Of grief and lines on the map

The tragedy of war manifests itself in many ways. Not only does it create death, destruction and misery in lands and homes, but it also makes us choose which tragedy to mourn, and which to ignore, even if they are identical. We grieve for some families and communities who suffer the unimaginable loss of losing a loved one, and identical losses of other families, beyond an arbitrary line, are mentioned in mere passing, if that. Some are discussed endlessly, others are viewed as simply the routine costs of a conflict.

The continued conflict in the Middle East has brought some of these differences to the fore, once again. The tragic loss of lives in Saudi Arabia – in towns, at places of work and at airports – are devastating. The pain of the families whose loved ones perish in drone or missile attacks is unimaginable. These stories have also gotten coverage by local and international media and discussed through tributes on social media. The suffering on the other side, however, rarely gets a mention. The death toll in Yemen is something that finds no real home in the newspaper columns, or in our hearts.

Last week, the World Health Organization reported that since August 2026 (i.e. less than three months ago), at least 1,574 people have been killed and nearly seven thousand have been injured. Yet somehow, our networks do not feel the need to report this news or reflect on these realities seriously. This death toll is in addition to widespread forced displacement and a serious risk of starvation – a return to the disastrous period of the last decade that caused famine, disease and widespread mortality.

I am not arguing that we should be concerned about the tragedy in Yemen because the numbers there are higher than other places. In fact, I would argue against that. Our concern for any place or a community should not be created on some kind of a threshold. For a family that loses a loved one, or faces a life-long disability, or is forced to flee, statistics are of little comfort. My argument is that our sense of grief, loss and concern should focus on people, not on historic trade ties, the number of our people working there or the asymmetry of aid.

The idea of peace starts with a recognition of the pain that conflict creates on all sides. We must resist the temptation to dismiss the suffering of those who have lived in the state of poverty or conflict for long. This idea that 'they are used to it' or 'they are resilient' or 'this is nothing new for them' is deeply problematic. Just because we have loved ones in one country, who feel a sense of anxiety and fear, does not mean that those on the other side of that line somehow matter less. The innocent and the vulnerable there are just as deserving of safety and dignity – even if the government there shares no trade ties with us, or that they are poor.

This recognition of suffering of humans on both side of a line requires both self-reflection and expectation of those who are in the business of reporting news. By self-reflection I mean reminding ourselves the simple notion that a conflict creates misery on both sides, and we should not simply be satisfied by our own ignorance of the suffering of families and communities that are not in the news. And by expectation I want us to ask the most basic question of those who report the news – what about the other side? It is not that the data of their loss is simply absent, it is the choice of our news outlets to not report it. We must demand, and expect, better.

Peace requires work, and that work often brings up uncomfortable facts, including our ignorance, apathy and the heavy toll of our decisions. But that discomfort is a necessary step to ensure the fundamental human dignity that all must be entitled to.