In an age of satellite technology, Nepal still risks losing its most critical lifeline when conventional networks collapse
By Ashish Kumar Mandal | Kathmandu : When disaster strikes, the first question is not how fast a government can issue a statement. It is whether a trapped citizen can make a call for help.
Nepal’s latest catastrophic floods along the Rasuwa–Nuwakot region have exposed a vulnerability that goes far beyond damaged roads, destroyed bridges and washed-away settlements. They have revealed how fragile the country’s communication infrastructure remains when nature destroys the very networks on which emergency response depends.
The floods and debris flows that struck northern Nepal on August 26 devastated communities, damaged major infrastructure and left thousands missing, according to international reports. Rescue operations have been severely hampered by destroyed roads, difficult terrain and continuing bad weather.
In such circumstances, communication is not a luxury.
It is part of the rescue operation itself.
Yet when mobile towers fail, electricity disappears and fibre-optic cables are washed away, entire communities can become digitally invisible.
That raises an uncomfortable question for Nepal:
In the 21st century, why should a disaster be capable of taking an entire region offline?
The communications problem nobody can afford to ignore
Nepal’s geography has always made telecommunications difficult.
The country’s mountains, deep river valleys and remote settlements make the construction and maintenance of terrestrial communication infrastructure expensive and vulnerable. Mobile towers depend on physical sites and electricity. Fibre-optic networks depend on roads, bridges and transmission corridors.
When those physical links disappear, communication can disappear with them.
Recent flooding has demonstrated precisely this vulnerability. Roads and bridges were destroyed, hydropower infrastructure was damaged and rescue teams faced enormous logistical challenges in reaching affected areas.
The problem is not that Nepal lacks technology.
The problem is that Nepal has not yet built sufficient redundancy into its communication system.
A resilient country does not rely on one communication pathway.
It maintains several.
Satellite internet could be a critical backup
This is where low-Earth-orbit satellite technology becomes strategically important.
Systems such as SpaceX’s Starlink are designed to provide internet connectivity through satellites orbiting relatively close to Earth. Unlike traditional terrestrial broadband, the service does not depend entirely on long stretches of fibre-optic cable running through vulnerable mountain corridors.
A satellite terminal, combined with an independent power source, can potentially establish connectivity in locations where terrestrial infrastructure has been destroyed.
That does not mean satellite internet is a magic solution.
It requires equipment, electricity, regulatory approval, a clear view of the sky and appropriate network capacity. It can also be expensive and is not necessarily a substitute for national terrestrial networks.
But during a disaster, a backup system does not have to replace the primary system. It only has to keep the lifeline alive.
That distinction matters.
Nepal’s regulatory dilemma
Nepal’s reluctance to approve Starlink is not without legal or security considerations.
The country’s telecommunications framework predates today’s large-scale commercial LEO satellite constellations. Nepal’s existing rules also require foreign investors in internet services to have local participation, while Starlink has sought a model based on full foreign ownership. This regulatory mismatch remains one of the principal obstacles to its entry into Nepal.
The government also has legitimate questions about taxation, data security, national security, lawful interception, licensing and regulatory oversight.
These questions must not simply be dismissed.
But neither should they become an excuse for technological paralysis.
The real issue is not whether Nepal should surrender its regulatory authority to a foreign technology company.
The real issue is whether Nepal can create a regulatory framework that protects national interests while still allowing life-saving technology to be deployed when conventional infrastructure fails.
That is a very different question.
Emergency access should be separated from commercial access
Perhaps Nepal needs to stop treating satellite connectivity only as a commercial telecommunications issue.
There should be a separate framework for emergency satellite communications.
Imagine a national disaster-response system in which the government, Nepal Army, Nepal Police, health agencies, local governments and authorised humanitarian organisations have access to pre-positioned satellite terminals.
When a major flood, earthquake, landslide or glacial disaster destroys terrestrial networks, these terminals could be transported by helicopter or emergency vehicles and activated immediately.
No lengthy licensing process.
No waiting for damaged fibre to be repaired.
No dependence on a functioning mobile tower.
The principle should be simple:
When lives are at risk, communication must be treated as emergency infrastructure.
The “golden hours” cannot be lost
In a disaster, time is measured differently.
The first hours after an incident can determine whether a trapped person survives.
A victim may be alive inside a collapsed structure. A family may be stranded on a rooftop. A group of tourists may be trapped in a remote valley. A medical team may need to coordinate evacuation.
But if nobody can communicate their location, rescue becomes slower, less precise and more dangerous.
This is why the debate over satellite communication should not be reduced to whether consumers want faster internet.
This is about search and rescue, emergency medicine, disaster coordination and national resilience.
Recent reports from the Rasuwa–Nuwakot disaster have already shown how difficult rescue operations become when roads and communication links are destroyed.
Is Nepal protecting policy—or protecting people?
This is the uncomfortable question policymakers must answer.
Regulations are created to protect the public interest.
They are not supposed to become obstacles that prevent the country from accessing potentially life-saving technology.
Nepal does not have to choose between domestic telecommunications companies and satellite technology.
It can have both.
It does not have to abandon national security requirements.
It can establish strict security, taxation, licensing and data-governance rules.
It does not have to give one company a blank cheque.
It can create an open framework under which multiple qualified satellite providers can compete.
What Nepal needs is not a special favour for Starlink.
It needs a modern satellite-communications policy.
From technological hesitation to national resilience
The latest disaster should therefore become a policy turning point.
Nepal should consider establishing an Emergency Satellite Communications Licence allowing approved satellite providers to supply connectivity during officially declared disasters.
The government should also create a national reserve of portable satellite terminals, establish emergency communication protocols and conduct regular disaster-response exercises involving satellite connectivity.
Schools, hospitals, border posts, airports, trekking routes and strategically vulnerable mountain settlements could also be considered for priority emergency communication coverage.
The Nepal Telecommunications Authority and disaster-management agencies should work together to determine how satellite networks can complement—rather than undermine—the existing telecommunications ecosystem.
And the government should finally update the legal framework governing telecommunications so that laws written for an earlier technological era can address the realities of the satellite-internet age.
Technology does not wait for bureaucracy
Nepal sits in one of the most disaster-prone environments on Earth.
Earthquakes, landslides, floods and glacial hazards are not theoretical threats. They are recurring realities.
The Himalayan region is also facing increasing risks associated with climate change and rapidly changing mountain environments. The recent flood has once again demonstrated how quickly a seemingly remote hazard can become a national and international emergency.
Nepal therefore cannot afford to build its disaster-response strategy around the assumption that roads, electricity, mobile towers and fibre networks will always remain operational.
They will not.
Sometimes they will all fail at once.
And when they do, the country must still be able to hear its citizens.
The lesson from Rasuwa and Nuwakot is therefore bigger than Starlink.
It is about whether Nepal is prepared to embrace technological redundancy before the next disaster—or whether it will once again wait for the disaster to expose the weakness.
Policy should protect people. Technology should serve humanity. And in a disaster, the ability to communicate should never become a privilege reserved for those who happen to remain connected.
Nepal has a choice.
It can continue debating technology while disasters move faster than bureaucracy.
Or it can build a communication system resilient enough to survive the disaster itself.
The next emergency will not wait for a policy decision.
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