By Imlisanen Jamir
In Nagaland, disaster preparedness for schools now comes with a username and password. The Government has rolled out the School Safety Policy Compliance Course in partnership with the Nagaland State Disaster Management Authority (NSDMA), the Department of School Education (DoSE), and NagaEd. The first phase has already seen over 7,500 teachers register, with the target of full statewide completion by October 31.
On paper, this is a first for the region — an institutionalised compliance course translating the National School Safety Policy (NSSP 2016) into localised training. In a state where earthquakes, landslides, and flash floods are not abstract threats but recurring events, the ambition is laudable. The problem is that disasters are not managed on paper, or on a digital dashboard. They are managed in the seconds after a warning, in the clarity of an evacuation route, in whether the staircase is clear of debris when a hundred panicked children are running down it.
The compliance course may close part of the “preparedness gap” — 98 per cent of schools across India have no effective disaster protocols — but only if its intent survives contact with reality. NSSP 2016 doesn’t just talk about training; it talks about structural safety audits, clear signage for evacuation routes, hazard-specific mock drills, and integration with local emergency services. Training is one pillar. Without the others, it’s an empty scaffolding.
The question is whether “compliance” here means the school has completed the course, or that the school is actually safe. Passing an online module doesn’t retrofit a cracked wall in a seismic zone. It doesn’t put a functioning fire extinguisher in a science lab. It doesn’t clear a drainage system so the only access road to the school isn’t submerged in the first heavy rain.
Infrastructure is the unspoken risk here. Many schools sit in hazard-prone locations with buildings older than the policies meant to protect them. Classroom blocks are added in ad-hoc fashion without engineering checks. Hostels often have no night-time evacuation plan. In some rural schools, the muster point is simply “the field outside,” which in monsoon season can be knee-deep in water.
Even the best training falters if the physical environment undermines it. Imagine a landslide warning. The teacher knows the procedure — they’ve completed the course. But the only safe exit is blocked by a collapsed retaining wall. The students are herded into a classroom away from the slope, but the windows don’t shut and the rain pours in. In that moment, the gap between compliance and preparedness is the size of a disaster.
Policy and design need to speak to this reality. If the NSDMA and DoSE want this initiative to set a “new benchmark” for school safety, they must insist on verifiable standards beyond training completion rates. That means independent audits of school infrastructure, regular hazard-specific drills observed by third parties, and public reporting of results. It means making the course a gateway, not a substitute, for actual safety improvements.
Nagaland’s geography and socio-cultural conditions were cited as the basis for tailoring the course content. Good — but local context must also inform enforcement. A school on a hilltop in Tuensang faces different evacuation logistics from one on a floodplain in Dimapur. Compliance should reflect these differences, not be reduced to a standardised module followed by a printable certificate.
The course is a step in the right direction, but steps alone don’t get you out of danger. You need a clear path — and that means coupling training with the messy, costly work of fixing buildings, marking exits, drilling students, and integrating schools into the state’s wider disaster response.
The government wants all schools compliant by October 31. The real deadline is the next earthquake, the next landslide, the next flash flood. And those don’t wait for logins.
Comments can be sent to imlisanenjamir@gmail.com
