The flood in Rasuwa was first and foremost a human tragedy. Lives were lost, people remain unaccounted for, and homes, roads, bridges, and hydropower infrastructure were destroyed in some of Nepal's most difficult terrain. For those affected, the immediate priorities remain rescue, medical care, shelter, access, and support for families who have lost loved ones and livelihoods. But Rasuwa must be a final wake up call. It shows how quickly a collapse high in the mountains can become a major disaster far downstream, and why glacier-related risks can no longer be treated as isolated local events. Early assessments indicate that ice, rock, and debris collapsed high above the Lhende Khola near Nepal's northern border. The avalanche temporarily blocked the river valley before a destructive surge moved downstream through the Bhotekoshi and into the Trishuli system. The exact sequence remains under investigation, but the central lesson is clear. Mountain disasters are often chains of events, each one making the next more destructive. What swept down the valley was not floodwater alone. It was a fast moving flow of water, pulverised ice, shattered rock, mud, sediment and boulders. It covered the first 22 kilometers in just six minutes and 50 seconds, at an estimated average speed of 193 kilometres an hour. For the first communities in its path, there was virtually no time to warn, evacuate or respond. Conventional downstream alerts alone could not have provided a meaningful evacuation window in such circumstances. This was not simply another monsoon flood. It was a mountain disaster involving ice, rock, water, sediment, unstable slopes, narrow river corridors, and infrastructure concentrated in highly vulnerable valleys. Preparing for such events requires more than weather forecasts and river gauges downstream. It means identifying unstable glaciers and slopes, monitoring high altitude catchments, mapping exposure, planning evacuation routes, and getting warnings to communities as early as possible. Rasuwa also shows that what happens in the Himalayas does not end in the Himalayas. A disaster in a remote mountain valley can disrupt cross border trade, hydropower, roads, tourism, and supply chains. It can affect shared rivers and deepen displacement and poverty. Rasuwa is only the visible edge of a much larger crisis. Researchers have identified more than 260 potentially dangerous transboundary glacial lakes across the Hindu Kush, Karakoram, and Himalaya. The challenge is not confined to Nepal. Communities from the Himalaya and Karakoram to the Pamir, Andes, and Alaska are confronting shrinking glaciers, unstable slopes, thawing permafrost, and expanding glacial lakes. But the inequality is familiar. Wealthier regions have stronger monitoring networks, reliable communications, tested evacuation plans, and greater resources for recovery. Remote mountain communities in poorer countries often face comparable risks with far less protection. This is climate justice in practice. It is whether a family beside a mountain river gets a warning in time, has a safe route out of the valley and can rebuild without being pushed into deeper debt. The United Nations has recognised the urgency. In 2023, Secretary-General António Guterres, from the Everest base camp, warned the world about the danger facing Himalayan communities. That visit helped put Nepal's glaciers on the global agenda. But glacier tourism is not glacier governance. Photographs, speeches, and summit statements can raise awareness, but they cannot replace a permanent institution that monitors risk, shares information across borders, and helps countries prepare before disaster strikes. I first began, years ago, arguing for an International Centre for Glaciers (ICG) because I could see a gap no photograph, summit speech, or research paper could fill. We now have knowledge of glacier change. What we lack is a standing mechanism to turn that knowledge into protection for people living below. It is now a question of public safety, cross border cooperation, development, and climate justice. Rasuwa shows why this proposal must now move from concept to action. The centre should be small enough to act, but strong enough to convene governments, scientists, and funders. Its work is straightforward: watch the dangerous places, share what is known across borders, help governments prepare, and make sure warnings reach the people living below. It would help identify unstable glacier margins, dangerous glacial lakes, avalanche prone slopes, thawing permafrost, potential river blockages, and communities most at risk. It would not duplicate existing scientific institutions. Its job would be to connect their knowledge to action on the ground, helping countries strengthen monitoring, prepare evacuation plans, and develop warning systems and adaptation plans that work across borders. The United Nations Early Warnings for All initiative offers a useful starting point. Led by the World Meteorological Organisation, it treats early warning as essential public infrastructure, not a luxury. Its latest assessment identifies glacial lake outburst floods as an emerging threat for which many warning systems are still not adequately prepared. The same urgency is needed for glacier and permafrost hazards. An ICG should be rooted in mountain countries and built with mountain communities. Nepal should help shape it. It should also draw on the capabilities of development banks, scientific organisations, satellite companies, and the private sector. Governments should establish the priorities and provide the foundation. Technical and private sector partners can help extend the reach of the work. Development banks must rethink how they invest in mountain regions. Roads, bridges, hydropower plants, and trade infrastructure in exposed valleys should not be financed without proper hazard assessments, regular monitoring, and funded warning arrangements throughout their lifespan. This, however, is not an argument against investment in Nepal or any other glaciated country. I have advanced the proposal for an ICG because waiting for the next catastrophe is not a strategy. Rasuwa should not become a name recalled only after the next valley is destroyed. Nepal has the experience and the standing to lead. The question is whether those with the power to act will recognise the urgency before another mountain gives way. Rajouria is a climate-policy and diplomacy professional