Longevity Inequity

 

 

Two great universal constraints that have defined human experience are the limits of our power and the shortness of our time. Death is inevitable, and seeking meaning in the finite span allotted to everyone has become the preoccupation of people engaged in philosophy, literature, and religion. However, in our modern world, a new, insidious moral challenge strips away the very universality of the human condition. It is the birth of a system where the length and quality of one’s life are not merely subject to chance or genetic lottery but are meticulously determined by the size of one’s bank account. We can call it longevity inequity.

 

Inequality has always been a familiar plague upon the human spirit. But socio-economic failure has never been so stark as in our time, when measured by the classic metrics of glaring disparities in wealth, education, and opportunity across nations and groups. However, the emerging gap in life expectancy represents an evolutionary stage of injustice. And it is far more dangerous than we generally assume. The wealthy can afford not just comfortable, but extended lives equipped with the finest medical science, pristine living environments, and personalized wellness regimens. But the poor must succumb earlier to preventable diseases exacerbated by chronic stress and systemic neglect. Thus, we have arrived at the ultimate moral failure. And this is not merely a crisis of capital. It is a profound failure of the soul of global civilization.

 

The evidence of this divergence is alarming, demanding our immediate attention. The life expectancy gap between the richest and poorest nations now stretches to over 30 years. In 2024, the average life expectancy in Japan exceeded 84 years; in Chad it remained under 54 (World Health Organization, 2024). At a deeper level, this gap mirrors broader inequities. One in five children in low-income countries dies before the age of five, compared to just one in 250 in high-income nations (UNICEF, 2023). It is a 50-fold difference in the most basic metric of human success: survival. Over 4.5 billion people (i.e., more than half the global population) lack full access to essential health services, and nearly 100 million are pushed into extreme poverty every year by out-of-pocket medical expenses (World Bank, 2023).

 

The moral atrophy is not confined to the borders separating the Global North and South. The same corrosive dynamic is fracturing even developed countries from within. Consider the data from the United States. Studies have found that the life expectancy gap between the richest 1% and the poorest 1% is astronomical. For men, this disparity averages 14.6 years, and for women, 10.1 years (Chetty et al., 2016). Furthermore, the wealthiest segments of the population have experienced steady gains in longevity over recent decades. The poorest segments have seen their life expectancy stagnate or even decline during the same period. In the United Kingdom, similar divides have emerged. Residents of affluent London boroughs such as Kensington live, on average, 19 years longer in good health than those in deprived northern regions (Office for National Statistics, UK, 2023). Wealth is literally translating into years of existence, an outcome that perverts the very notion of a shared human fate.

 

This Longevity Inequity is inextricably linked to the hyper-concentration of wealth. The moral calculus of our time is defined by this staggering statistic: the wealthiest 1% of the world’s population now own nearly twice as much wealth as the bottom 99% combined (Oxfam International, 2024). Meanwhile, the bottom half of humanity, 3.9 billion people share less than 0.7% of global wealth (Credit Suisse Research Institute, 2023). This colossal aggregation of capital, represented by a handful of individuals possessing billions side by side with billions living on less than three dollars a day, creates a positive feedback loop of compounding privilege. What we see now is wealth buys political influence, which shapes public policy (on taxes, on environmental regulation, on healthcare access), which further enhances wealth, which then buys the ultimate luxury: time.

 

The inequity extends beyond economics. It is spread into the planetary systems that sustain life itself. The richest 10% of the global population are responsible for nearly half of all carbon emissions. The poorest half—mostly in the Global South—contribute less than one-tenth yet suffer most climate-related deaths and displacement (Global Carbon Project, 2023). Climate change is expected to cause an additional 250,000 deaths annually between 2030 and 2050, primarily from malnutrition, malaria, and heat stress in poorer regions (United Nations Environment Programme & World Health Organization, 2023). Even the planet’s changing climate conspires in the arithmetic of privilege, granting longer, healthier lives to those least touched by the damage they cause.

This path of hyper-concentration of wealth is catastrophic for three fundamental reasons, and they speak to the destruction of our very humanity.

 

First, it annihilates the concept of inherent human dignity. We could cease to be one species if the ultimate, non-negotiable value, life itself, can be purchased and extended by one class while it is brutally truncated for another. The poor are not merely deprived of luxuries; they are deprived of their future, their final chapters, and the possibility of witnessing their grandchildren grow. The differential valuing of life based on net worth reduces human existence to a quantifiable, tradable commodity, eroding the Enlightenment concept that all people are created equal.

 

Second, a society divided into long-livers and short-livers will be devoid of common ground and, ultimately, compassion. Those who live 15 years longer than their less fortunate neighbors exist in a separate reality. And it guarantees the atrophy of the social and ethical spirit because the long livers are inoculated against the existential pressures that shape the shorter lives of the majority. This class of ultra-privileged individuals becomes detached from the consequences of the systems that sustain them. Their elongated lives are built upon a foundation of social fragility, making genuine empathy, shared governance, and collective problem-solving impossible. The very mechanism that preserves their longevity destroys the social cohesion necessary for a healthy civilization.

 

Finally, the inequity contributes to an unquantifiable waste of human potential. Every life cut short by poverty, every mind dulled by malnutrition, every talent extinguished by lack of accessible care is a loss not just to the individual, but to the global well of creativity, innovation, and wisdom. Global productivity losses due to poor health and nutrition now exceed 10 trillion dollars annually (International Labour Organization, 2024). It is a silent hemorrhage of human potential that dwarfs any economic gain from elite concentration. By allowing wealth disparity to dictate premature death and chronic illness, we are not just accepting inequality. We are impoverishing our collective future, sacrificing human genius and insight at the altar of capital concentration.

 

If we are one species, then we must have the universal right to a fair measure of time. But the longevity inequity is a true denial of and a direct assault on that right. Extending the lifespan of the few while shortening the lifelines of the many is not progress. It is a perverse form of social engineering. The true measure of our civilization will not be the peak age attained by the wealthiest among us, but the sustained, healthy lifespan of the poorest. Only when the floor of life is raised for everyone can we claim to be worthy of the humanity we profess.

 

The hyper-concentration of wealth is a threat to our economy and society. It is a threat to the soul of the species, and it must be met with a philosophical and political reckoning. The era of abstract moralizing is done. What remains is action. Action to make sure that life itself is treated as a right, not a return on investment.

 

Footnotes

Chetty, R., Stepner, M., Abraham, S., Lin, S., Scuderi, B., Turner, N., Bergeron, A., & Cutler, D. (2016). The association between income and life expectancy in the United States, 2001–2014. JAMA, 315(16), 1750–1766. https://doi.org/10.1001/jama.2016.4226

Credit Suisse Research Institute. (2023). Global wealth report 2023. UBS Group AG. https://www.credit-suisse.com/about-us/en/reports-research.html

Global Carbon Project. (2023). Global carbon budget 2023.https://www.globalcarbonproject.org/carbonbudget/

International Labour Organization. (2024). World employment and social outlook 2024: The cost of poor health and productivity losses. ILO Publishing. https://www.ilo.org/global/research

Office for National Statistics. (2023). Health state life expectancies by national deprivation deciles: England 2019 to 2021. UK Government. https://www.ons.gov.uk/

Oxfam International. (2024). Inequality Inc.: How corporate power divides our world and the need for a fair economy. https://www.oxfam.org/en/research/inequality-inc

UNICEF. (2023). The state of the world’s children 2023: For every child, vaccination. United Nations Children’s Fund. https://www.unicef.org/reports/state-worlds-children-2023

United Nations Environment Programme & World Health Organization. (2023). Health and climate change: Policy brief 2023. United Nations. https://www.who.int/publications

World Bank. (2023). Tracking universal health coverage: 2023 global monitoring report. World Bank Group. https://www.worldbank.org

World Health Organization. (2024). World health statistics 2024: Monitoring health for the SDGs. WHO. https://www.who.int/data

 

 

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Funny Trini

 

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Funny Trini

 

I have been visiting Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad and Tobago, since 1998. The city is also dubbed the New York of the Caribbean. Traffic congestion, crime, art, culture and diversity are comparable between New York of the U.S.A. and Port of Spain of Trinidad and Tobago, on a normalized basis. It’s January 2016, and this marks my ninth visit. Trinidad is called Trini for short. And I like it that way!

 

Trini appears to me funny when I hear people speak English. Their English is more like Tringlish, similar to Hinglish, English spoken by Hindi-speaking Indians, or Chinglish, English spoken by native Chinese. It is very distinct. English is the first language in Trinidad and Tobago. But spoken English is richly rhythmical with a dense accent. Equally, I may appear funny to Trinies when I speak English because I originally hailed from Nepal and my spoken English is different from that of Trinis. Like their Tringlish, mine may be Nenglish–English spoken with a Nepalese accent.

 

We generally admire a funny person. I much admire Trinis because quite a few things are funny here. The way people dress up in various costumes during the great Carnival festival is fabulous. For me, it is more than funny. It is cultural, historic, and artistic. It shows passion and dedication. Some people here spend a couple of months in preparation for this fabulous festival event. The Carnival festival is amazing–the music, the dances, the processions, the food and of course the drink! It is a spectacular event.

 

Trinidad and Tobago is a jewel in the crown of the Caribbean. Its people are both rich and poor. Only V. S. Naipaul’s sharp pen could paint their landscape in full detail. One section of the Port of Spain is like the Chicago South, and the other is like New York's Manhattan. Just a couple of blocks away from the glitter of the city’s business district are quite a few stray dogs and humans searching for food in the litter. To add agony to aching hearts, people are looking deeply dejected by the despair of poverty and drugs. Thus, the litter and the glitter are juxtaposed sadly.

 

I have seen drivers in Port of Spain with one hand in the steering wheel of a Maxi-taxi and the other holding a beer bottle. They appear so skilled in their driving profession that they are drinking and driving at the same time without killing anyone. Taking a ride in one of those maxi-taxis is really funny, even though your heart may pound faster and faster as you get closer and closer towards your destination.

 

One of the favourite pastimes of Trinis is going to a beach, as there are plenty of them. I visited Maracas Beach a couple of times. Every time I go there, I experience an increased sense of bliss. The old and the young, the men and the women, the boys and the girls all move towards the ocean in their colourful swimming suits and undies and merge their bodies in the water. When a rough tide comes their way to submerge their bodies under it, they jump up and down as if embracing heaven and earth simultaneously. How lovely!

 

Hidden under the history book of nature and of men and women of this lovely land are some treasures that captivated my mind. One such treasure is the Asa Wright Nature Centre, located in Arima Valley of the Northern Range. Spanning 1,500 acres of protected rainforest, it boasts incredible biodiversity with hundreds of species of birds, reptiles, amphibians, butterflies and more. Over 250 species of birds have been found here, making this centre one of the top birdwatching spots in the Caribbean. The sight and songs of hummingbirds, antshrikes, honeycreepers, and squirrel cuckoos enchanted me. I was beholden to the sight of the botanical garden. I have been to this Centre several times. But this time, a write-up carved on the welcoming board caught my attention. It read: “Take nothing but pictures; kill nothing but time; leave nothing but footprints.” How profound!

 

Among many other enchanting attractions, such as the La Brea Pitch Lake (the largest natural deposit of asphalt in the world) and Fort George Museum, the Hanuman Statute located in the village of Carapichaima stands out. It was consecrated in 2003. The spectacular 85-foot-tall statute, built in a Dravidian style of architecture of South India, overlooks the Dattatreya Yoga Centre and shares the Temple’s landscape. It is the tallest Hanuman Statute outside of India in the world; the record for the tallest Hanuman Statute is held by the statute (171 ft) in Madapam, Srikakulam district, on the banks of the river Vamsadhara in North Andhra, India. Hanuman is a Hindu god, a revered disciple of Lord Rama. It is assumed that the height of the Statute is a reminder to Hanuman’s devotees that they should grow in height spiritually.

 

The Temple-in-the-Sea, five hundred feet into the water of the Gulf of Pairia in Waterloo, is another amazing sight. Its location, beauty and serenity all command praise. When I read the history of its construction, I could not stop admiring its builder–Sewdass Sadhu. How a person’s passion, grit, and commitment can make a difference! It is an amazing story. Sewdass Sadhu came to Trinidad in 1907 as an indentured labourer. There were quite a few indentured labourers brought to work on the island from India. Most of them were Hindus and believed in prayers. They used to do so in temples back home. But there was no temple for this activity in Trinidad. Early in his life in Trinidad, Mr. Sadhu set a goal of erecting a sacred Hindu temple on the coast of the Gulf of Pairia. Brick by brick, he finished his project in 1947.

 

However, the temple was built on land owned by the Caroni Sugar Company. The Company wanted it demolished, but Mr. Sadhu resisted. The company resorted to the law enforcement authority, which demolished the Temple in 1952 and jailed Mr. Sadhu for 14 days over the matter. This development made Sadhu more determined, and he began work on a new one in the sea so that he did not have to get permission from the government to build the temple. He worked another 17 years to complete it.

 

The Temple is indeed a tribute to the power of human passion and persistence! Mr. Sadhu died in 1970, but his legacy is one of the crowning events in the colonial history of Trinidad. Here are two pictures of this historic temple:

 

The greeneries across the rolling hills of the land, the food and costumes, and the upbeat spirit of the people will certainly cheer you up in Port of Spain, the capital of Trinidad and Tobago. The seashores and natural beauty of Tobago are unique in their own ways. Your body will start to feel fresh and your lungs happy as soon as you land in Tobago. Eco-tourism is the name of the game here. But any description of Trinidad and Tobago will stay incomplete without a mention of the classic doubles, a common street food consisting of curried chickpeas wrapped in two fried flatbreads with a topping of a variety of chutney and hot pepper sauce, the sumptuous morning breakfast served sideways in different locations. So tasty and so affordable!

 

 

Poets' Corners of Canada

 

 

New Brunswick is often celebrated as the picture province of Canada. Fredericton, its capital, remains as the brightest jewel of the province. Among the city’s treasured institutions stands the University of New Brunswick, one of the oldest public universities in North America. Nestled between Singer Hall and Kristede Hall, in front of the Harriet Irving Library in Jacob’s yard of the campus, lies a modest yet profoundly meaningful space: the Poets’ Corner of Canada.

Carved into a slab of marble is an inscription honouring three distinguished literary figures: Bliss Carman (1861-1929), Sir Charles G.D. Roberts (1860-1943), and Francis J. Sherman (1871-1926). It reads:

“Born in or near Fredericton. Educated in this University, and buried in the cemetery of Forest Hill. Their gifts of verse enriched Canadian literature and gained for their common birthplace the designation — ‘The Poets’ Corner of Canada.’”

 

For nearly four decades, from July 1985 to December 2023, my office at UNB stood only steps away from this inscription. My daily routine—parking my car near Kristede Hall, walking to Singer Hall, returning home in the late afternoon—carried me through the Poets’ Corner countless times. Often, I passed through without noticing; at other times, I paused, letting the breeze settle as students ate their lunches, lovers lingered without reservation, and hurried passers-by flowed indifferently around the marble. Through it all, the Poets’ Corner remained serene, unbothered by the shifting rhythms of the campus around it. It stood as a silent sentinel of memory.

 

Occasionally, I would stop long enough to reread the inscription. Those moments reminded me that even the smallest of places can give rise to voices that resonate far beyond their origins. A modest corner of Fredericton had produced poets whose work helped shape Canadian literature and placed their hometown on the literary map. The permanence of their words had outlived the impermanence of their surroundings.

 

My professional life has been spent studying business and management. In that world, the rise of globalization once threatened to erase local identities. Yet the environment evolved, and certain local products unexpectedly flourished across global markets. The term glocal entered our lexicon—“produce locally for global markets.” And yet, as durable as some of those offerings seemed, their lifespan remained limited because they catered to outward senses, to fleeting tastes and shifting preferences.

 

But poets and artists work differently. What they create is directed inward, toward the deeper chambers of human experience. Their words help us recognize ourselves, even across centuries. This is why their creations endure; that is why they travel through time with a resilience that surpasses any commercial innovation. Literature does not expire. It remains present in the future.

 

After retiring from UNB, I moved to Ottawa and settled near the Central Archive on Tallwood Drive. The building’s courtyard, with its broad sky, benches, and gentle breeze, became part of my daily walking route. On October 2, 2024, while passing through the courtyard, I noticed a marble slab titled Poet’s Pathway. It immediately stirred memories of Fredericton’s Poets’ Corner.

Etched into the stone was a poem, “Oft from Memory,” by William Pittman Lett (1819-1892):

Oft from memory breathes a sigh,
When retrospection’s light appears
Along the maze of scenes gone by,
Revealing joys of other years.
And when the blisses of the past
Crowd recollection like a dream:
It seems as if indeed too fast
We’ve glided down life’s turbid stream.

 

As I read these lines, something stirred deeply within me. The poem’s wisdom, the acknowledgment of life’s swift passage, felt like a tender mirror. The phrase “glided down life’s turbid stream” spoke with unmistakable truth about the stage of life I now inhabit. It was as though Lett had written across time directly to me.

 

Standing there, I felt again the timelessness of poetry. The poets of Fredericton, the poets of Ottawa, the poets of generations past—each created work that continues to breathe, to touch, to illuminate. Their words persist not because we remember them, but because they remember us: our joys, our sorrows, our bewildering passage through this “turbid stream.”

 

Indeed, poets create products that persist perennially. Literature endures where most other creations fade. It stands to watch over our histories, our inner lives, and our shared humanity—silently, persistently, forever present in the future.

 

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