A Featured Article on
A child half-clothed, barefoot, sitting by the riverbank. The same photo. Oh no, not just a similar photo. The same photo. It’s not what we say every year, that the media recycles the same image to fool the public. No. The photo is the same because our reality is the same. Our conditions haven’t changed, not by an inch. So how could the photo change?
This morning, on my way to the government school where I teach, I saw the signs. A red alert has been issued for tomorrow. People are being told to evacuate. The flood expected here may be the worst in our history. Notices have gone out to all the landowners. Warnings echo through the village. A launch and a boat have arrived because the water is expected to reach us by morning.
I saw people moving quickly, darting from place to place. No one was speaking, yet everyone seemed to be in conversation with themselves, with the air, with the silence. Mud-covered tractors were building fresh embankments around homes and fields, but only around the homes of those who own land. Those with large houses here, and homes in nearby cities, even in Islamabad.
And then there were the others. The ones with half a shirt on their backs. Silent. Still. Like leaves in a foggy season, motionless and breathless. Some stared at the top of a tree with hollow eyes. Others looked at the ruins of their homes. And I understood. I understood exactly what they were planning. Or rather, what they weren’t.
And yes, that child. The barefoot one. Sitting quietly in a corner, turned away from all the movement. He didn’t look at them. Because every time he did, someone took his photo. And each time, his eyes hurt. Not from the flash. But from the truth.
Tahir Arshad – 28/08/2025