Oshaz Fatima
It is impossible to ignore that hakeem medicine has grown into a massive, profitable business. The industry thrives on marketing, fearmongering, and exploitation. Billboards, television commercials, and now social media platforms are filled with promises of miraculous cures. Desperate patients, disillusioned with the costs and complexities of formal healthcare, fall prey to these promises. Unlike pharmaceuticals, which are regulated and tested, hakeem medicines are sold freely, without stringent oversight, quality checks, or labeling requirements. This lack of regulation has created an environment where profit trumps patient safety, and quacks masquerade as healers with little fear of accountability. For many hakeems, it is not about preserving ancient wisdom,
it is about cashing in on ignorance.
The cultural prestige of homeopathy and traditional medicine complicates the matter further. In Pakistan, homeopathy has long been recognized as a legitimate profession, and there are institutions dedicated to training and certifying practitioners. Yet, the lines between regulated homeopathy and unregulated hakeem practices are blurred in the public eye. While homeopathy itself has long been debated for its lack of scientific grounding, the more pressing issue is that in many cases, practitioners cross ethical boundaries by treating serious, life-threatening conditions with untested concoctions. When livelihoods are built on offering cures that do not exist, the profession ceases to be harmless and becomes an active threat to public health. The government cannot continue to turn a blind eye in the name of tradition. Respect for culture cannot come at the expense of lives.
Addressing this problem requires a multifaceted approach. Public awareness campaigns must be launched to educate people on the dangers of unregulated hakeem medicines, highlighting real-life stories of harm to dismantle the myths of harmlessness. Regulations must be tightened, and stringent crackdowns are necessary to prevent the sale of hazardous, untested substances. Just as counterfeit drugs are treated as a threat, so too must unlicensed hakeem remedies be recognized for what they are: a parallel, unregulated drug market with the potential to cause mass harm. Legal accountability must be enforced, not only for practitioners but also for manufacturers and distributors who profit from these dangerous practices.
At the same time, efforts should be made to restore trust in the formal medical system. Many people turn to hakeems not just because of cultural preference but because of accessibility, affordability, and mistrust. Government hospitals are often overcrowded and under-resourced, private healthcare is expensive, and the doctor-patient relationship can feel rushed or transactional. Improving accessibility, subsidizing essential medicines, and strengthening primary healthcare could reduce the appeal of unregulated alternatives. If people feel they can approach a doctor early without fear of financial ruin or neglect, they are less likely to gamble with their health at the hands of unqualified practitioners.
There is also a psychological dimension to consider. For many patients, hakeem remedies represent not just treatment but also hope, faith, and familiarity. Breaking this cycle requires sensitivity, not ridicule. Doctors and policymakers must work to replace false hope with genuine solutions, combining scientific medicine with empathy and education. The chokehold of hakeem practices cannot be dismantled overnight, but with consistent effort, it can be weakened.
The stakes are high. Every day, lives are endangered not by the absence of medical knowledge but by its rejection in favor of unscientific practices. The popularity of hakeem remedies is not a harmless cultural preference; it is a public health crisis that undermines the very foundation of medical progress in Pakistan. It places undue burden on hospitals, endangers patients’ lives, and creates a thriving black market in the name of tradition. Unless decisive action is taken, the cycle will continue, and the country will keep paying the price in lost lives, strained resources, and preventable suffering.
The use of hakeem medication in Pakistan is therefore not simply a matter of personal choice or cultural continuity, it is a matter of public health, medical ethics, and governmental responsibility. When practices cross the line from harmless tradition to active endangerment, they must be confronted with the same urgency as any other threat to human life. Pakistan cannot afford to let unregulated remedies dictate the health of its people, nor can it allow the exploitation of trust and desperation to continue unchecked. The chokehold of hakeem medicine is powerful, but with awareness, regulation, and commitment, it is not unbreakable. The time to act is now, before more lives are sacrificed to empty promises wrapped in the name of healing.
The author can be reached at oshazfatima2@gmail.com
