On the night of August 14-15, 2024, news of an assault on an on-duty doctor in India’s Calcutta ignited outrage across the internet. The next day, on August 16, thousands of doctors across South Asia came together once again, questioning the safety of their workplaces. This incident, like many before it, united the estranged brothers of the subcontinent, who have been divided by borders and politics for 77 years but are bound by a shared plight.
Ironically, this tragedy struck as both nations were celebrating their independence, as if fate itself was at play. This time, the plight felt a little bit more personal. As Karachi mourned for Calcutta, Sindh mourned for West Bengal, Momina mourned for Momita. Yet, as Pakistanis held on to a fragile hope, that perhaps, despite the horrifying cases of Noor Muqaddam, Zainab Ansari, Safia Bibi, and the 6,624 cases of molestation and gender-based violence reported in 2023, they were not as utterly barbaric as their neighbors.
It was a hope against hope. But this hope was soon shattered. Just a week later, 1,703 kilometers away in Lahore, Ganga Ram Hospital witnessed a tragedy eerily similar to the one at RG Kar Hospital. This time, the victim was a five-year-old girl. Just like in Calcutta, the authorities were quick to try and sweep the matter under the rug. For most doctors, the hospital is a ‘holy place’, a shrine, a sacrarium, a sanctuary where life is saved.
As they say, “The walls of a hospital have heard more sincere prayers than any other place of worship.” But why, then, do such atrocities happen within these very walls? Are the prayers not strong enough, or are the walls so saturated with pleas for loved ones that the cries for safety go unheard The answer lies within the very fabric of hospital systems themselves.
When the news of Momita’s assault broke the internet, doctors across the region expressed how unsafe they felt in their hospitals. These concerns, often raised and repeatedly ignored in medical circles, came to the fore once again. An intern at a Lahore hospital shared, “I once notified the administration about the lack of resting rooms for female doctors and the uncomfortable chairs in the ER-HDU complex. The response was a nonchalant, ‘What does a doctor on duty in the ER have to do with rest?’ – peppered with a joke, ‘And if you fall unconscious, you’re already in the ER, aren’t you?’”
But the story doesn’t end here. Even if resting rooms are available – a single bed for 40 doctors – they are often occupied by whosoever holds the more seniority, or influence. Entire wings of hospitals – the most luxurious ones – remain vacant, reserved for VIPs. Female doctors face even more challenges. In many hospitals, there are no safe, all-night cafes where they can eat their 3:00am meals. As one doctor lamented, “Another ‘what does a doctor on duty have to do with dinner’ situation.” For female doctors, the societal taboo of “women lying down to rest in public” compounds these challenges, leaving them unable to sleep on hospital benches like their male counterparts.
Yet it’s not just female doctors who suffer – male doctors are also at risk. Some, like Dr Fakar, have been beaten to the brink of death, while others, like Dr Ali Raza, have been shot for arriving late. On top of all this, a toxic culture persists within the medical community, one that glorifies exhaustion. Mental health, while a hotly debated topic in society, remains largely neglected in hospitals. Doctors with IV lines still attached to their arms are often forced back into non-emergency services. Newcomers on duty are routinely dismissed by senior doctors with phrases like, “You’ve got it easy!” or “We had it worse”, or “36 hours? We had 72-hour shifts.”
Checking out
In the midst of all this, the satisfaction of treating patients is quite short-lived, and the hours even poorly compensated. The hard-earned white coat and stethoscope have become less a symbol of healing and more a curse. It’s no wonder so many doctors are fleeing the country or leaving medicine altogether. It is high time for hospital policies to be revisited and revised, or do we need another pandemic to realize that “not all heroes wear capes”.
So very true about the plight of doctors especially the young ones in our medical system. Another matter of great concern is that doctors in Pakistan are highly underpaid. Those who want to pursue postgraduate training are not paid at all or very less paid.