remained woefully unprepared. The consequences of Min Aung Hlaing’s neglect are starkly evident in the aftermath of the Sagaing earthquake. After the 2021 military coup, Min Aung Hlaing diverted 400 billion kyat from a national reserve fund—originally established by the previous civilian government under Aung San Suu Kyi for natural disaster response—into a so-called “economic development” program. It also used some of the money to finance military-backed militia groups fighting resistance forces. The earthquake serves as yet another reminder that the junta’s sole priority is maintaining its grip on power, even at the expense of the safety and well-being of millions of war- and disaster-affected civilians. The extensive damage to Naypyitaw’s infrastructure raises a fundamental question: can this artificial capital, built on shaky ground both literally and figuratively, remain the administrative centre of a nation yearning for genuine change? It is clear that Myanmar’s path to recovery and a stable future hinges on the dismantling of Min Aung Hlaing’s oppressive rule. Only then can the country truly begin to rebuild, not just its damaged cities, but the very foundations of a just and accountable government. Until that day, the fate of Naypyitaw, and indeed the entire nation, remains precariously uncertain.

Naypyitaw’s cracks: Can a damaged capital survive a failing regime?

In its 20 years of existence, Naypyitaw has gone from being a testament to one junta’s ambitions to a symbol of another’s fragility

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