Civilian suffering suggests stability far off
Pakistani policy-makers and their American backers take a strategic view of the war on al Qaeda-backed militants, often overlooking the scale of civilian casualties which can shed light on what progress has been made.
People like Ishaq Khan, 13, see few signs that security is improving in the northwest, the epicentre of the conflict between the government and Taliban insurgents. His leg was blown off by a landmine.
"I was playing in a corn field with my two friends and I had taken my shoes off than I stepped on something," he said from his bed in a hospital run by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) in Peshawar, the main city in the northwest.
"We just want peace," said Khan, as he sits up on his hospital bed with his leg stump exposed.
That's unlikely anytime soon in Pakistan, which the United States views as a crucial ally its global war on militancy.
Despite a series of military offensives against Taliban insurgents, civilians remain highly vulnerable to militant attacks and are likely to lose confidence in Pakistani leaders if the violence doesn't ease, analysts say.
The Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC), a US advocacy group, says there were likely more civilian casualties in Pakistan in 2009 than in Afghanistan.
In 2010, 3,570 civilians were killed in Pakistan in the war between government forces and militants, slightly more than the previous year, according to the Pak Institute for Peace Studies.
Taliban militants have been digging in despite pressure from the military. Public confidence in the government is likely to erode, if the violence does not ease.
Random killings
Bloodshed is often random. One man was gathering firewood when he was hit by a blast. Gulzada, 45, was riding his donkey cart past a government office when a bomb sprayed shrapnel into his legs.
"The situation is getting worse," said Gulzada. Staying home isn't safe either. His family dug out tunnels beneath their home to hide during battles.
"The paramilitary forces closed shops in our village. We have to keep moving around when there is fighting."
Even if military operations succeed, long-term stability hinges on better governance and economic development in lawless tribal areas in the northwest, ideal bases for militants.
Until then, the ICRC surgical hospital for war wounded, which has treated more than 1,600 patients since opening in 2009, is likely to keep busy.
Patients interviewed by Reuters do not take sides in the conflict. But most doubt security will improve.
Taimur Shah was riding his motorcyle near a graveyard when he noticed a pushcart filled with glass. Then a bomb exploded.
"This could happen anytime, anywhere," he said. "I don't know what will happen to my country," said Shah from his bed at the hospital in Peshawar, where a bomb exploded a few hours earlier.
To cope with the trauma, Ishaq Khan and other patients chase each other on wheelchairs. Or he chats about cricket with his cousin Abdur Rahman, 12, resting in the next bed. He was standing at an aid collection point for people displaced by the war when a bomb exploded. All he can remember is people screaming.
Outside their white tent, patients try to enjoy nice weather.
Mehmood Hassan, 13, has a patch over one of his eyes. He's cheerful enough to joke, even though he came close to dying. Perhaps it's because he doesn't understand how serious his injuries are.
"He doesn't know he will stay blind in one eye," said an ICRC official.
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