Being our own Edhi

Powerful come back from fancy hospitals in London — and the poor? Well, most of them never come back from hospitals

The powerful and the famous get sick, as do the weak and the nameless. The powerful get their expenses paid in London, and the poor are considered expendable by the government. The powerful have the government at their back, the weak have no clothes on their back. The powerful come back from the fancy hospitals in London, at state’s expense, with celebrations and extravaganza, and the poor? Well, most of them never come back from the hospitals.

For nearly six decades, the weak, the poor and the nameless had Edhi as their champion. He took many exceptions to our cultural norms, the biggest one was of equality and a shot at decency, in life and in death.

But understanding Edhi’s work is as much about understanding the qualities of an exceptional human being, as it is about continuous failings of the state, current and previous, and society at large. It is highly hypocritical of those who control the reins of power, to argue that they lost a hero. He was not their hero ­­— never was and never will be. He was a hero of the people, of the nameless and unknown, not of the state. He became who he was because the prime ministers and presidents, governors and the chief ministers, other ministers and the secretaries, did not do their job. He developed trust because the government cheated, failed and refused to honour its trust and promise. He did an awful lot, and did it with immense grace and exemplary dignity, but he did it because the government failed its own people. He provided dignity to the weak because the government did not believe in providing anything — resources, opportunities or dignity, to the weak.

It may make for a nice photo-op to be in the front row of the funeral prayers, or to send an emotional tweet or two, or to carefully craft a press release at the passing of this great man, but there should be no doubt about why Edhi did what he did. He stepped into the vacuum created by the negligence, indifference, incompetence and corruption of the elected officials. Edhi will always be a national icon, a beacon of human rights and a voice for the voiceless, but he also shows us a mirror to see the real face of those who take the voices away and suffocate the dreams of millions.

The exceptionalism of Edhi should give ordinary Pakistanis immense pride. To be alive at a time when someone like him lived, loved and served the country, is an honour in itself. To be able to tell our children and grandchildren that we were around at the same time Edhi was around, or we also spared a few rupees in charity to one of the most important causes of our time, is a badge of honour for all of us. But at the same time, it should also make us pause and reflect. People like Edhi do not come frequently enough to help us fill the gnawing gaps created by those who live in palatial estates and enjoy the privileges of recognised last names. The poor and the downtrodden clearly have no estates and do not even have the luxury of having a last name. We do not have enough time to wait for another Edhi to save the children dying in Thar as a consequence of criminal negligence. Nor do we have the luxury of waiting to save girls who are thrown to the wells, shot for going to school, burned alive or traded to settle old debts.

The only way forward, and the most fitting tribute to Edhi, is to be our own Edhi in our little spheres. To stand up for the homeless and the voiceless, for those abandoned at the beginning of their lives and those left at the end. To remain standing even when the voices of bigotry are loud, and above all, to do so with a firm faith in humanity.

Published in The Express Tribune, July 12^th, 2016.

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