“Today one finally has the right and even the duty to be, above all things, a revolutionary doctor, that is to say a man who utilizes the technical knowledge of his profession in the service of the revolution and the people. But now old questions reappear: How does one actually carry out a work of social welfare? How does one unite individual endeavour with the needs of society?”
These are questions that Che Guevara raised in his 1960 speech on revolutionary medicine. After spending about one and a half years working with different health NGOs across India, I’ve found myself coming back to those same questions. At the same time, I’ve also been reflecting on my experiences through the lens of Arundhati Roy’s writings on NGOs and resistance.
A lot of young doctors today feel frustrated with the system. Many have lost faith in mainstream politics and are just trying to figure things out, often without clear questions to begin with—just like I did. For many of us, health NGOs seem like a good place to start exploring.
And to be fair, there’s a lot to respect there. The people who build and run these organizations are deeply committed. Their stories are powerful, even inspiring. Most NGOs talk about “health for all” and reducing inequality, and they back it up with data—lower IMR, MMR, malaria rates, and so on. They get featured in big reports and magazines, often being presented as doing incredible work.
They do work in places where the government is largely absent—remote, underserved areas. But at the same time, these are also regions where people’s movements could grow, and where large corporations are interested in extracting resources. And somewhere in all this, an uncomfortable question often gets ignored: where is the funding coming from?
Within NGO activist spaces, people debate these issues(LOL). For example, is it okay to take funding from companies like Vedanta Resources, even if those same companies are displacing communities and exploiting resources? But these discussions often end in a very neutral way—“it’s up to each organization to decide.” And then things move on. NGOs keep getting awards, publishing work, and gaining recognition.
Meanwhile, young doctors working in these spaces start to see the contradictions. Some people are okay continuing despite these tensions—they find meaning in what they do. But others get stuck in confusion, circling back to those same questions Che raised.
So again, we’re left asking: How do we really do social welfare?
How do we connect our individual work to what society actually needs?
And today, in a time of uncertainty and increasingly authoritarian politics, these questions feel even more urgent. What does it mean to be a young doctor right now? How do we use our knowledge in a way that actually supports working people and their struggles?
Also, are we even prepared for that? Or are we expected to spend more years chasing postgraduate degrees, working under exhausting conditions, barely getting enough rest or even basic well-being? Or do we just accept things as they are and go with the flow?
So what do we do? Do we already have answers?
I don’t think we do.
Maybe we need to look beyond the usual NGO space and explore other kinds of health models—ones that don’t get attention, awards, or media coverage. Spaces that are actually rooted in people’s movements, especially workers’ struggles. Spaces that are trying to engage with these questions seriously, not just avoid them.
I like to think of these as small “micro-institutions.” Hopefully they already exist. Let’s explore that together.
