Nurlela Agusfitri, 40, lost her palm smallholding, several cows, and a small kiosk after floods hit Pengidam, Aceh Tamiang, northern Sumatra, three weeks ago. Huge rafts of logs and debris from cleared land rushed down river systems, blocking waterways and diverting floodwaters straight into villages. — AFP
AT the time of writing, more than 900 lives have been lost in the November 2025 floods in Sumatra, and many more people remain missing. Entire valleys have been reshaped by violent torrents of water and debris, and thousands of families have been left with nothing – no homes, no roads, no possessions.
As images and testimonies continue to emerge, my heart aches. I have walked these communities before. In 2005, after the Indian Ocean tsunami, I spent many months in Aceh. I remember the grief, the extraordinary resilience, and the brutal lesson that disasters always strike hardest at those with the least.
Although the immediate trigger of this tragedy was extreme rainfall, the true story is far more complex. We need to be very clear that climate variability alone did not produce the scale of destruction we are witnessing.
Sumatra has lost massive tracts of rainforest over the last two decades due to palm oil plantation expansion, logging and mining. Forests are natural shock absorbers, protecting soils, regulating water flows, and stabilising slopes. When they are removed, the land becomes more fragile and vulnerable. Rain moves too quickly, causing runoff that carries soil, rocks, and timber with frightening force.
Evidence from this disaster points to this deadly mix. Stories from local officials, reinforced by images from smartphones, tell us that huge rafts of logs and debris rushed down river systems, blocking waterways and diverting floodwaters straight into villages. Homes were inundated and destroyed not only by water but by mud, sand, and timber swept down denuded hillsides.
This catastrophe was not simply a “natural disaster”. It was the result of years of environmental pressure, weak regulatory oversight, and a failure to treat nature as lifesaving infrastructure. Climate change lit the fuse, but unrestrained land conversion helped build the explosive charge. Boom!
As is always the case, the poorest have suffered most. Families living on steep slopes or in low lying settlements were already struggling with limited income, insecure land tenure, and reduced access to health services. They had neither the means to relocate nor the political influence to challenge damaging land use practices upstream.
Many have now lost homes, crops, livestock, and crucial family assets. Their path to recovery will be long, fraught, and uncertain. The relief effort is unsteady and sorely testing Indonesia’s disaster management apparatus as well as its ability to accept aid from other countries.
Meanwhile, political elites who are charged with safeguarding land, approving permits and enforcing environmental laws have underperformed. Some have focused only on emergency relief while avoiding deeper questions about governance. Others have highlighted logistical challenges but not addressed how corrupt or inconsistent permitting allowed forests and waterways to be compromised.
Corruption, or even the perception of it, corrodes public trust and weakens disaster preparedness. The anger expressed by community leaders in Sumatra is entirely understandable. When people believe that decisionmakers have prioritised commercial interests above their safety, the social contract fractures.
Good governance is not an abstract ideal; it is the foundation of resilience. I saw this clearly in Aceh in 2005. Communities survived not only because humanitarian agencies arrived, but because leaders then worked fairly, transparently, and with deep respect for those they served. Where trust existed, recovery advanced. Where it did not, tensions grew and progress stalled. Sumatra today is facing a similar reckoning.
For Malaysians, this disaster needs to be recognised as being uncomfortably close. The same storm system could easily have delivered more destructive rainfall on our shores. We were lucky, but luck is never a sound strategy for national resilience.
Our forests and watersheds, though more intact than in some neighbouring countries, have been steadily eroded in certain states. River basins are stressed, and rainfall patterns are shifting.
Malaysia has capable emergency services and considerable technical expertise, but these capacities cannot fully offset the risks created by degraded ecosystems or weak land use governance. We must not assume that we will always be spared. The signals for Malaysia are clear and compelling.
First, the Sumatra floods are a reminder that deforestation is not merely an environmental concern. It is a public health issue, an economic issue, and a security issue. Forests regulate water flows, filter pollutants, reduce disaster risk, and support rural livelihoods. Their loss increases flood intensity, damages infrastructure, and undermines longterm wellbeing.
Second, this disaster illustrates the deep connection between human and planetary health. When ecosystems are degraded, people face greater exposure to pollutants, vector borne diseases, unsafe water, and disrupted food systems. These are not abstract connections. They are lived realities for those whose health is already fragile.
Third, we can see what happens when political leaders fail to integrate environmental stewardship into national planning. Effective governance requires more than ambitious statements, declarations, and bits of paper. It demands transparent permitting, consistent enforcement, meaningful engagement with affected communities, and the courage to stand firm against vested interests.
If we ignore these responsibilities, we will face our own preventable crisis. The poorest Malaysians would again bear the heaviest burden, just as they did during the major floods in 2021.
But thanks to some visionary thinkers there is a constructive way forward. Malaysia has already begun articulating a more ambitious vision through the National Planetary Health Action Plan. It recognises that environmental sustainability, economic development, and public health are interdependent, and it sets out a framework for integrated action.
What we need now is political will. Our political leaders must step up and ensure the plan is implemented. We must empower agencies to enforce environmental laws without fear or favour, invest in nature-based solutions such as forest restoration and river rehabilitation, and centre the voices of vulnerable communities in planning processes.
This is not only about preventing the next disaster. It is about shaping a fairer, healthier, and more resilient Malaysia.
The tragedy in Sumatra is heartbreaking, and for me it is deeply personal. I remember standing in Aceh after the tsunami, surrounded by destruction yet buoyed by extraordinary human spirit. I see that same spirit today in those who are supporting survivors in Sumatra. We must honour their courage by learning from this moment.
Nature is speaking more loudly each year. We would be unwise not to listen. Malaysia has been warned. How we respond will define the safety and dignity of generations to come.
Prof Tan Sri Dr Jemilah Mahmood, a physician and experienced crisis leader, is the executive director of the Sunway Centre for Planetary Health at Sunway University. She is the founder of Mercy Malaysia and has served in leadership roles internationally with the United Nations and Red Cross for the last decade. She writes on Planetary Health Matters once a month in Ecowatch. The views expressed here are entirely the writer's own.
