War And Common Man
By: Narayanan Kizhumun Dayur
War, in all its fury and fanfare, is often portrayed as a grand theatre of strategy and heroism—a stage where powerful nations wrestle with ideologies, where politicians negotiate ceasefires and leaders flaunt military might.
News headlines are saturated with tales of diplomatic standoffs, territorial conquests, and shifting alliances. Yet, obscured beneath the resounding clang of weapons and the hollow words of political rhetoric lies a haunting, often ignored truth: it is the common man—silent, innocent, and helpless—who bears the gravest burdens of war.
When the first gunshots ring out and the first bombs fall, it is not the powerful who flee their homes clutching frightened children and tattered belongings. It is not the generals or ministers who sleep in makeshift tents or crowded refugee camps.
It is the ordinary men and women—the farmers, teachers, shopkeepers, labourers, and children—whose lives are shattered in a moment. Homes lovingly built over decades are reduced to smouldering ruins. Streets once filled with laughter and commerce become graveyards of rubble. Schools become shelters; places of worship become targets. In the wake of destruction, entire communities disintegrate into nothingness, their only legacy a scattering of ashes and silence.
The refugee, a tragic emblem of modern conflict, is not merely a person without a home but a soul without roots. Driven by fear, hounded by hunger, and haunted by memories, they cross borders and deserts, brave oceans and hostile lands, seeking a haven that remains forever elusive.
They trade identity for anonymity, security for uncertainty, and dignity for survival. In camps choked with desperation, they struggle to find water that does not sicken, food that does not run out, and medicine that does not come too late. For many, life becomes a daily contest against death, and hope becomes a fragile, flickering flame.
Beyond the physical, war leaves behind wounds far more enduring—those etched upon the mind. The psychological torment of war is a silent epidemic, eating away at the resilience of the human spirit. Every explosion, every loss, every displacement imprints trauma onto the psyche of survivors. Nightmares become nightly rituals. Anxiety becomes a lifelong companion.
Depression clings to the soul like a second skin. Children grow up not with toys and lullabies, but with the sound of gunfire and the sight of blood. Their dreams are stunted; their innocence eroded. An entire generation risks being lost not just to poverty or displacement, but to a future devoid of healing.
Education, that sacred lamp lighting the path out of darkness, is extinguished in conflict zones. Schools are bombed or abandoned, teachers scattered or killed, and books turned into ashes. The young, robbed of their right to learn, are trapped in a limbo of ignorance, their futures hijacked by forces beyond their understanding. Without education, the seeds of reconstruction remain unsown, and societies emerging from the shadow of war find themselves crippled, unable to stand, much less walk forward.
Economically, war is a plague. It cripples the very lifelines that sustain the common man. Farmlands lie fallow, irrigation systems are destroyed, and markets stand deserted. Businesses collapse, jobs vanish, and entire industries grind to a halt. The few goods that remain become luxuries, their prices soaring beyond the reach of the poor. Inflation suffocates economies already on their knees, and the basic act of feeding a family becomes an overwhelming challenge. The scarcity of resources leads to desperation, and desperation, in turn, breeds crime, trafficking, and exploitation. In such an atmosphere, moral compasses falter, and humanity bleeds into savagery.
Socially and culturally, war rends the delicate fabric that binds communities together. In times of peace, people of differing faiths, ethnicities, and beliefs may live side by side in mutual respect. But war, with its divisive undercurrents, often pits neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend.
Trust evaporates, replaced by suspicion and hatred. The communal bonfire of identity, once warm and unifying, turns cold, scattered by the winds of vengeance and fear. Displaced from their ancestral homes, people are torn from their traditions, their languages, their rituals. The very essence of who they are begins to fade. Cultural heritage sites are pillaged or destroyed, and along with them, the memories and milestones of centuries.
The scars of war do not end with the human heart or the village boundary—they extend into the natural world. Forests are burned, rivers are poisoned, and fertile fields are sown with landmines instead of seeds. The land itself, once a source of sustenance and beauty, becomes treacherous and toxic.
Wildlife is displaced, biodiversity destroyed, and ecosystems disrupted beyond repair. These environmental devastations have long-lasting repercussions, impairing agricultural revival and threatening food security long after the last bullet has been fired.
Efforts to alleviate this suffering are noble but often inadequate. Humanitarian agencies, burdened by limited resources and immense risk, struggle to access those most in need. War zones are treacherous terrain, where relief convoys become targets and aid workers risk their lives daily.
Logistics are complicated by bureaucracy, politics, and violence. Despite their best intentions, these organizations can seldom match the scale of human suffering. For every family fed, another remains hungry. For every wound dressed, another festers. The chasm between need and assistance remains tragically wide.
The international community, while possessing the power to intervene, often responds with delay or indifference. Geopolitical interests frequently outweigh humanitarian concerns. Powerful nations, more invested in arms deals and alliances than in alleviating human misery, often hinder effective resolutions. Peacekeeping efforts, though essential, are slow and fraught with complications. The enforcement of international humanitarian laws is inconsistent, and war crimes frequently go unpunished. Until the global conscience prioritizes the welfare of the innocent over the ambitions of the influential, the common man will continue to suffer in silence.
In Conclusion
Amidst the grand narratives of heroism and conquest, amidst the endless negotiations and strategic analyses, it is crucial to remember that war is not fought merely on battlefields—it is fought in kitchens devoid of food, in schools silenced by gunfire, in refugee camps swollen with despair. It is fought in the hearts of grieving mothers, in the minds of terrified children, and in the eyes of fathers who can no longer provide.
The common man—who seeks only peace, dignity, and the simple joys of daily life—becomes the most tragic casualty of war. Their suffering is not just collateral damage; it is the central, devastating reality of every conflict. If humanity is to progress, if peace is to have meaning beyond treaties and summits, then the world must refocus its gaze. It must look beyond the podiums and parliaments and see the faces of those forgotten by history.
Let us remember that true victory lies not in conquest, but in compassion. Not in the silence of guns, but in the songs of children returning to school. Not in the spoils of war, but in the rebuilding of broken homes and hearts.
Only by acknowledging and addressing the profound, multifaceted impact of war on the common man can we begin the arduous, noble task of building a future rooted in peace, justice, and shared humanity.
(The author is an Accountant by profession and a freelance writer. He is a regular contributor to ‘Kashmir Vision’)
