Buried shame by Virginia Robertson

Every year, the world pauses, briefly, politely, on the International Day for Mine Awareness and Assistance in Mine Action. Speeches are made. Statements are issued. Carefully worded posts circulate. And then, almost immediately, the world moves on. The landmines, however, do not.

They wait. Hidden beneath soil that once fed families, along paths where children still dare to walk, under the fragile illusion of “post-conflict recovery.” Landmines are not relics of war; they are its most cowardly extension. They are weapons designed not just to kill, but to linger, to rot the future long after the headlines fade.

Let’s stop pretending this is merely a humanitarian issue. It is a moral failure ongoing, deliberate, and tolerated. Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: landmines exist today not because we lack the technology to remove them, but because we lack the political will to prioritize human life over strategic convenience. Clearing mines is slow, expensive and unglamorous. It doesn’t win elections. It doesn’t boost defence contracts. It doesn’t satisfy the appetites of those who still view war as a game played on maps instead of a curse buried in the earth.

So the mines stay. And with them, the consequences. Farmers who cannot farm. Children who cannot play. Communities that cannot rebuild. Entire regions frozen in a state of quiet terror, where every step carries the weight of uncertainty. This is not collateral damage. This is calculated neglect.

What makes landmines particularly grotesque is their indiscriminate nature. They do not recognize ceasefires. They do not distinguish between soldier and civilian, adult and child, enemy and survivor. They are equal opportunity destroyers, and in that sense, they expose the hypocrisy of modern warfare. We speak endlessly about precision, about minimizing harm, about “smart” weapons, yet we continue to tolerate devices that are the very definition of blind violence.

And then there is the language. “Mine action.” “Risk education.” “Clearance operations.” Sanitized phrases that attempt to wrap brutality in bureaucracy. Let’s call it what it is: a global effort to clean up after the reckless, often cynical decisions of governments and armed groups who knew exactly what they were planting and where.

The defenders of landmines will argue necessity. They always do. They will speak of borders, deterrence and security. But what security is built on the permanent endangerment of civilians? What defence strategy requires the future to bleed?

If a weapon continues to kill decades after a conflict ends, it is not a tool of war, it is a legacy of failure.

There is, of course, progress. Treaties have been signed. Stockpiles destroyed. Large areas cleared. Dedicated individuals risk their lives every day to disarm these hidden killers, one painstaking step at a time. Their work is heroic. It is also, in a just world, unnecessary.

Because the real solution is not better mine detection. It is not faster clearance. It is the absolute, uncompromising rejection of landmines as acceptable instruments of war.

Anything less is complicity. This day of awareness should not be comfortable. It should not be a box to tick or a moment to signal virtue. It should be a confrontation. A demand. An accusation.

Why are these weapons still in the ground? Why are communities still living in fear of something buried decades ago? And why, despite all our technological advancement and moral posturing, have we accepted this as normal?

Until those questions are answered with action, not statements, not promises, but measurable, relentless action, this day remains what it truly is: a reminder not of progress but of how much we are still willing to ignore.

The mines are still there.

And so is our responsibility.