The road and the future

When one thinks of humanitarian crises, what typically comes to mind is a region impacted by deadly conflict or extraordinary natural disasters. Civil wars, armed conflicts, floods and tsunamis are the usual image. Protracted crises leading to food shortages and famines are what many of us think of. Yet, in a country that is not at war, with federal and provincial governments in place, a standoff between two groups caused road blockages that have now lasted for weeks. Essential lifesaving supplies and medicines have not been able to reach hospitals and health centres. Winter has only added to the woes of the vulnerable, amplified by the continued lack of food. As a result, over a hundred children have reportedly died due to lack of medicines at hospitals. In a country that is not mired in civil war, death of over a hundred children in a few weeks due to lack of medicines is simply unconscionable.

I cannot imagine the suffering and pain of the children and their families, who knew that their lives could have been saved, and that treatment was available in other parts of the country - but out of the reach of these children, for no fault of theirs. I also cannot imagine the frustration of the medical staff - the doctors, nurses and healthcare workers, who were powerless to save their young patients. These children died not because they were killed or injured in war, or because infection spread due to an armed conflict, or because there was widespread famine in the country, but because the system failed to provide medicines that were available to other parts of the country, just some kilometers away. Road closures ended their life's journey.

This awful tragedy should give us pause. First it is not clear from conflicting reports whether the issue has been resolved or not. There are reports of continuing shortage of medicines and vaccines, and additional deaths as recently as late last week. Second, the serious national discourse on the issue seems muted. We should wonder if our response would be the same if this was to happen in a major city, instead of the remote area of Kurram? Or if these were children of the powerful and the privileged? Or if these were actually our own children?

Beyond the ethical dimension, we should also wonder about the strength of the health system. Should an ethnic or sectarian issue impact a region? Is our health system completely dependent on a single highway for provision of life-saving commodities? Does a blocked road mean treatable diseases are now fatal at large public hospitals? We should ask: what happens to our public health system in situations of stress, and how should we respond to it? Is it this easy to simply sever the artery of life in parts of the country? Is this not a national security issue?

The most important issue, however, is not the strength of the system, but the strength of our values. How can we allow our own children to die in such misery, and not do anything about it? The grand notions of caring for our future, being kind and considerate to everyone, of taking care of the ill and the dispossessed, of putting politics aside when it comes to safety and well-being of children - all seem hollow and hypocritical. Or is our stated policy about caring for the weak, preservation of life, ensuring a healthy future, etc is in fact real and robust, but is only reserved for a select few and many are not on the that list.