Opinion: Holding hands in Myanmar's rubble — the impact of interfaith unity

In the aftermath of Myanmar’s deadliest earthquake in over a century, a powerful image emerged from Sagaing: a Buddhist monk standing amid the ruins of the collapsed Myo Ma Mosque, holding hands with a Muslim man. In another widely shared video, the same monk returns to the site, donating money to support rebuilding efforts. The two men embrace — a gesture that, within traditional Burmese Buddhist culture, is uncommon between monks and laypeople, especially across religious lines. But in that moment, amid the devastation, such conventions no longer mattered. The tragedy had stripped away formalities, revealing the shared humanity beneath. On March 28, a 7.7 magnitude earthquake struck central Myanmar, the strongest seismic event the country has experienced in over a century. It devastated major urban areas, including Mandalay, Sagaing, and Nay Pyi Taw, which were already vulnerable due to years of conflict and displacement. More than 5,000 lives were lost, and nearly 17 million people were affected. Thousands of buildings collapsed — homes, schools, markets, religious sites — and entire neighborhoods were reduced to rubble. The physical damage is staggering, but the emotional and spiritual trauma is just as deep. The Myo Ma Mosque in Sagaing, once a hub for religious activity and interfaith engagement, was completely destroyed. Yet in the middle of this loss, something extraordinary happened: A Buddhist monk walked into the mosque’s ruins — not with condemnation or indifference, but with compassion. The act of donating, embracing, and publicly grieving together with Muslim community members sent a strong message: That interfaith solidarity is alive and well in Myanmar, and perhaps even more powerful in times of crisis. This public display of spiritual brotherhood is not spontaneous — it stands on the foundation of years of interreligious work that often goes unseen. The imam of the Myo Ma Mosque was known for his unwavering openness. He welcomed people from all faiths, led dialogue sessions, hosted interfaith iftars, and participated in peacebuilding initiatives. These efforts created trust, which, when the earthquake struck, manifested in real human connection and mutual support. And this story is not unique to Sagaing. Across the country, religious communities responded swiftly and selflessly. In Mandalay, Muslim organizations began distributing food and water within hours. The churches and YMCA in Mandalay opened their doors to people who were displaced, regardless of faith. Catholic churches offered shelter and coordinated aid, while Hindu temples mobilized resources. Buddhist monks, some of whom had lost their own monasteries, took to the streets to provide comfort and assistance. These efforts emerged despite severe limitations. Since the 2021 military coup, Myanmar’s civic space has shrunk dramatically. Many humanitarian groups face surveillance or harassment. And yet, religious institutions, deeply rooted in their communities, remained among the few networks still trusted and allowed to operate, though often informally. The earthquake did not spare religious buildings. Over 60 mosques across Mandalay and Sagaing regions were destroyed. Across the country, there have been reports of damage to 3,800 monasteries, 130 mosques, 50 churches, and 26 Hindu temples. Despite this, these communities didn’t retreat inward — they opened their arms even wider. “In conflict-affected societies such as Myanmar, peacebuilding cannot wait for the perfect political conditions. It must be nurtured wherever possible.” --— This quiet but powerful resilience is deeply spiritual. In a country where political violence continues, where millions are internally displaced, and where public trust is eroding, the moral leadership of religious groups has filled a crucial vacuum. Their humanitarian service has become the glue holding fragmented communities together. What we are witnessing is more than emergency relief — it is a reaffirmation of values. The compassion, generosity, and mutual respect being demonstrated point toward an alternative vision for Myanmar. One where faith is not used to divide, but to unite. One where trauma does not isolate, but brings people closer. It is important to reflect on how this has been made possible. Despite the devastating headlines about intercommunal violence in Myanmar — such as the Rohingya crisis in 2017, the violence against Muslims in central Myanmar from 2013 to 2015, and the attacks on Christians in Chin and Karen States — decades of community-level interfaith coexistence persists and often shines through in the country’s most difficult moments. These relationships are not abstract ideals; they are lived realities. They are the monk and the imam standing side by side in the ruins of a mosque. They are the volunteers from different faiths working together to serve hot meals. They are the everyday people who, in the face of devastation, choose solidarity over suspicion. In conflict-affected societies such as Myanmar, peacebuilding cannot wait for the perfect political conditions. It must be nurtured wherever possible — through trust, empathy, and the deeply human rituals of caring for one another. The scenes unfolding after the earthquake are not just about recovery; they are about resilience. They are proof that communities, even in the absence of state support, can uphold dignity and hope. In a country where the military continues to prioritize control over care, where the economy is collapsing, and where institutions have failed to respond with urgency, it is the people, led by their faith and shared humanity, who are holding the nation together. If Myanmar has a future beyond violence, it will be shaped by those who come together not in power, but in compassion. And in that vision, the role of interreligious cooperation is not marginal — it is central.