׉?ׁB!בCטԁu׉׉ 7cassandra://Wtc21SQQCQnaR_0rGR9nfGPkA7QLGAiEhPPN6nf5U5wF`;׉ 7cassandra://d1-P9kAV8pwfj2fXHIw92FcEt7QTpwDnZw8MZWMG9DYt`D׉ 7cassandra://iKs3Ti4J5ATr8z1Cwc2Tpcc8VGLBxFrlPPZBPLWe6os'`̭׉ 7cassandra://E_e03FYtUNMN1c7u30Lv1-swBBl7BZJSgihvGNkIGfs͠_(ۮmIerטԁu׈U׈E_(ۮmIero׉EVol : 02 | Issue: 31 | Pages: 16 | Rs. 20 | R.N.I Title Code: JKENG01280 | Registered: JK NP-253/SKGPO-2020-2022 ESTD. 2011 3 - 9 AUGUST 2020 “Living In A Graveyard” Of Dark Nights And Militarized South Kashmir A Year Later, No Justice For August Detainees ׉ 7cassandra://iKs3Ti4J5ATr8z1Cwc2Tpcc8VGLBxFrlPPZBPLWe6os'`̭_(ۮmIerp_(ۮmIero :בCט :ԁu׉׉ 7cassandra://WrFNrYs_BYJVY5TorilbF3CS9SxF11ukC2-yDiRtEXQ `׉ 7cassandra://qS2uoXOFvi-ID9s6ILtbMoFB_NKUZP2hrLWCc0GUTwkH`׉ 7cassandra://ZcrnriJEEMzAOg16lUSHZ7Q7Tpf7xnBFWi7AgUL3MzMG`Z׉ 7cassandra://y0cYJl8dSI6O93Hj800InxydFbv72r7OkLAduDBU6Yg@͠ a_(ۮmIerנ_(ۮmIer̅9׉Hyhttps://indianexpress.com/article/opinion/columns/omar-abdullah-jammu-kashmir-union-territory-assembly-elections-6524827/Gׁ ׁ rנ_(ۮmIerK|̜ 9ׁH"mailto:contact@thekashmirwalla.comׁ ׁ Ј׉E# ABOUT THIS WEEK |2 Are Kashmir’s Unionists Simply Miffed With A Sour Deal? Saqib Mugloo @SaqibMugloo T he Bharatiya Janta Party (BJP) has been emboldened by the overwhelming mandate it received from Indian voters in the 2019 general elections. Since then, the Modi government has unilaterally imposed, despite protests, some major decisions on the country, drawing widespread criticism from across country and even the world. The BJP passed a controversial bill banning the Muslim Triple Talaq, despite concerns from Muslim groups that the law was misguided. Then, it did away with the so-called special status of Jammu and Kashmir in August 2019 and months later passed the Citizenship Amendment Act and the National Registry of Citizens bill that lead to widespread protests across India for months, subsiding only due to the outbreak of COVID-19. A section of the Indian population—proponents of Hindutva, the ideology being implemented by the BJP—rejoiced over the increasing authoritarianism. However, among all the things that the Modi government did, what stood out though was the way it treated the unionist politicians in the erstwhile state of J-K and dissidents in rest of the country, the “anti-nationals” who disagree with Hindutva—by jailing them and ensuring that they remain there. In Kashmir, the BJP ally and last chief minister of the state, Mehbooba Mufti, was detained and placed under house arrest. The three time chief minister of J-K and former union minister Dr. Farooq Abdullah and his son Omar Abdullah, also a former chief minister and minister of state in the centre, were booked under a stringent Public Safety Act. The detained did not include just the Kashmiri dynastic parties but also included the People’s Conference chief Sajad Lone, the pro-freedom leader who turned unionist. The foot soldiers of the Indian Union who, for decades, risked their lives to strength its rule in Kashmir were treated as criminals as many among them were jailed or left with no option but stay mum. As days went by and the leaders were gradually released, in anticipation people waited for them to speak out and more importantly fulfil the promise of fighting till end for their identity. While the silence of those released deepened under one garb or the other, the questions on the intentions of unionists increased with every passing day. Barring a little criticism of the centre, no unionist politicians have come out in the open to speak of roadmap to resist the Modi government’s policies which tend to add to the anxieties of the masses with every passing order. Speculation of a compromise was fuelled by the emergence of a new party, the Altaf Bukhari led Apni Party. There is a single question on the mind of people in Kashmir—have the unionists sold Kashmir once again? These queries dominated every conversation, whether on shop fronts or during family meals. What makes Kashmiris firm in their skepticism is the fact that they have proven right upon every climax to high drama in the region. The history of being stabbed in the back by the unionists has also given the ordinary Kashmiri reason enough to be sceptic. Come the anniversary of 5 August, the leaders started to break their silence in New Delhi based newspapers. Among the first was Omar Abdullah, known for his contempt for the Kashmiri press, wrote an article in the Indian Express expressing that he would not contest elections to an assembly whose powers been downgraded. “I simply cannot and will not be a member of a House that has been disempowered the way ours has,” he wrote in a column for the Indian Express. He also demanded the restoration of statehood but later reneged from his statements in a series of angry tweets. The statement was welcomed by BJP who distributed sweets over the announcement of vice president of NC. The party that is seen monopolising the politics in Kashmir welcomed the demand of restoring statehood to Jammu and Kashmir by the leader stating that he has accepted the abrogation of Article 370 and integration of J-K with India. While the BJP were in a celebratory mode, Mr. Omar had come under fire for his views, prompting him to talk to various other media outlets where he categorically mentioned that the demand was the restoration of article-370. Meanwhile, former parliamentarian and senior Congress leader Tariq Hameed Karra while taking a dig at NC, in a tweet said that timeline has already been fixed for initiating the process for restoration of statehood as well as the restoration of high-speed mobile data services in Jammu and Kashmir. Seeing the battering as an opportunity to gain political space, the People’s Democratic Party—the former ally of the BJP—came up with a statement reiterating its “commitment to fight for the restoration of honour and dignity of the people of Jammu and Kashmir”. The PDP president, Mehbooba Mufti, continues to remain under detention. Senior party leaders in a statement on its foundation day said that 5 August marked a “black day” in the constitutional history of J-K, when “solemn commitments made by the same Parliament and in the Constitution of India were annulled for a majoritarian goal of bulldozing the country into one saffron colour”. They said the unconstitutional measures had had an impact on J-K worse than that of the worst natural calamity. The party leaders like Naeem Akhtar also talked freely with the media, albeit New Delhi based media, made public their resentment at the policies of the central government. While the recent happenings have certainly started the political bells ringing in the valley of uncertainty, it remains to be seen whether the parties will unite against what they call an aggression by the ruling BJP or will the history repeat itself again? Peace of a Graveyard CARTOONBOX by Anis Wani I t was around this time last year when the Bhartiya Janta Party government revoked partial autonomy of Jammu and Kashmir and downgraded it into two union territories ruled directly by New Delhi. The decision was announced only after Kashmir was put under a strict military lockdown, a complete communication blackout and a crackdown in which thousands were interned. For the first time in recent history, the government crackdown wasn’t limited to separatists alone. Within hours, the entire mainstream structure which included three former Chief Ministers, scores of former ministers and ex legislators were rounded up. Though the lockdown was subsequently eased, life has not returned to normal. The likelihood of return of normalcy also seems remote. The new government structure that was put in place after 5 August last year has made its priorities clear and are singularly focussed on implementing the larger idea behind the decisions taken on 5 August last year. Once the J-K was formally reorganised into two Union Territories, the administration has issued scores of new policy decisions and introduced new laws. These measures and the haste in which they are taken clearly exhibits that the central theme of the government’s plan is to lay a mechanism for speedy demographic change in the erstwhile state aimed at altering its Muslim majority complexion. The last one year has seen a regular stifling of press freedom, disregard towards every aspect of civil rights and choking of all political space. The disempowerment of J-K’s majority is already evident. The COVID-19 pandemic that arrived in Kashmir four months ago has added to the woes of the beleaguered population. The economy that was devastated by the lockdown imposed in August last year was decimated by the widespread curbs imposed ostensibly to halt the spread of this virus. The public restlessness is no longer limited to Kashmir. The discontent is spreading in Jammu where people have started understanding the political, social and economic costs of the abrogation of special status of J-K. The government’s measures like the recent bulldozing of homes of a particular community in Jammu too has caused tensions. This relentless effort to enforce a silence, criminalise dissent, stop media, disallow any political and social activity on ground can only ensure peace of a graveyard. A silence enforced by the barrel of a gun and fear of jail can never be long lasting. New Delhi needs to review its approach towards Kashmir and rethink its plans to enforce demographic change in J-K. Such policies have not succeeded to resolve conflicts and bring peace anywhere in the world. They only further complicate the situation. Cover Illustration by Anis Wani PRINTER, PUBLISHER: JAMILA REHMAT on behalf of TKW MEDIA PVT. LTD. EDITOR IN CHIEF: FAHAD SHAH LAYOUT AND GRAPHICS: MUNTAZIR YASEEN | HR & OPERATIONS: TANZILA QAYOOM | PUBLISHED FROM: 1, INDO KASHMIR CARPET FACTORY, NAWABAZAR, SRINAGAR, 190002 | PRINTED AT : KHIDMAT OFFSET PRESS, THE BUND, SRINAGAR 190001. EMAIL: contact@thekashmirwalla.com PHONE: 0194-2503169 EDITORIAL ׉ 7cassandra://ZcrnriJEEMzAOg16lUSHZ7Q7Tpf7xnBFWi7AgUL3MzMG`Z_(ۮmIerq׉E!3| MEMOIR A Year Of Kashmir CLAMPDOWN Ifreen Raveen C ouple of days before the curfew started in August 2019, three year old Mahi and her fiveyear-old sister Ayesha would take naabad, the sugar crystals that faith healers in Kashmir usually keep in their pockets, and share them with me while our mothers prayed in one corner of the shrine. We were at the shrine of Makhdoom Sahib, a sufi mystic who lived in Kashmir sometime in the 16th century; the evening prayers were still a couple of hours away. The steps that led up to the shrine were bordered by young and old men selling mouth-watering street food. It was a warm summer evening and things were as normal as they could possibly be in a valley under a dense military cover. Over the last few days we watched in anxiety as troops were constantly being deployed in different parts of our homeland. In a matter of days thousands of additional troops watched over every inch of our streets. A riot control vehicle was spotted by someone somewhere, which led to the circulation of its picture on the Kashmiri social media. There was a sudden increase in the number of aircrafts flying in our skies. What added to the confusion were the “everything is normal” declarations of the then Governor of Jammu and Kashmir, Satya Pal Malik, with the government simultaneously releasing orders for people to prepare for a prolonged law and order situation. The faith healer offering naabad to Mahi was one of the many sitting on the edge of different windows in the inner room of the shrine and calling out to the people praying outside. Beautiful white and pink chandeliers hung over their heads. They gave away naabads and blessings like bread and water to people who hadn’t eaten in days. This went on until the caretakers came and ordered everyone to leave. The government had issued statements asking tourists to leave Kashmir. To Kashmiris they told not to worry, however our past experiences had taught us otherwise. The shrine was emptied well before the Maghrib prayer. Not knowing what form of suffering would be inflicted upon us next was too much to bear at the time and we kept seeking assurances and reassurances from people who knew no better than us. Too young to understand the struggle she has inherited by birth, Mahi clung to her mother. Her light brown curls tied in a pink ribbon bobbed up and down before she disappeared in a sea of heads rushing home in panic and chaos. On the morning of 5 August, the world’s largest democracy unilaterally abrogated Jammu and Kashmir’s semi-autonomous status, without the consent, consultation or even knowledge of its 12.5 million people. With a total lockdown and communication blackout imposed in the entire valley, we sat huddled around our radio sets to hear the Home Minister Amit Shah announce in the Rajya Sabha what he called the complete integration of J-K with India. According to Mr. Shah, J-K was the last missing point as its accession to India was not complete with the continuation of Article 370. “Everyone was feeling something was missing,” he said in one of his speeches. For Kashmiris everywhere, Article 370 felt like the last smidgen of dignity and identity, and with it wiped out our existence had come under a direct threat. We watched helplessly as the armed men first filled up our streets and then started laying concertina wires, dividing one street from the other. We had no clue what nearby areas were going through as we had no means of contact with anyone other than our immediate neighbourhood. Every evening smoke from the pepper and teargas would waft into our homes. It was the only way of knowing that a protest was happening somewhere near us. It would reassure us, even as we choked and our eyes burned, that we are still alive, still fighting and like everything else we are not going to take this hands down. Civilian movement was strictly restricted in Kashmir Valley after the GoI revoked J-K's speicial status on 5 August 2019. Photograph by Bhat Burhan This reassurance was short-lived as the troops outside our home was a stark reminder that they were ready, armed and waiting for a mass uprising. People lined up outside the police station for hours on end in order to contact their children studying or working outside. After waiting for several hours in the sun, they would forget what to talk about in that 30 second phone call, which would then comprise of only a couple of sentences repeated again and again—we are fine here, do you need money and don’t discuss Kashmir with anyone there. These three sentences, echoing like a prayer from every working landline receiver, probably sum up the resistance of Kashmiris subjected to abnormal conditions for most part of the year. Alone, isolated and already on the verge of a mental breakdown, Kashmiris faced an unprecedented decline in their mental health since the beginning of the August 2019 lockdown. Anxiety, depression and PTSD cases rose and patients who had previously recovered, faced relapses. This trauma was not restricted to Kashmir. With little to no news about their families back home and as stories about torture and arrests started emerging from Kashmir, students living away from their families started imagining the worst. On 15 August, as India was celebrating 72 years of independence, I left Kashmir for New Delhi in the midst of a severe curfew. During the half an hour ride from my home to the airport, I was flagged down several times by the men in uniform and was let go only after showing my air-ticket. The carefree Delhi atmosphere felt suffocating and watching people go about their lives casually while people back home were caged, detained and tortured in their name was unbearable. I started having nightmares and often woke up in sweat and tears. In most of my nightmares, my family was leaving for some other country in a 1947 partition-like situation while I was stuck on this side of the border. Overcome by a surge of emotions, I would wait desperately for a phone call from my mother, even if just to hear those three sentences repeated again and again, we are fine here, do you need money and don’t discuss Kashmir with anyone there. The most widely read newspaper of Kashmir was reduced to just a couple of pages, with a significant portion containing listings of cancelled marriage ceremonies. Soon they also included details of people who passed away, fathers who suffered heart attacks, letting their children know, in the only way possible, that they no longer exist. As weeks passed, the front pages of local newspapers featured government advertisements asking people to open shops and resume public transport. “Closed shops. No transport. Who benefits?” read the advertisements. “Are we going to succumb to militants? Think!!!” they said in bold letters. While Prime Minister Narendra Modi talked about a new dawn of development for Kashmir, poorest of the Kashmiris, with no means of livelihood left were starving and surviving on scant meals. A basic human right like access of a chronic patient to a hospital and medication was denied. Doctors lost contact with their patients suffering from deadly diseases and patients, unable to call for an ambulance and with travel restrictions in place, were denied their right to life. And when a doctor with a placard, which read: ‘This is not a protest. This is a request,’ talked to the media about the shortage of life-saving drugs in the state, he was promptly detained by the police. Kashmir was not a place for any sort of rights anymore, has not been so for a long time. National media persons who came to Kashmir and went around in government helicopters and chauffeur driven cars, painted a picture of normalcy in Kashmir. These pictures were full of cracks from where true, painful stories emerged of a nation bereft of rights and life. Children like Ayesha and Mahi haven’t been to school for a year now. People who report facts are being muzzled by the government. Jobs have been lost and careers destroyed. Unable to access complete information of COVID-19, people are unaware of what they are up against. Thousands of Kashmiris are languishing in Indian jails under unlawful detentions. The narrative of bringing peace and development to Kashmir has been long forgotten. BJP cadre has begun their search for land in Kashmir. Vultures are flying all over the valley, scraping pieces of meat from a dead, decaying body. The author is a postgraduate student at the Convergent Journalism at AJK Mass Communication Research Center, Jamia Millia Islamia in New Delhi. She writes fiction and non-fiction on issues of human rights, conflict and gender. _(ۮmIerr_(ۮmIerq :בCט :ԁu׉׉ 7cassandra://Ifas5y3niOAOM8yn6S2FxjzThIXbwbxPC551DDH1ZW0u`׉ 7cassandra://5s_yI74HtSMZCIcep4v45Z92Ync_x8zJ34S7fCx2M9Uͽ`׉ 7cassandra://N7Hk3pnc37spTZvC93Ncx7GdGwUH2B8yoFet2qPxxYk7S`Z׉ 7cassandra://eDZKB59YwvZ1Bg310Zygn9GMRpLpRwdGS9zIqLEdyxQD}4͠ a_(ۮmIer׉EI t b the wa nec Amarna but the Argu tus, ens constitu Bharati of dece only by And of politi presenc to be re the rea some ti ritory” m their ba to any d On 6 Express “Srinag Phones ternet i has bee He a job, “I eryone heard a way to side Ka Dism Jammu On 5 August last year the semi-a revoked by the Government of In Omar Abdullah has signalled a t former princely state. As COVID examines how the country witho Mark Mistry structio a TV cr Rajbagh The G forces w Kashmi state’s l their p crackdo cal elite ered at residen commit Reco told th pened, disinfo threat truthfu yatris [ A gig Union M Rajya Sa tive cust Some staff ver a view o He was which p report d it is tha was in p Kashm son of S J-K Chie India, fa Photograph by Sanna Irshad Mattoo ׉ 7cassandra://N7Hk3pnc37spTZvC93Ncx7GdGwUH2B8yoFet2qPxxYk7S`Z_(ۮmIers׉E4fbegan with fake news. Authorities in Kashmir briefed he media that the massive movement of troops into what as already the most militarised place on the planet was ecessary to counter an unspecified threat to the annual nath Yatra. Yet it was not the Hindu pilgrimage at risk, e very existence of Jammu and Kashmir itself. uably, the abrogation of J-K’s semi-autonomous stanshrined by the decades-old Article 370 of the Indian tution, had been telegraphed in advance by the ruling tiya Janata Party’s election manifesto. Yet the scale eption required for its implementation was equalled y rejection from most Kashmiris. CULTURE d so it came to pass. The state of J-K, subjected to years tical suppression, enforced by an overwhelming military nce within the public realm, disappeared overnight, only replaced with a status quo under a different name. For ality is that democracy had been alien to Kashmir for time. Changing the state’s description to a “Union Ter” meant that Kashmiris experienced yet further curbs on basic freedoms of assembly and information, anathema democracy, let alone the world’s largest. 6 August 2019, the day following India’s move, Indian ss Deputy Editor, Muzamil Jaleel, wrote on Facebook: gar is a city of soldiers and spools of concertina wire. s – mobiles and landlines – have been disconnected. Inis off. There is no money in ATMs. A very strict curfew en imposed across Kashmir.” also described how he was prevented from doing his could only move around with a lot of difficulty. Eve I met is in shock. There is a strange numbness. We about the killing of two protestors but there is no o confirm. Kashmir has been turned invisible even inKashmir. The forces on checkpoints have specific inremained faced total lockdown, denied freedom of movement, assembly, speech and access to the internet. At the time of writing the Kashmir Valley remains without 4G services. Since 5 August 2019, the indomitable Jammu & Kashmir Coalition of Civil Society ( JKCCS) – the brightest of spots amid an ever-darkening paradise – has diligently documented myriad human rights abuses and counted the dead on all sides. In the first six months of this year the group recorded extrajudicial executions of at least 32 civilians in J&K, 143 militants and 54 government forces personnel. While it is difficult to get accurate figures for the number of jobs lost, exams deferred, nor essential education interrupted, there can be no doubt about the harm done by depriving children of their future. Media, muted Meanwhile, the media has been eviscerated. Hilal Mir, the former editor of Kashmir Reader – a publication forced to cease publication in the aftermath of Burhan Wani’s death in 2016 – has written a majestic overview of the difficulties faced in reporting Kashmir. International journalists are now prevented from visiting the Valley by a visa system designed to frustrate their efforts. And indigenous journalists are forced to practice self-censorship, as those bold enough to follow the most basic journalistic principle and write what they see have been questioned by police. Long before abrogation, Kashmir had been deadly for journalists. Earlier this summer marked the second anniversary Rising Kashmir editor Shujaat Bukhari’s assassination. He was shot along with his bodyguards by unknown gunmen outside his office on 14 June 2016 – his murder remains unsolved. In an exchange of emails with renowned Indian writer membering u And Kashmir autonomous status of India’s only Muslim-majority state was India. Now, one year on from the state’s disintegration, former leader thinly veiled bid for a return to his old post as chief minister of the D-19 continues to ravage Kashmir, freelance journalist Mark Mistry hout a post office became a people without a state. ions to disallow journalists to cross the barrier. I saw rew from Delhi inside a hotel outside a hotel outside gh Police station – they were saying Kashmir is calm.” Government of India had moved quickly. Government wasted no time snuffing out what little remained of mir’s fledgling democracy by abolishing the erstwhile legislative assembly, imprisoning political leaders and party’s members. The comprehensive nature of the down confirmed the worst fears of the Kashmiri politite. Only the night before mainstream leaders had gatht former chief minister Omar Abdullah’s Gupkar Road nce to sign an eponymous declaration stating their itment to J-K’s continued constitutional integrity. ounting his own experience of August last year, he he Indian Express: “Two days before all this hap, we had one last meeting in the party office…by then ormation had been conveyed that there’s a serious to the yatra and that completely misleading, unul bit of news they planted everywhere, to get all the [pilgrimage visitors] and the tourists out.” gantic security sweep followed. On 11 March, this year, the Minister of State for Home, G. Kishan Reddy, informed the Sabha the J-K authorities had taken 7,357 persons into prevenstody since August 5. me were luckier than others. ‘I went to Hari Niwas and the ery kindly were putting me in this very nice big room with of the lake’, former Chief Minister Omar Abdullah said. s arrested under the state’s draconian Public Safety Act, permits detention without trial. An Amnesty International described it as a ‘lawless law’. “If there is one regret I have, at I did not revoke the PSA from the statute books when I power”, he told The Wire, in a separate interview. hmiris without a dynastic background – Omar is the grandSheikh Abdullah and Farooq is his father, both also previous ief Ministers – found themselves flown to various jails across facing squalid conditions far from their families. Those who Pankaj Mishra, Mirza Waheed, himself a celebrated Kashmiri author and journalist, expressed anguish regarding the lack of backbone among India’s media. “Why did the press in India, barring a few exceptions, crumble as if it were a house of cards? How come the press in the world’s largest democracy turned out to be the weakest?”, he exclaimed. The answer, it seems, is that Indian media has been hollowed out from the inside. In 2014, shortly before Narendra Modi was first elected, a BBC World Service portrait of India’s media landscape said ‘the business of news is killing the profession of journalism’. It seems little has changed. “In India, a country with thousands of newspapers and hundreds of television channels dedicated to exclusively to news, there is, with some notable exceptions, a strange absence of dissenting voices…Outliers have found themselves relentlessly harried and harassed”, writes Kapil Komireddi, in his recent polemic ‘Malevolent Republic – A Short History of the New India’ (Hurst, 2019), Self-censorship is not exclusive to Kashmir, he adds, noting ‘four hundred pairs of eyes and ears’ listening into every news channel from the offices of the government’s Information & Broadcasting Ministry. Some Indian voices have spoken out. Acclaimed author Arundhati Roy has been withering about the level of scrutiny applied to the activities of the ruling BJP government, which returned to power with a massive majority in May 2019. “The Indian media told us what the government wanted us to hear’, she wrote in The Nation, in a piece titled ‘India: Intimations of an Ending: the rise of Modi and the Hindu far right’. “Heavily censored Kashmiri papers carried pages and pages of news about cancelled weddings, the effects of climate change, the conservation of lakes and wildlife sanctuaries, tips on how to live with diabetes and front page advertisements about the benefits that Kashmir’s new, downgraded legal status would bring to the Kashmiri people.” Status change: what is it good for? “Kashmir Valley politics have been stale for years”, respected South Asia specialist and former Reuters’ India Bureau Chief, Myra Macdonald, told The Kashmir Walla. “That’s not necessarily the fault of Kashmiri politicians - Delhi has always tried to pre-determine the outcome of the Kashmiri political process either with blatant interference or more subtle forms of managed democracy by encouraging one party or another in state elections.” “The absence of a vibrant political process helped create an entire eco-system that relied on the politics of grievance while serious problems that affect people’s day-to-day life, like corruption, went unaddressed”, added Ms. Macdonald. Intriguingly, Ms. Macdonald also addressed how self-determination for J-K could work in practice. “Personally, I would have liked to have seen Delhi open up the political process more, let politicians talk freely about independence, and about what they mean by “azadi”. Everyone knows that the Kashmir Valley alone could not survive as an independent entity, yet somehow that idea has been allowed to take root. With the abrogation of Article 370, and the house arrest of politicians, Delhi has gone in the other direction, narrowing the political process. However, I recognise there was a need to break the stalemate.” Another noted expert on South Asian affairs, Paul Staniland, a political scientist at University of Chicago and non-resident fellow of Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, concurred with Macdonald on the need to eradicate rampant corruption, and questioned the supposed benefits of abolishing Article 370. “The claimed benefits of amending 370 were numerous - integrating Kashmiris more fully into India, breaking the back of corrupt local parties, undermining Pakistani claims, and spurring economic development, among others,” he said. “So far, the Indian government can point to a lack of mass protests and what seems to be somewhat lower violence than during the first half of 2019, including a much heavier imbalance of militant vs. security force fatalities in favour of the latter. “Beyond that, it remains unclear that meaningful economic development has been spurred, that Pakistan is no longer relevant, or that fundamental changes in Kashmiris’ political allegiances have occurred. India still has a very large security footprint in the region, so the costs remain high,” Mr. Staniland told The Kashmir Walla. Questions remain on how local representation might return to J-K, currently ruled directly by New Delhi’s appointed Lieutenant–Governor GC Murmu, previously a senior official in Gujarat during Narendra Modi’s administration as the state’s chief minister. In an email exchange with The Kashmir Walla, Mr. Staniland said he could envision inducements, possibly including a return to statehood and the promise power and patronage, aimed at encouraging electoral participation by existing and new parties. Given the depth of distrust following the events of last August, it seems unlikely that the return of any form of local democracy would be widely well received by Kashmiris, argues Dr Ayesha Ray, associate professor of political science at King’s College, Pennsylvania. “Which Kashmiri is going to trust the Indian state when the government has broken the very foundations of trust? In the long-term, this poses a major governance challenge. A government that holds little credibility among the people and which has lost their trust by depriving them of their rights and civil liberties will find it very hard to maintain effective control of the region”, she wrote in The Wire. What happens now? Last week Kashmiris began yet another Eid festival under strict curfew. COVID-19 continues to claim lives and deplete the minimal resources of the Valley’s brittle health infrastructure. Remdesivir, a drug proven to alleviate symptoms of pandemic patients, is in short supply and largely unaffordable for most citizens. Chinese and Indian recently had their most deadly confrontation in decades. And demographic changes haunt Kashmiris who fear for the future of their proud culture and language. India, meanwhile, is at pains to paint a picture of ‘paradise’, Mughal Emperor Jahangir’s famous description of Kashmir. Shortly after last year’s status change Indian authorities invited foreign politicians to tour Dal Lake, overlooked by overlooked by the magisterial Pir Panjal mountain range. Images of them being ferried by shikaras duly reached the world’s media, and they were even granted a photo opportunity by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, all the better to project the image of ‘normalcy’. Yet the reality, as so often with Kashmir, was different. Among the visitors were right-wing Members of the European Parliament, including representatives from parties such as Germany’s Alternative for Deutschland (AfD) and Marine le Pen’s National Rally in France, the newly rebranded ‘National Front’. Both are infamous for their anti-Muslim views. As used to happen with Durbar moves – when the previous J-K administration moved from its winter capital in Jammu to Srinagar, its summer seat, parts of Dal Lake were cleansed of weeds. But the water is stagnant, with weeds choking the life from the Lake, harming vegetable and fish stocks. Pollution, alleged corruption through over-development also threaten its very existence. A huge amount of work is needed to restore the lake. The same can be said of democracy in Kashmir. _(ۮmIert_(ۮmIers :בCט :ԁu׉׉ 7cassandra://nvGu3uX_NTC_YOU8KI9OGlHUxHU4ZXvhB10aW2xgllw4`׉ 7cassandra://kt2dck-9gm1wvAUKYyTVM2skCxe3p96NCqaKpHZPXy4'`׉ 7cassandra://Y_x7YVEnB2ZRba1jQemfa97Z9U68H0KOCaHy50JCPqgG4`Z׉ 7cassandra://UtwcZ9w2DZwT9jQqCPR5luAbSRJsjKDMYWUIdcQrLhUb̴͠ a_(ۮmIerנ_(ۮmIerP9ׁHhttp://Kashmir.Thׁ ׁ Ј׉E"“Living In A Graveyard” Of Dark Nights And Militarized South Kashmir Photographs by Umer Asif Shams Irfan T he masked trooper, after checking Mr. Asif’s car directed him to hand over the keys and leave. “He said it so plainly that I couldn’t react for almost a minute,” Mr. Asif recalled. “But the soldier was adamant.” The trooper wanted Mr. Asif to leave his car with the army officials and travel the rest of the distance to the Shopian town, around two kilometres, on foot. When Mr. Asif resisted, he recalled, the trooper told him plainly: “You seem to be an educated person, so you should know it is mandatory.” All of a sudden stories of army troopers forcibly taking over civilian vehicles for anti-militancy operations began flashing in Mr. Asif’s mind. The only difference was that the trooper was addressing him politely. Five minutes later Mr. Asif was sure that he could not reason it out with the trooper. He got down from his car, took out the registration papers and other important documents before he handed over the keys politely. “I knew I could not argue beyond a point. It was not safe,” he said. “Besides it was already getting dark and lonely.” Mr. Asif informed the local Deputy Commissioner, immediately. “What if my vehicle would have been used in an anti-militancy operation? Who would have trusted me then?” he said. It was after DC’s intervention that his vehicle was released the following morning. Several residents from different villages of Shopian allege that the troopers from the Chowgam garrison usually take their vehicles for a period of two to three days. Mr. Asif said that after August 2019, the army is more frequently taking away vehicles from residents. The army’s official spokesperson Colonel Rajesh Kalia, however, denied the allegations. “No vehicle is being used forcibly and the civil vehicles are hired and payment is made as per the SOP,” he said. It didn’t take long before residents of Shopian and its adjoining villages came to know about such incidents. The Chowgam garrison quickly earned notoriety and became a no-go zone for civilians travelling in their private vehicles after sunset. When 35-year-old Mr. Hazik, a Shopian based lawyer and his friends came to know about Mr. Asif’s experience, they stopped visiting Hurpura, a nearby tourist resort famous among the locals. One has to cross Chowgam garrison to reach Hurpura. “It is risky now,” said Mr. Hazik who used to visit Hurpura with friends in free time.“Slowly, our space is shrinking because of heavy militarization in the area.” T he process of re-militarisation in south Kashmir started with the killing of popular militant commander Burhan Wani in 2016. Dozens of new makeshift bunkers and also some camps came up overnight in populated areas and on the major roads on South Kashmir. Feeling this, residents from the four districts in South - Pulwama, Shopian, Anantnag and Kulgam, claimed that the free movement of people to their orchards, between villages, towns and districts has become a daunting task. “It is not [just] about taking the vehicle. The problem is the way they have normalized it,” said a Shopian resident, Basit, who gave only his first name. His vehicle was also taken by the Chowgam garrison. “They (troopers) talk to you as if you are legally bound to do so.” In the last week of March this year, a business administration student in Kulgam, 23-year-old Shadab, was allegedly thrashed and made to sit on a rock for two hours by a paramilitary trooper as punishment for going out on his motorbike after sunset. “Life comes to a standstill as the sun goes down here,” he said, adding that it was only after a local police officer’s intervention that he was allowed to go home. The incident has left Mr Shadab traumatised. “They could have simply fined me or asked local police to take action against me if I had broken any law,” he said. “But treating someone like that is not done.” Mr. Shadab said that he felt alive whenever he I was still half asleep when I came face-toface with lots of soldiers in our lawn. I was very scared... The helplessness I felt at that time cannot be explained in words. We were locked inside our own house, [the] uncertainty of our fate.” visited his friends in Srinagar city. “At least I can roam outside without the fear of getting humiliated or beaten,” he said, miffed at the difficulties of life in Kashmir’s southern districts. In Kulgam, Mr. Shadab said that he lives in a state of constant fear. “Imagine we cannot keep lights on and study beyond 10 PM. Lights often attract trouble,” he said. As the night falls, he feels anxious as if he is “living in a graveyard”. However, compared to what others of his age group, most in early twenties, go through on a daily basis in small nondescript and forgotten villages, Mr. Shadab considers himself lucky. However, not everybody felt the same. Mr. Tariq, a resident of Pulwama, was returning home on his scooty, after attending a function in Shopian when he was stopped by army troopers at the Bundzoo Bridge near Haal village in ׉ 7cassandra://Y_x7YVEnB2ZRba1jQemfa97Z9U68H0KOCaHy50JCPqgG4`Z_(ۮmIeru׉E7| Pulwama district. “They took my phone and ordered me to unlock it. When I did, one of them slapped me on my right cheek,” he said, adding that he was beaten without provocation. “But I was not in a position to argue.” As the troopers kept slapping Mr. Tariq on his face, another trooper went through the picture gallery on his phone. “He pointed at my sisters pictures and asked who she was?” said Mr. Tariq. “When I told him that she is my sister, he slapped me again. He said that I am lying.” Then the trooper then went through his WhatsApp and began checking his recent chats. “I wanted to tell him that he cannot check my personal stuff like this but I couldn’t. I just wanted to go home,” said Mr. Tariq. Mr. Tariq’s painful ordeal continued for nearly an hour during which he was dragged behind the troopers’ armoured vehicle. “They made me lie down, kept my legs against the vehicle, and beat me with a stick,” he recalled. When it finally ended, Mr. Tariq was asked to collect his phone two days later from the nearby Haal camp. “I took my father and brother along. I was barely able to walk [two days later].” The phone was returned to Mr. Tariq but the incident left a lasting impression on him. Since then, like many others in south Kashmir, has stopped going out after sunset. “I feel vulnerable all the time,” he said. “I feel as if they will come to my home and take me away.” During his ordeal at the bridge, a number of vehicles passed by but none dared to stop and help, said Mr. Tariq. “This makes me even more afraid that no one is in a position to help you here,” he said. Speaking about Mr. Tariq’s alleged ordeal, army spokesperson Colonel Kalia said: “The individual had not been thrashed and the allegation is baseless. He was signalled to stop but he didn’t. So his mobile was checked and then returned.” B ack-to-back cordon and search operations (CASO) by the government forces and the subsequent gunfights with militants have left a trail of destruction across south Kashmir.The highhandedness that comes with it, has been etched on the people’s minds. On a last June morning, at around 5am, 21-year-old Shefali Rafiq was sleeping when her mother came rushing into her room to wake her up. “Army is everywhere outside. Get up quickly. It might be a CASO,” she recalled her mother as having said. A resident of Qaimoh village in Kulgam, she jumped out of the bed and rushed outside with her mother. “I was still half asleep when I came face-to-face with lots of soldiers in our lawn,” said Ms. Rafiq, a journalist by profession. “I was very scared.” After Ms. Rafiq’s family was ordered out of the house, the troopers went inside the house and checked it thoroughly for half-an-hour. “Then we were allowed to go inside and ordered to remain there till instructed otherwise,” she said. By 6 AM, men, women and children from the entire neighbourhood were brought to Ms. Rafiq’s house as the troopers searched the houses one-by-one. “It was finally over at 1:30 PM,” said Ms. Rafiq.“Till then we were in a state of fear and anxiety. We were sure a gunfight would erupt at any moment.” The seven hours Ms. Rafiq confined to her house with her family and neighbours played in her mind often since then. “The helplessness I felt at that time cannot be explained in words,” she said. “We were locked inside our own house, [the] uncertainty of our fate.” The helplessness is palpable on the faces of the locals passing through another garrison in Chowdary Gund on the outskirts of Shopian, on a daily basis. Near the garrison, everyone except the vehicle’s driver are ordered to de-board and walk around 250 meters of the road along the military camp. “It is a standard practice that we are now used to,” said a resident of Shopian, Sartaj. “In absence of civil government, we are entirely at the army’s mercy. They (local representatives) at least worked as a buffer between the army and people. Now there is none.” According to Shopian based social activist and lawyer, Mr. Habeel Iqbal, since August 2019, army troopers are more aggressive as compared to the last few years. “This aggression coupled with their massive presence has impacted the lifestyle of locals and their day-to-day life,” said Mr. Iqbal. “The impact can be seen in all spheres of life including social, political, economical and religious.” T he aggression is visible on the 66 kilometre long highway from Pantha Chowk on the outskirts of Srinagar city to the far end of south Kashmir, in Anantnag district’s Qazigund. “There must be around a hundred small and big bunkers on this highway now,” said a south Kashmir based journalist who frequently travels to his office in Srinagar. “And every bunker means extra halt in the journey.” The new highway, once hailed as a model of development by both local and New Delhi based governments, has now become a source of trauma for Kashmiris. “They (soldiers) don’t care if it’s an ambulance, school bus, or a private vehicle rushing towards the hospital in Srinagar, they treat everyone the same way,” said the journalist. In February 2019, a Jaish-e-Muhammad militant, Adil Dar, rammed his explosive laden vehicle into an army convoy on the highway in Lethpora, killing over 40 paramilitary troopers. Since then, traffic is halted on both sides of the highway—across Kashmir but more aggressively here—to clear the way for convoys of government forces. “At times entire traffic is stopped just to pass a few army vehicles,” said the journalist. But the practice of controlling a civilian road is not new. Mr. Sartaj, a social activist, recalls how he had to lift barriers himself and make way for his car at Bihibagh garrison while on the way back to Shopian from Anantnag. “At 5:30 PM they close the gates erected in the middle of the road. No one is allowed to pass through after that,” said Mr. Sartaj. “They let my vehicle cross when I convinced them that I had gone for my mother’s check-up. It is humiliating.” As Mr. Sartaj moved barriers, and put them back after crossing through, his ill mother could only watch helplessly. The remaining journey home was unusually silent, which has become common for residents from South Kashmir, who have to commute daily. Life for these residents has changed, largely impacted by the militarization, which frequently leads to escalated violence leaving a grave impact on civilian life. *Some names of the characters have been changed on request to protect their identity. This aggression coupled with their massive presence has impacted the lifestyle of locals and their dayto-day life. The impact can be seen in all spheres of life including social, political, economical and religious.” _(ۮmIerv_(ۮmIeru :בCט :ԁu׉׉ 7cassandra://TBPB2MrarZdw7WZu1E-Px-CCcVeVA0VXFpwLi7Z3Sagi`׉ 7cassandra://OCjquuNTxIRGMt9yN_-zB4tcixa_LUoRq4zRLLc1_iUͬ`׉ 7cassandra://r4ypTZ9P5KFiMmi97JGzWb-KRyihUcyKdpD46Xz0Ivc