A society reveals itself most in times of disaster. Because disaster removes the make-up and leaves the reality naked. And in that nakedness, two different mentalities come face to face in all their openness: One accepts nature as a given and assumes responsibility. The other consecrates nature as fate and evades responsibility.
This distinction is not a simple cultural difference; it is directly a matter of civilization.
Japan is one of the clearest examples of this distinction. There, nature is not a force to which meaning is attributed; it is a calculated reality. An earthquake is not a message, not a warning, not a “punishment” at all. An earthquake is a measured, analyzed and managed phenomenon.
So the first question asked in Japan at the time of the disaster is:
“Where did we go wrong?”
This question is not simple. This question is the harshest criticism a society can direct at itself. Because in this question is the will not to look outside for the guilty. It contains the courage to put the responsibility on man and not on God.
In our case, a completely different reflex kicks in at the same time.
The first sentence at the beginning of the wreckage is not technical, but theological:
“Fate.”
This word is not innocent. It is not only an expression of faith; it is also a powerful escape mechanism. Because the moment you say “fate”, the questioning stops. Responsibility is suspended. The perpetrator becomes invisible.
And that is precisely why this word is recirculated after every disaster.
The contractor's missing rebar, the inspector's signature, the manager's negligence... it all melts into this one word. There is a crime but no guilty party. There is destruction, but the perpetrator is unknown.
This is a form of self-deception of a society.
The miracle narrative is a complementary element of this deception. Because the miracle covers the truth. It directs people's attention not to those responsible, but to exceptional stories of salvation. Thus, the system is not questioned, only emotions are managed.
So it is necessary to say this clearly:
The miracle is not only a consolation; it is also an ideological tool.
And as long as this tool is used, nothing changes.
Because a society that believes in miracles does not fix the system.
He just accepts the outcome.
Japan Where Responsibility is Institutionalized
To dismiss Japan as a “disciplined society” is to miss the point. Discipline is the result. The real issue is the transformation of responsibility from a culture to an institution.
There, the earthquake code is not a book; it is a contract.
Auditing is not a procedure; it is a will to sanction.
Negligence is not a mistake; it is a crime.
It is not technology that makes this difference, but mindset.
When a building collapses in Japan, it is not seen as a “misfortune”. The chain is unraveled: who designed it, who approved it, who supervised it, who turned a blind eye? Responsibility is distributed not to a single point but to the entire process, but it is not rendered invisible. Each link is named. Each name is accountable.
Because there the principle is unquestionable:
Neglect is the work of man, not nature.
This is why the strongest post-disaster reflex in Japan is institutional, not emotional. Public pressure accelerates legal processes. Professional sanctions can end individual careers. Reputation can disappear overnight. Because the source of reputation is not power; it is responsibility.
“The so-called ”culture of shame“ is in fact not a romanticized tradition but a harsh social control mechanism. What happens when a task is not fulfilled is not just a lack of fulfillment, but a collapse of reputation. This is why people do their duties not because they ”have to", because they know the cost of not doing it. They do.
In our case, the picture is reversed.
There is a regulation, but its implementation is arbitrary.
There is supervision but it is weakly binding.
There are sanctions, but they are not permanent.
And the most critical difference:
Negligence is coded as a “misfortune” rather than a crime.
That's why our system works to absorb failure, not to prevent it. So it comes into play after the destruction has happened. Before that, it is mostly silent.
This is why discussing Japan's religious structure is superficial. Shintoism, Buddhism or non-belief rates do not explain the essence of the matter. What is decisive is that this society does not sacralize nature, but takes it seriously.
They do not substitute God for nature.
It puts the human at the center of responsibility.
We often do the opposite.
And that is precisely why, of two societies that experience the same natural phenomenon, one rises up while the other is buried under the rubble.
1999, Izmir, Maraş: Not Repeated Disaster, but Institutionalized Negligence
If the same kind of destruction is repeated, for the same reasons, with the same results, it is no longer a disaster - it is a pattern.
The 1999 Marmara earthquake could have been a milestone for this country. Not only the earth's crust collapsed, but also supervision, planning and accountability. The promise made that day was clear: “Nothing will ever be the same again.”
It didn't happen - because it was the mindset that needed to change, not the regulations.
The intervening years have been a period of progress on paper and habits on the ground. Texts have thickened, enforcement has thinned. Rules increased, exceptions multiplied. The system learned to tolerate mistakes instead of preventing them.
The 2020 Izmir earthquake once again reminded us of the price of this tolerance. The buildings that collapsed had one thing in common: negligence. Weak ground, illegal floors, inadequate supervision. In other words, the risk magnified not by nature but by man.
But the reflex has not changed: “great catastrophe”, “fate”, “providence”. A destruction with a perpetrator was translated into a language without a perpetrator.
The 2023 Maraş earthquakes turned into a threshold that ended the debate. This was not just a disaster; it was a test of the system. And the system collapsed at the most critical moment. Tens of thousands of casualties were the result not only of violence but also of unpreparedness, lack of supervision and impunity.
What is painful here is not only the destruction, but also the reflexes that remain unchanged even after the destruction.
Again, miracle stories came to the fore.
Emotions ruled again.
Again the responsibility was distributed.
But the truth is simple:
Before a building is demolished, many decisions are taken.
Each of those decisions carries a signature.
And every signature is a potential liability.
In our case, this chain does not dissolve; it evaporates.
The contractor becomes invisible.
The auditor is deleted.
The manager is not spoken for.
The result is a picture where everyone is a little guilty.
But this picture, in effect, produces this: No one is responsible.
That is why 1999, Izmir and Maraş are not separate events; they are parts of the same story.
Impunity is an invitation to the next neglect.
Remember, it is preparation for the next destruction.
And we say the same sentence every time:
“We will learn lessons.”
But the lesson is not in remembering, but in sanctioning.
Unless this is done, each new earthquake will be a continuation of an old crime.
“The Discourse of ”Destiny": The Elimination of Moral Responsibility
“The word ”destiny" is an expression of faith when used in the right place. When used in the wrong place, it becomes an evasion of responsibility. Our problem is not belief; it is the systematic misuse of this word.
To call it “fate” when a building collapses due to an engineering error is to naturalize the error. And every naturalized mistake is repeated. Because nature cannot be questioned, whereas human beings can be questioned. At this point, the discourse of “fate” makes the questionable unquestionable.
This is not a simple language choice.
This is a moral choice.
Because the moment you say “destiny”, this is what happens:
The perpetrator becomes invisible.
Responsibility is suspended.
The need for accountability disappears.
And so negligence ceases to be a crime; it becomes a misfortune.
But the truth is clear:
It is not fate when a column is missing.
It is not fate when a ground survey is not done.
It is not fate when an auditor turns a blind eye.
Each of these are conscious or unconscious choices.
And every choice produces results.
This is where the collapse of societies begins:
Where they attribute outcomes to fate and decisions to invisibility.
It is precisely along this line that Japan's difference becomes apparent. There, nature and human responsibility are separated. An earthquake is the work of nature; the extent of destruction is the work of man. Since this distinction is clear, the account is also clear.
In our case, this distinction is blurred.
Neglect is intertwined with nature.
And this blurring helps the system to justify itself.
So the issue is not just technical, it is intellectual.
How a society names reality determines its future.
If you call negligence “fate”,
you would actually say:
“That doesn't change.”
And nothing that is believed to be unchangeable changes.
At this point a harsh reality must be faced:
When the miracle narrative is combined with the discourse of fate, a powerful ideology of irresponsibility emerges.
The miracle blesses the outcome.
Destiny makes the process invisible.
And in such an equation, there is neither accountability nor accountability.
But civilization requires the opposite:
Getting the nomenclature right.
Putting the blame in the right place.
And most importantly, personalize responsibility.
Otherwise, society starts to live not the reality but the comforting stories it produces.
And those stories always end the same:
Debris.
The Measure of Civilization is the Courage to Bear Responsibility
There is no need to embellish the debate anymore. The point is clear: this is not a matter of technology, it is not a matter of faith. It is a direct is a matter of responsibility.
The difference with Japan is not just that it builds better. The real difference is that someone has to pay for a bad building. Because the system there does not tolerate mistakes; it punishes them. Negligence is not an exception; it is an area of zero tolerance.
In our case, the picture is the opposite.
It would be a mistake.
The price becomes uncertain.
Time passes.
Memory is erased.
And then the same error is reproduced.
This cycle is no coincidence. It is a form of governance.
A system in which responsibility is distributed, obscured and eventually eliminated.
That's why we need to stop saying that:
“We must learn to live with the reality of earthquakes.”
No, no, no.
What we need to learn is not earthquakes.
Responsibility.
Because you cannot prevent earthquakes.
But you can prevent destruction.
And if you are not doing it, it is not a desperation; it is a choice.
The hardest lesson Japan has taught us is this:
Civilization is not a victory over nature.
Civilization is man's intolerance of his own mistakes.
It is the application of rules without exception.
Neglect is unforgivable.
And most importantly: accountability.
If people in a society know that they will not pay for what they do,
no regulation will work in that society.
If responsibility is not named in a society,
justice cannot be established in that society.
If disasters are still explained as “fate” in a society,
progress in that society is just an illusion.
We have to stop fooling ourselves.
We were warned in 1999.
We were reminded in Izmir.
We faced each other in Maraş.
And if we are still in the same place, it is no longer ignorance - it is choice.
The last word should not be flowery; it should be clear:
Societies that expect miracles produce debris.
Societies that sanctify responsibility build civilization.