In 2024, I met a Tamil doctor at an event. We spoke of memories from our childhood in Sri Lanka. We had one stark memory to share: burning bodies in stacks of tires, with beheaded human beings nearby. This was life in the Sinhalese-Tamil ethnic war in the eighties, nineties, and beyond, coupled with a Marxist-Leninist insurrection in the country.
Yet, there we were, two doctors, one born a Tamil and one a Sinhalese, two ethnicities once at war, now Australians at peace, celebrating friendship.
This was, in part, a reminder of the power of medicine. We are a profession that can transcend division through our shared purpose, which is healing humanity. This is one of the reasons why I became a doctor. Tamil or Sinhalese, Australian or Sri Lankan, I wanted to do something positive for humanity at large.
Sadly, humanity continues to shed blood. After living through conflict for the first ten years of life, three decades later, I wonder whether it is true that “only the dead have seen the end of war.” In 2024, the Middle East, Eastern Europe, Africa, Southeast Asia, and South America are among the parts of the world experiencing conflict.
Fueled by this, we are a profession divided. Our impassioned voices carry over to scientific meetings, journals, and the media, understandably so.
In a world desperate for unity, it is time to examine who we are. Are we a profession that stokes the fires of discord? Alternatively, are we going to be a thread that runs through the fabric of humanity, healing our divisions?
The Hippocratic aphorism says, “Wherever the art of medicine is loved, there is also a love of humanity.” In the love of medicine, there is the love of the entire humanity, with all our faults—not just parts of it.
This is not a call to be still while evil happens. It is a call for us to be an incorruptible force in our work to heal not just humans but humanity.
Dinesh Palipana is an emergency medicine resident in Australia.
