Zainab Shabir
In the charged health care environment of Jammu and Kashmir, doctors of today must walk a thin tightrope between popular perception and professional duty. From hospital corridors to cyberspace, the doctor’s profession is faced with twin challenges: a rise in violence initiated by patients and increasing concerns about ethical misconduct by health care professionals. What we witness is not a black-and-white tale of heroes and villains—but a stark image of an institution plagued with crisis.
On one side of this crisis are brutal acts of violence against doctors. In already overcrowded and short-staffed hospitals, doctors are being physically assaulted, sometimes while performing essential duties. An incident of this kind recently occurred within the emergency wing of a prominent government hospital, when a doctor was attacked by a patient’s attendant following a fatal result. The assault led to suspended operations, public indignation, and renewed calls for security measures in government hospitals. These attacks are not isolated aberrations but reflect a growing tension between a desperate public and a stretched medical community.
On the other side of the same system is an online wave of activity that has begun to complicate the public perception of physicians. In another and equally serious controversy, a medical student uploaded a video of his first exposure to an operation theatre. The video, which was meant to be personal or celebratory, was found to be inappropriate and insensitive—warranting serious questions of ethics, consent, and professionalism. Such incidents have prompted regulatory agencies to step in, issuing strict guidelines that now prohibit physicians and medical students from uploading videos, images, or medical data online that may violate privacy or undermine the integrity of the profession.
These two incidents—doctors being attacked while at work, and others attacked for vlogging—are connected. Both are indicative of the underlying cracks in the system. Healthcare workers are struggling with poor support, long shifts, and heightened public expectations. Patients are coping with waiting times, over-stretched resources, and growing distrust. In such an environment, one fatality or one video is sufficient to trigger protests, violence, or widespread condemnation.
Even hospitals like Lal Ded Hospital were not spared the public backlash, as doctors were filmed recording material on hospital premises. Even if confidentiality was not breached, the fact that they were recording it was a very serious matter of priorities and boundaries. Hospitals, especially maternity and casualty wards, are not just centers for treatment—these are vulnerability zones. All recorded or posted moments need to be treated with care and humility.
There are further layers to the credibility crisis. One troubling concern raised by both patients and insiders is the absence of senior doctors during evening and night shifts. It has been routinely observed that senior specialists often delegate critical night responsibilities to interns or junior residents, leaving hospitals with minimal supervision during high-risk hours. This lack of senior presence compromises both treatment quality and public trust. In emergency and casualty wards—where timely decisions can mean life or death—experienced oversight is not a luxury; it is a necessity. The healthcare system must make it mandatory for senior doctors to be physically present and accountable during evening and night hours to uphold professional standards and patient care.
Another contentious issue damaging doctor-patient trust is the prescription of branded medicines, often at the behest of pharmaceutical companies. Patients have reported that some prescribed brands are available only at select medical stores located within or near hospital premises, creating suspicion and resentment. There is growing concern that some prescriptions may be influenced by incentives or gifts offered by medical representatives, rather than patient welfare. To restore integrity, doctors are now being advised to prescribe medications by their generic salt names, not by specific branded products. This simple but meaningful change can reduce costs for patients, ensure transparency, and protect the doctor’s image from being seen as profit-driven. Medical ethics demand that the act of prescribing be driven by patient need—not industry influence.
Doctor: A saviour or an executioner
While discussing the changing dynamics of the medical profession, it is worth recalling the insightful words of the noted columnist, writer, educational counsellor, and my respected teacher Aubaid Ahmad Akhoon. In his thought-provoking column titled “Doctor: A Saviour or an Executioner”, published in Brighter Kashmir on 3rd July 2021, he eloquently writes:
“To begin with the word ‘Doctor’ — it signifies not just a profession, but a beacon of hope. A doctor is one who can bring smiles to the faces of the suffering, one who stands as a guardian between life and death. The medical profession, therefore, commands immense respect in every civilized society.
Doctors constitute an indispensable pillar of our community. Their importance is universally acknowledged, and their service is marked by dignity, honour, and the heartfelt gratitude of those they heal. It is a profession where dedication, passion, perseverance, and relentless hard work elevate an individual to a stature not easily attained.
However, with the increasing pursuit of material comforts and luxuries, the noble spirit of service that once defined this profession appears to be eroding. The medical field, once considered a divine calling, now risks being reduced to a mere means of livelihood.
Disturbing reports frequently surface — of impostors posing as doctors, of fake degrees being unearthed, and of patients losing their lives due to negligence or the administration of substandard medicines. Such incidents not only tarnish the sanctity of the profession but also cast a dark shadow on the thousands of honest, dedicated doctors who still uphold their oath.
This slow corrosion of values within the medical fraternity compels us to reflect: Has the healer become a merchant? Has the saviour, in some cases, turned into an executioner?”
Bottomline
To offset mounting pressure, there have been measures taken by authorities: requiring doctors to wear name tags and white coats on duty, ensuring senior supervision in casualty wards, and proposing greater legal protection for doctors. These are all necessary measures, but they scratch the surface only. Problems beneath remain untouched. Shortage of personnel, substandard facilities, and absence of proper communication channels still fuel pandemonium.
What this episode demands is not piecemeal punishment but wholesale reform. Doctors need protection—but also the very highest moral standards. Hospitals need security—but also humane administration. And the public need answers—but also a realization of the pressures that medical people have to live with on a day-to-day basis. Without the balance, the blame game and backlash will only continue.
The health system crisis in Jammu and Kashmir is no longer an issue of infrastructure. It is an issue of culture, behavior, and credibility. When doctors turn into social media stars, and when hospitals turn into fronts for battlegrounds, the trust fabric gets damaged. All actors—doctors, patients, hospitals, and the authorities—will have to behave with responsibility and sensitivity and mend it. For if the white coat is meaningless, then the entire system is deprived of heart.
(The author is a student and can be reached at [email protected])
