There is something unforgivable about how easily a child’s death can become a number.
Ten children yesterday, seventeen the day before, sixteen the other day, five hundred and fifty-five -- we read them, stop, feel a small weight behind the ribs and return to the day. There is work to finish, traffic to endure, bills to settle, Eid to prepare for.
But in Noakhali, a farmer's house has gone quiet in a way no statistic can hold.
Seven-year-old Ibrahim Khalil, or Samit to everyone who loved him, had fever and measles-like symptoms for 10 days. His family tried local treatment first, the way families do when they have little money and too much hope. Then came Subarnachar Upazila Health Complex. Then Noakhali 250-bed General Hospital. Each transfer admitted the same thing: what was available nearby was not enough.
Doctors said he needed ICU care in Dhaka. His father, Mofizul Haque, did not have the money to take him there.
At last, Samit died on Sunday morning, according to the Prothom Alo.
What kind of country tells a father that his child's only chance is a city he cannot afford?
By May 26, DGHS data reported by The Daily Star put the toll at 555 -- 88 confirmed measles deaths and 467 deaths with measles-like symptoms. In the first 26 days of May, 279 children died. That is more than all deaths recorded through April.
May has been taking more than 10 children a day.
To the state, these may be data points. To those of us in the media, lines in a bulletin. But to each family, it was a child's voice, a child's weight in their arms at night, perhaps the one born after years of waiting, the one who made a house feel full.
The government does have figures to point to. Officials said 1.84 crore children aged between six months and under five years were reached in the vaccination drive. The campaign continued past May 20 because some children remained outside coverage. That coverage is real. Children will survive because of it.
But the question is not whether the government is acting now. The question is why the country had to come this far in the first place.
Measles is not a mystery. It is preventable. The Daily Star reported that the crisis was linked to changes in vaccine procurement, delayed supply, gaps in routine immunisation and the absence of a proper transition. UNICEF Bangladesh said it had warned the interim government repeatedly through five to six formal letters and at least 10 meetings. It said the problem was not lack of money, but delay caused by procurement decisions.
There were letters, and meetings, and warnings. All documented. Children still die in hundreds.
The government has launched an investigation. But in Bangladesh, a probe and accountability are not the same thing. Accountability means pointing to the officials responsible for this catastrophe. The one received the warnings, the one whose decision changed procurement. It means consequence.
The hospital failure is the cruellest part of the chain. Once a child needs oxygen or ICU care, prevention has already failed. The state then has one obligation left: keep the child alive. It cannot hand a poor family a referral note and call that treatment.
The Daily Star reported that 22 districts had no intensive care facilities. Fifty-five percent of government ICU beds were in Dhaka. Some district units were non-functional because they had no staff.
A child in Dhaka may be near oxygen, doctors and a bed. A child in Noakhali may be left with distance, delay and a bill his family cannot pay.
Somewhere tonight, another family may be sitting in a district hospital corridor with a referral slip, asking how far Dhaka is and what the journey will cost. Many know they cannot manage it.
These stories will end only when that family is never put in that position. When the state arrives before the funeral, not after. When oxygen, transport and a bed are not reserved for those who can pay. When an investigation names who failed, and responsibility is not hidden behind a transfer, a committee or a carefully written report.
Five hundred and fifty-five children have died. Tomorrow, another number may arrive. We may read it, pause, and return to the day. But somewhere, another house will go quiet.
So when will these stories end?
Arafat Rahaman is a journalist at The Daily Star. He can be reached at [email protected].
