Remember the names

Her name was Sadia, she was twenty-four years' old. Her daughter, whose name was Rida Fatima, was ten months' old. The young woman, and her infant daughter, died in Lahore last week. They fell into an open manhole near Bhati gate. The death was followed up, not by a serious inquiry, but a serious effort to cover up criminal, or more aptly deathly, negligence. Reports have emerged that police tortured the husband of the deceased young woman to get him to confess her murder. This is both awful and all too familiar. To her credit, the Chief Minister took notice and issued a public apology. This is both important and the right thing to do in a culture where public apology is the rarest of deeds. Yet, it remains to be seen whether there is any actual change on the ground – proverbially and literally.

His name was Ibrahim. He was three years' old. In early December, he died as he fell into an open manhole in Gulshan-e-Iqbal, Karachi. Later, in the same month, eight-year-old Dilbar died in Karachi too, this time in Korangi. Dilbar was playing outside when he fell into an open manhole. The governing party, and its senior leadership, made nauseating boiler plate statements, and reminded those who care that this issue 'should not be politicised'. This is the equivalent of robotic thoughts and prayers statements that comes out of politicians in the US when there is no serious resolve to take action.

The incidents in Lahore and Karachi are not isolated. We know that dozens are killed every year as they fall prey to open sewage gutters. Many more are likely injured and underreported by something that seems so bizarre in the 21st century. Something that is not unsolvable by means well within our reach. But the problem is not simply missing manholes, it is a deadly cocktail of corruption, no accountability and a complete lack of seriousness towards a culture of safety. Manholes are one manifestation of an issue that raises its head in variety of shapes – sometimes in the form of medical malpractice, sometimes in the form of poor construction, sometimes in the form of having no escape for those who are trapped in a burning building. And because these incidents happen all too frequently, we forget that there can be guardrails.

Guardrails – whether physical or ethical – are not an organic growth in a system, they require deliberate construction and constant attention. And while no one should ever absolve elected officials and bureaucracy of their criminal negligence or apathy, there is something that we also ought to do. That is to keep the issue alive.

The outrage at these tragedies is real, and people are upset as they ought to be. But I worry if those in the power corridors know quite well that the outrage has a quick expiry date, and a few performative gestures will deflect attention. But no one should be able to simply ride the 'public anger storm' by a few theatrics. We have to ask of ourselves: if the horrible fire at a new year's party in Switzerland can stay in the news, and people demand answers, why should we not ask of our leaders for answers, and continue to press for progress beyond firing of a couple of mid-ranking staff? The answer cannot be that life is cheap here, or they are different people over there, or these are our realities.

I know that the burden of life is much heavier for many than I can imagine or appreciate. I also know that the list of unanswered questions is long and painful. There are many who die in 'police encounters', many who are silently buried with tears of the weak, pressurised to assume guilt without any wrongdoing, silenced by exploitation of the legal loopholes. But I also know that many people of privilege, like myself, can do better by remembering the victims by their names, and asking for names of others who are mentioned only as a passing statistic. The right to dignity and life is universal – but nothing is universal until we actually believe in it.