When a Conflict Collapses on a Child: An (Aborted) Medical Evacuation of a Hazara Toddler During the Kabul Airport Blast and the Taliban Takeover

16 Narrative Inquiry in Bioethics • Volume 13 • Number 3 • Winter 2023 was on the watch list and who was not, some took the risk and got away. Fortunately, I became one of them and am now physically safe. Since leaving the country, I have lived with the guilt of leaving my friends and family behind. My family feels safer without me, but the thought of not going to the liberated areas, knowing I could do a lot on the ground, burdened me with guilt. Even if I do not stop doing things for the democratic movement online, seeing patients remotely, or networking and coordinating remotely, it will never be enough. That is why, even after two years, I am still working remotely for the people of Burma, hoping that one day we will have the peace we deserve. Along the journey, I have learned many invaluable things, obtained many like-minded and genuine friends, and got to know many inspiring and selfless people. I had to leave a job and the income it provided for two years, then I lost many friends who failed to side with justice and witnessed many people lose their lives. There are a lot of people I have never met face-to-face, but we love and care for each other like blood-related brothers and sisters, just by having the same goal. Many medical professionals in Burma are doing online or on-the-ground medical work without getting paid. All we want is true democracy, the right to health, and for our people to live peacefully. We have been through a lot and learned a lot. Yes, we are exhausted and broken, but we will end this together to bring a beautiful new day for the people of Burma. “One friend here and one friend there Life-now differs, then memories shared Soon will be a day with no despair Just hugs and tears to be laid bare” This is my original poem for my friends who are behind bars. Many of them are waiting for ruthless and meaningless sentences. I hope we get enough international attention just in time so my friends will come out alive soon. For the medical students whose lives have been lost; the doctors who were killed during their medical assistance; the nurses who were sexually assaulted and killed afterward; my brother and sister-like friends who are now in the interrogation centers and in prisons for giving their help to the people—one day, I will see them again. Editor’s Note. NIB policy allows authors to publish anonymously when stories considerably contribute to a symposium but contain highly sensitive information that cannot be de-identified. However, stories are never submitted or accepted anonymously and all authors sign our publication agreement, which upholds standards for responsible authorship. B When a Conflict Collapses on a Child: An (Aborted) Medical Evacuation of a Hazara Toddler During the Kabul Airport Blast and the Taliban Takeover Ayesha Ahmad I work in the capacity of an academic researching conflict in Afghanistan. My commitment is rooted in the firm terrain of friendships that merged into sisterhood of the Afghan terrain spaning decades of war but which is also the home of poetics and legacies that refuse to be clouded by the traumas of the land. As a medical ethicist situated in global health, I perceive the inadequate focus on recognising the mental health needs born from living in war as a moral injustice and a form of silencing the suffering . This injustice should be held by the geopolitical hands that play the chords of conflict. However, such research is all too often concluded before it can develop as too dangerous, or too risky, or even as unethical because potential participants are perceived (often, unjustifiably so) to be too vulnerable. Another peril of research is the boundary drawn between a particular experience of the research objective and the life experience of the research participant . Connecting as a researcher and in a personal capacity, I fell into a chasm unseen in the context from where I work in London, United Kingdom.  Healthcare Under Fire: Stories from Healthcare Workers During Armed Conflict 17 I remember the evening...