The long defeat
When everything seems to be getting worse, why even bother trying?
Dear friend,
Everywhere you look- on the news, on the streets, in the faces of the poor- you see suffering, and for many, it's only getting worse.
We have conquered distance with technology yet somehow grown more isolated. A pathogen can circle the globe in days, proving our interconnectedness, yet we respond by building higher walls and retreating into tribal identities.
Today, nations turn inward, borders harden, and death tolls in distant lands becomes mere statistics. We see health systems crumble, preventable diseases claim lives in remote regions, and climate change threaten the most vulnerable- yet these tragedies barely register in our collective consciousness.
We have the technical ability to prevent countless deaths, yet lack the moral imagination to see them as our shared responsibility.
That India is a land of contrasts is true, even if it's a cliché. A billionaire's wedding spills over seasons, while a manual scavenger suffocates in human waste.
Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow light over banquet halls, while a child curls up perilously close to deadly railway tracks.
The Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh spoke of interbeing- the profound truth that we cannot separate our well-being from that of others, that we are all interconnected in ways that our individualistic culture tries to deny. I feel it, and I know many others do too—a lingering sadness born from the understanding that if things aren't better for everyone, they're truly better for no one.
But today we have learned to look after our own, to elevate selfishness as virtue, to celebrate those who hoard while shaming those who share.
And so, the question arises…
Why even bother?
When suffering rises like an unrelenting tide, when acts of kindness seem inadequate, when the world seems to regress into self-absorption and greed, why even keep fighting?
Very recently I read a remarkable book that tells the story of one human fighting against all odds: Mountains Beyond Mountains. Written by Tracy Kidder in 2003, it chronicles the extraordinary life of Dr. Paul Farmer—a name far less known than those of billionaires and politicians, yet one that transformed the lives of the world's most vulnerable.
It shows that one person can make a difference.
The title of the book comes from a Haitian proverb, "beyond mountains there are mountains", describing the endless nature of struggle, the way every summit reveals new heights to climb. Yet this is a book about a man who chose to climb anyway.
Dr. Paul Farmer's life cuts to the heart of moral choices. In the heat of Haiti's central plateau, in the dust of Peru's shanty towns, in the remote villages of Rwanda, he lived a reality most of us prefer to ignore: that our comfort rests on others' suffering, our abundance on others' lack.
"The world is full of miserable places," writes Kidder. "One way of living comfortably is to not think about them or, when you do, to send money."
Farmer chose another way. His path to this life's work began in unlikely circumstances.
Growing up in a family that sometimes lived on a bus, he learned early both the sting of poverty and the power of human dignity. His father, a teacher with an unconventional spirit, taught him to question everything, especially the boundaries society draws between those who matter and those who don't. Those early lessons shaped his mission.
When he walked the halls of Harvard Medical School, he carried with him the memory of nights spent in that bus, of what it meant to be seen as less than. This is why he moved so effortlessly between academic conferences and dirt-floor clinics, bringing the same irreverent humor, the same stubborn insistence on dignity, to both.
But what made Farmer extraordinary wasn't his Harvard credentials or medical brilliance, it was his refusal to accept usual compromises. When experts said it was impossible to treat complex diseases in poor settings, he proved them wrong. In the poorest corners of the world, he built health systems that rivaled those of wealthy nations.
Farmer’s approach to treating HIV/AIDS in Haiti illustrates this perfectly. Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. And living in central Haiti are the poorest of the poor.
When Farmer began providing antiretroviral therapy in his clinic in rural Haiti, many experts dismissed the effort as impossible—the drugs were too expensive, the treatment regimen too complex, the infrastructure inadequate. Farmer's response was to build what was needed: a comprehensive system of community health workers, social support, and medical care that achieved better results than many programs in wealthy countries.
"If you're suggesting that we can't treat poor people with the same standard of care as wealthy people," he would counter, "at least have the courage to say it openly."
Farmer alternate between teaching at Harvard, one of the world’s preeminent medical schools, and hiking hours through mud to reach a single patient, medicines strapped to his back.
There's a passage in Mountains Beyond Mountains that captures his defiant approach:
How about if I say, I have fought for my whole life a long defeat. How about that? How about if I said, that all it adds up to is defeat?
I have been thinking about this passage and what Farmer says about trying to alleviate suffering.
I have fought the long defeat and brought other people on to fight the long defeat, and I'm not going to stop because we keep losing. Now I actually think sometimes we may win. You know, people from our background… we're used to being on a victory team, and actually what we're really trying to do... is to make common cause with the losers. Those are two very different things. We want to be on the winning team, but at the risk of turning our backs on the losers, no, it's not worth it. So you fight the long defeat.
The work people who serve on the frontlines do is an endless struggle in which defeat is inevitable.
But there is also a lesson for each of us, as we think of looking away in dark times.
Every day, we make a choice—to turn away or to engage, to protect our comfort or to make common cause with those who suffer. It is a choice that reveals who we are.
Every life saved, every dignity restored, is worth the fight.
In the face of mountains beyond mountains, we must keep climbing.
Dr. Farmer, who died at 62 while working at a hospital he helped establish in Rwanda, said it best—
"I don't care if we lose, I'm gonna try to do the right thing."
Until next time,
Keep fighting the good fight!
Anirban