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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

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.

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began 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.

“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

7| 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.”

A Year L For Aug Shehzada Bano with her 3-year-old daughter, Aisha, at her home in Fateh Kadal, Srinagar, when her husband was detained by J-K police. Photograph by Umer Asif.

Later, No Justice gust Detainees Yashraj Sharma @YashJournals F or the last Eid, 24-year-old Ruby Jan had brought a checked-shirt for her elder brother, Raasik Nengroo. However, just weeks before Eid, the police detained Mr. Nengroo, yet again, on 6 August 2019, a day after Jammu and Kashmir special status was abrogated. Ms. Jan wandered door to door, begging officials to get her brother released but to no avail. Her father, Bashir Nengroo, a 50-year-old laborer, ran behind the Station House Officer of Yaripora, Kulgam, begging. “He has been at home only for a month,” he told the police. “Why are you taking him again?” However, the police told the family that it was a precautionary detention for 15 August, the independence day. “He’ll be released soon.” Today, a year has passed and two Eids have gone by but the shirt remains packed in the plastic it came in -- reduced to a souvenir. Ms. Jan lives one week at a time. Every Friday, Mr. Nengroo calls home from the jail in Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, for a five minute long conversation allowed to him each week. “He asks about mumma and if we all are doing fine,” said Ms. Jan, adding that the phone signal is always weak. But then, there are Fridays when the phone doesn’t ring for a reason or another. “My mother is suffering a lot. She gets unnerved when he misses a call,” she said, breaking down as she spoke with this reporter over the phone. “It has been so long he isn’t at home. Just so long.” On 5 August, the Government of India tabled a bill to reorganize the state of Jammu and Kashmir and scrap the region’s limited autonomy granted under Article 370 of the constitution. Union Home Minister Amit Shah had said: “[Article 370] was used to anger the youth and separate the youth from the mainstream.” Contrary to that, as the parliament voted for the bill in sessions, the J-K administration detained thousands of young boys and men, including students, prominent politicians, rights activists, and lawyers, fearing widespread protests against the move. Kashmir simmered behind the communication blackout as civil liberties were torn apart by the razor wire barricading every other street. Nearly 60 kilometers away from the capital city of Srinagar, the police raided a small hamlet near Yaripora village of Kulgam district in the south, to detain then 29-year-old Mr. Nengroo, at midnight. Mr. Raasik’s detention was based on two earlier FIRs from 2017 and 2018, said Mukhtar Makroo, his advocate. The family bailed him out in July 2019. A month later, he was slapped with the Public Safety Act (PSA), and flown out of Kashmir Valley. In October 2019, an [Raasik’s] mother cannot come. She says that she won’t be able to see him behind the bars. It would kill her. They ruined his education. What I had dreamt for him, all of it is burnt now. All is gone. Now, it is all up to Allah.” 11-member team comprising advocates, human rights activists and a psychiatrist filed a report after their week-long visit. It claimed “more than 13,000 people have been unlawfully detained and most of them are being transferred outside Jammu and Kashmir, in order to prevent family members and advocates from appearing for them.” Mr. Raasik’s absence is visible in every aspect of the family, including financial. After his detention in 2017, the situation at his home started deteriorating. His aged father, who limps, had to restart working as a daily wage laborer to meet the ends. Ms. Jan, the sister, too had to leave her ambitions and nursing midway to support the family, emotionally and financially. But the Nengroo family isn’t alone. Bigger battles On the intervening night of 4 and 5 August, Shehzada Bano had returned to sleep after taking her ill 3-year-old daughter to the hospital with her 30-year-old husband, Bilal Ahmad Dar. As they fell asleep in a 8 x 8 kitchen-cum-bedroom in Fateh Kadal area of Srinagar, abrupt knocks on the window woke her up. It was the police, looking for Mr. Dar. Mr. Dar had a police case against him from the 2008 civilian uprising, in which at least sixty civilians were killed in street protests by the government forces. However, the case was long closed and he had settled down with his wife, and had two children with her. In the preventive detention spree, barely a history sheeter was spared. As the police dragged Mr. Dar from his bed, Ms. Bano kneeled and begged them: “Please think about us. I have two small children to look after. What am I going to do?” None of the pleas were heard as the police whisked her husband away -- children still asleep. The Fateh Kadal police station was barely a kilometre away. From the next morning, she would walk down to the station with a child holding each hand, she said. Even that Eid, in 2019, she waited till 8 pm, she said. “They didn’t allow us to meet him until my daughter started crying on the road: ‘Baba! Baba!’” When Mr. Dar was later shifted to Central Jail, Srinagar, the journey to see him became more tedious. Public transport was not allowed as the restrictions on civilian movement continued. But she had bigger battles to fight: taking children to the hospital at night; feeding them warm food; paying tuition fees of the 7-year-old son;

Families of detainees waiting outside Central Jail Srinagar after the government forces had imposed a clampdown in August 2019. Photograph by Umer Asif celebrating half-hearted birthdays; and to take care of herself. During the dinner, she said, her daughter would often call the father to join -- looking at his photograph on the wall. When a night would get tough, she would talk to the photograph too, she said. As weeks turned into months, it became harder for her to stop the tears and keep herself together for her children. The void of her husband was killing her in parts, till she had reached her threshold: “One night, my son was watching the video [a compilation of Mr. Dar’s photographs and family’s happy moments, together] and he started crying. When I noticed him, I shook him, calling his name, “Ateeb, Ateeb.” He didn’t respond. I couldn’t bear it. I took a knife from the kitchen and slit my forearm.” A few moments later, she was washing the oozing blood under the tap. When she would tell this to her husband later, during a visit to the jail, she would get scolded,“rightly”, she recalled that meeting. But the agony wasn’t just leaving her, she said. In March 2020, her support powerhouse, her father, passed away due to a heart attack. She explained how much her issues troubled her father. “The police killed my father. He would have been alive, with me,” she said, disgustingly. “Now, my mother lives alone in the house with no one to take her care. [The] police is the reason.” Four days after her father’s death, Mr. Dar was released. “It had no meaning. My father won’t come back now,” she said. However, Mr. Dar’s detention has changed him a lot, Ms. Bano said, as her daughter, Aisha keeps nudging. She gives her a napkin that doubles as a toy doll. “[Mr. Dar] has become more caring, but more scared as well,” she said. And she is sacred too, especially at night. “I’m afraid that they’ll come back. When I walk past the police station, I remember everything. Everything,” she said. “That raid in the night.” And so does her husband. But no one talks about it, revealed Ms. Bano. She thinks that it would only make things harder for the family. Though Mr. Dar has rejoined his job as a salesman at a nearby carpenter shop, he hasn’t really moved on. Once, when he was walking past the police station, his son pointed at a bunker, saying, “hadn’t they had locked you up? They used to say that you would be released soon.” Mr. Dar broke down but didn’t speak. The uniformed men are a nightmare for the traumatized family now. When will I be free? It is not just Mr. Dar who is afraid of the uniformed men. Or their vehicles. The 14-year-old Afaan, who wishes to go by his first name, is scared of a Rakshak too. In August 2019, Afaan had been hearing the stories of “detention, police beating, and torture.” So when he saw a police vehicle on the afternoon of 21 August 2019 outside his home in Channapora, Srinagar, he tried running away in a reflex. He couldn’t. “[The police] hit my neck with his gun butt and I felt unconscious,” he recalled. “I opened my eyes inside a lock up.” Afaan said he shared the lockup with sixteen others, the eldest was a 24-year-old stranger. Two days later, he was shifted to Sadar police station in the middle of the night. There, he said, he was called to an isolated cell, where police officers on duty were waiting. “They showed me a video of the protest and asked me to identify the people in it,” Afaan recalled. Initially, the police officials tried to lure him, he said, by offering chips. But, he said, he didn’t break and denied to give up any names. “I didn’t know any of them,” he said. The police soon lost its temper, he said, adding that the Duty Officer asked the other police official to bring a baton. “I was very afraid,” when he recalled the stories of extrajudicial police beating in Kashmir. “They beat me up for seven to eight minutes,” he said. “I kept pleading: “Bas bas D.O. Sahab, lag gayi.” But they didn’t stop.” One of his cousin sisters, who wished to remain anonymous, told that the family had pleaded to the police officials that “Afaan is a child and he has health issues. Even if you beat him up, don’t hit on the face.” Although, Afaan said, knowingly the police officials pulled his ears and slapped him. That evening, when his father came to the police station, he remained mute: “I didn’t tell him. He would have gotten worried.” After 14-days inside the police station, the 14-year-old Afaan was let go by the police when his family showed a certificate from his school that proved him to be a minor. He was named in an FIR--wherein his elder sister claimed the charges included vandalising property and throwing stones at the government forces--and he attended a hearing in the Juvenile Court. However, the COVID-19 impact on daily life has put that case at halt. And the detention changed his life, too, forever, he said. The police have asked Afaan to stay put and report at the earliest on every summon. In other words, Afaan said, the police have chained him. “Jaise mai abhi bhi unke kabze mai hun,” he said. And this idea of accountability drives him uneasy. Hence, he likes to stay away from home; keeps a smartphone without a sim card; stays more at a friend’s place rather than home; and wakes up suddenly at night. On 6 May 2020, when Riyaz Naikoo, the then operational commander of a militant group, Hizbul Mujahideen, was killed, the police detained Afaan again. He wasn’t scared of beating anymore, he said, but the fact that his family will have to suffer again. However, he was let go within 24 hours this time. “I’m afraid that they will come back,” he said in a hushed voice. A student of tenth standard, Afaan has been finding it hard to focus on studies, said his cousin sister, who lives in the same house. “There is no future in Kashmir,” Afaan added. “It is not just me. It is every Kashmiri. They have ruined everyone’s future. India ruined it.” Inevitably, Afaan is binded by “the Kashmir issue”, he said. Nothing can emancipate him. But just the one thing: “Resolution of Kashmir issue. When it’ll resolve I’ll be free. Then only I’ll sit at home, in peace.” Stuck in courts On every phone call from the jail, Mr. Raasik wonders if the family was able to move ahead with his PSA’s quashment. But then came the coronavirus and shut the J-K High Court after the government forces’ personnel deployed and multiple employees tested positive for the virus. The COVID-19 has halted the already snail paced hearing of Habeas Corpus petitions. Since 6 August, 2019, more than 600 habeas corpus petitions have been filed before the J-K High Court at Srinagar and till 28 June 2020, “not even 1 percent of such cases have been decided.” In October 2019, Mr. Raasik’s father, Mr. Nengroo had to borrow money to board a bus to Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, to meet his son in jail. He went alone because that’s all he could afford. He is yet to repay the debt. “[Raasik’s] mother cannot come,” he said. “She says that she won’t be able to see him behind the bars. It would kill her.” At the jail, Mr. Nengroo said, Mr. Raasik kept saying: “I’m innocent. I’m innocent.” Before coming of age, Mr. Nengroo had been working hard on fields, “dreaming to make my son a big man.” “They ruined his education. What I had dreamt for him, all of it is burnt now,” he said. “All is gone. Now, it is all up to Allah.” Mr. Nengroo’s will is breaking now. After years of his son’s imprisonment, he said, that even if he had committed a mistake worth a penny, he should return home now. But for Ms. Jan, Mr. Raasik’s sister, a long fight remains ahead. Where she needs to be strong, she said. But, sometimes, she steals a few moments to let the sorrow sink in. She locks herself in the bathroom and leaves the tap open to cry out loud, in peace. And wait for her only brother to come back home.

11| DIVIDE AND RULE BJP Played On Myth Of Regional Disparity To Turn Jammu Against Kashmir Aijaz Ashraf Wani One of the arguments put forth for abrogation of Jammu and Kashmir’s semi-autonomous status was that the provisions of Articles 35A and 370 had acted as stumbling blocks in the development of the erstwhile state. The abrogation was hailed as the beginning of a new era of development and better governance. As the parliament unilaterally abrogated the articles, home minister Amit Shah had stated in the upper house: “I want to tell the people of J-K what damage 370 & 35A did to the state. It’s because of these sections that democracy was never fully implemented, corruption increased in the state, that no development could take place”. The often used development and underdevelopment argument is made at two levels: one that J-K has remained underdeveloped as compared to other regions of India and secondly, that there is regional discrimination with the Kashmir region being more developed than Jammu and even Ladakh. However the facts and statistics do not support either the development/under-development or the regional disparity arguments. Is Jammu less developed than Kashmir? “I have worked for my organisation for many years in Jammu and Kashmir”, Prime Minister Nagendra Modi had said during the 2014 assembly election rally in Jammu, the BJP’s stronghold in J-K. “Whenever I would come to Jammu, I was told the region has been discriminated against and deprived of its rightful share in development. Today, I have realised there is substance in this feeling”. Taking it from there, the J-K BJP spokesperson, Arun Kumar Gupta, had alleged that “as per records while 70 per cent of the budget is spent in Kashmir region only 30 per cent is for the other regions of the state. Same policy is followed with regard to funds granted by the central government”. This discourse of regional discrimination is as old as state’s transition from autocratic rule to “democratic” politics. While much has been written about the myth surrounding the state’s poor development indicators, little has been written about the myth of regional disparity in development allocation—alleging that Kashmir received the lion’s share—was instrumental in manufacturing consent in the Jammu and Ladakh region’s for the abrogation of the special status. The hegemonic politics of Kashmir centric parties only added fuel to the fire. While there is no denying the fact that development has not been equal but this disparity is more about core and periphery within the Jammu and Kashmir divisions rather than between two divisions. Jammu and Ladakh were and are not only getting their due, but their position is far better than Kashmir Valley which has suffered immensely because of conflict. This is evident from a comparison of funds received by the two capitals of J-K. At the peak of the militancy, in 1997-98, Srinagar received Rupees 33.46 crore under the district development fund, while Jammu got Rupees 49.26 crore. The following year, Srinagar received Rupees 39.22 crore while Jammu got 54.50 crore. In 2002-03 Srinagar got Rupees 46. 57 crore while Jammu got Rupees 61.76 crore. In 2006 Jammu was allocated Rupees 94. 45 crore with an additional 11 crore announced by the then chief minister, making it 23 crore more than what Srinagar received. (Source: Nisar Bhat, “Badhal Kashmir, Khushal Jammu”, Greater Kashmir, 18 June 2006). The Jammu district is consistently receiving almost double the funds than Srinagar district. Also one can see the inter-district variations with some districts in each division are receiving more funds than others. Anantnag, Baramulla, Budgam districts are consistently receiving more funds than say Kulgam or Pulwama. Similarly in Jammu districts like Jammu, Kathua , Udhampur receive much more funding than districts like Kishtwar, Doda or Reasi. This leads to inter district imbalances. Overall, the Jammu division has consistently received larger chunk of funds than Kashmir, which also included the Ladakh region. District Play Outlays (in Lakh rupees) for Different Districts of J&K, 2011-12 to 2018-19 According to the data compiled by the State Finance Commission Report in 2010, Jammu region was doing better than Kashmir on most development indicators. Out of the ten development indexes, Kashmir was doing better than Jammu on just three indicators of road connectivity, drinking water access and economic welfare. However, one needs to look at the recent data to see if this might have also changed as post 2014 BJP continued to be in power at the centre as well as in J-K directly or indirectly. As per the State Finance Commission Report of 2010, which studied period from 1980 to 2006, while the Kashmir region made progress from 0.3481 (index value) in 1980-81 to 0.4349 in 200607, that is by 24.94 percent, the Jammu region demonstrated a progress from 0.3039 index value to 0.4333, a growth of 42.58 percent. As per the report during the period under study, there has been considerable improvement in the Jammu region in the share of development while the improvement share of Kashmir has declined. From the eighth central Five Year Plan (199297) to the tenth plan beginning 2002, the Jammu region has taken a share of 42.69 per cent of the total district plan expenditure, the share of the Kashmir region is 43.49 per cent, indicating that district plan resource distribution has been equitable, according to the commission report. The data compiled by the State Finance Commission from various sources for the period 1977-78 to 2006-07 with regard to district plan expenditure shown that while it has mostly remained balanced for few year expenditure is higher for Jammu district. It is in this regard that the SFC report states, “having regard to diversity in the State, both the state sector/schemes and district sector funds do not seem to be unequally distributed between Jammu and Kashmir regions to the extent that disparity or discrimination can be claimed and hence the claim of discrimination meted out to either region in the process of development does not appear to be valid”. Yes of course there are sectoral variations. Since 2002 the number of registered factories in Jammu were 675 and in Kashmir it was 3044. The Economic Survey report of 2017 revealed that the major part of investments by manufacturing houses under central comprehensive industrial specific package went to Jammu, Samba and Kuthua districts. While there is little truth in development narrative, the fact remains, as noted by Balraj Puri in one of his writings in the Economic and Political Weekly, “there were certain psychological factors that created anxiety in Jammu about the shift of power from its base in Jammu to that of Kashmir. Such anxiety was enhanced due to the advantage that Kashmir had in the post-accession period ‘its numerical superiority, internal homogeneity, established leadership and international importance’. As it acquired dominant position within the state, it generated resentment in other regions. The Jammu based Praja Parishad Party founded by Balraj Madhok and patronized by the erstwhile Bhartiya Jana Sangh, the precursor to the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), vehemently opposed granting any special position to J-K and demanded its full integration with the Indian Union. The party commenced its campaign in 1954 with the slogan “ek Vidhan, ek Nishan, ek Pradhan”—one constitution, one flag, one president. Although the Praja Parishad agitation petered out after the removal of Sheikh Abdullah, the discourse it generated had an enduring impact on Jammu politics. Though the demand of abolishing the special position of Kashmir was largely fulfilled by the Central government, by hollowing the Article 370 with active support of the installed governments in Kashmir the Hindu nationalist forces of Jammu continued their agitational politics against supposed regional imbalances and Article 370. The struggle against “Kashmiri domination” received momentum after the outbreak of militancy in the Valley. The BJP continued to push its political agenda and included the abrogation of Articles 370 and 35A in its election manifestos. Finally on 5 August 2019, it fulfilled its long cherished goal or what they termed as the “dream of Shyama Prasad Mukherjee”. While the political agenda has been achieved, how much development will happen needs to be seen. As of now, after the initial euphoria evaporated, people of Jammu are frequently demanding protection of land and jobs, while Ladakh observed completed shutdown on 24 July 2020 to push their demand for domicile law as well as to express their anger and apprehension against official policies, particularly those related to employment. As is clear from the above facts the argument that J-K remained underdeveloped and there is regional discrimination in terms of development due to special status is far from truth. In any case “development” as a means to bring about “normalcy” in Kashmir is not new and has been tried by successive governments since 1947. However, in the absence of any genuine political initiatives and generating public consensus to address the aspiration of the people this model has thus far failed to address the political crisis. But this narrative did help BJP to accomplish its long-standing political agenda as it generated support for them not only in rest of India but more crucially in Jammu and Ladakh. The ideological and political fault lines were successfully used to divide the opinion and the development/underdevelopment and the simultaneous regional discrimination discourse proved most suitable narrative. Aijaz Ashraf Wani is author of “What Happened to Governance in Kashmir” published by Oxford University Press, 2019.

|12 Anis Wani @_aniswani

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A Year After Dissolving State Commissions, Accountability Is Even Further From JK Than Before Rayan Naqash @Rayan_Naqash A fter the abrogation of Jammu and Kashmir’s semi-autonomous status and statehood on 5 August 2019, eight state commissions were dissolved by the Government of India. A year later, there is little sign that the government intends to re-establish these crucial institutions in the Union Territory with a population of more than twelve million. The state commissions had come into being through individual Acts—similar to the central laws governing these commissions—enacted by the erstwhile state legislature in J-K. These Acts were repealed under the Jammu and Kashmir Reorganisation Act, 2019 even when, rights activists point out, they could have been retained as 166 other state laws have been. The dissolved commissions include the Human Rights Commission (SHRC), the State Information Commission, the State Women’s Commission, the State Accountability Commission, the State Vigilance Commission, the Consumer Commission, the Commission for Persons with Disability, and the Electricity Regulatory Commission. Nearly a year after the dissolution of these commissions and the transfer of their jurisdictions to the respective central commissions or administrative departments, activists in J-K say that accountability has taken a backseat as the process has become more cumbersome for the general public. Dr. Raja Muzaffar Bhat, a prominent Right to Information (RTI) activist, said that following the dissolution of the commissions, specifically the State Information and Human Rights Commissions, seeking accountability from government officials had become an even more difficult process. He said that a myth that J-K had a weak RTI law was perpetuated by “politicians, so-called think tanks, and television debaters” when the reality was that as a state J-K had more stringent rules than the central law. “Yes, the central act was not applicable but we had our own RTI law passed in 2009,” he pointed out. “It did not have the flaws that the central law has.” The J-K law had, for instance, specified a time period for the commission to process second-appeals cases within 60 days or provide, in writing, the reasons for delay beyond 120 days, said Dr. Bhat. He added that it was because of this that J-K’s “pending cases were among the lowest” in the country. However, under the central RTI Act of 2009, Dr. Bhat said, there is no provision for a separate commission in union territories and J-K cases will now be taken up in the Central Information Commission. “A resident of border areas who has to make an appeal against the local Tehsildar or Block Development Officer, now has to file a second appeal in the central commission [in New Delhi,” he said. “By clubbing us with [central] RTI Act of 2005, we have been disempowered because we don’t have an independent information commission.” The J-K Reorganization Act 2019 scrapped several s Dr. Bhat said that by the virtue of this distance, and the incre associated with this, the bureaucracy has become more opaqu a notion in government offices, among bureaucrats that RTI there is no commission so they are behaving in a different way a [poor] villager go to Delhi? We don’t have accountability anym “We have been disempowered in every which way,” he s everywhere today. Information on expenditure on COVID voluntarily. Under section 4 of central RTI act 2005 as well make voluntary disclosure on websites. They are not doing i Similarly, the J-K State Consumer Disputes Redres headed by a retired or serving judge—and its district oversight of a Double Bench of the High Court was also di mission’s cases were transferred to the administrative de Civil Supplies and Consumer Affairs. According to Sami Yaqoob, an advocate who special cases, there were pros and cons to the dissolution and central commission’s oversight but the mere fact that the be heard in New Delhi had increased the financial costs o plaint by “more than a 100 times”. With a population of more than 12 million, according 2011 census, not only has the hardships and financial cost general public seeking accountability from the governan ensure the processes will be lengthy owing to the huge lo For many the dissolution of local institutions had left them woes compounded with the outbreak of COVID-19. Despite the State Women’s Commission, women victim-survivors a ue to reach out to Vasundhra Pathak Masoodi, the commi time of its dissolution, seeking help. “During the lockdown I was flooded with distress call different corners of J&K,” Ms. Masoodi said. “It’s really he I can’t reply to them back that the commission has been clo Photograph by Sanna Irshad Mattoo.

state laws that had constituted government commissions. Photograph by Umer Asif reased financial costs ue. “This has created I has ended and that ay,” he said. “How will more.” said. “Corruption is D-19 is not available ll as JK, they have to it.” ssal Commission— forums under the dissolved. The comepartment of Food, alises in consumer d the better-staffed he cases would now of initiating a comg to the decade old ts increased for the nce system but also oad of cases. m helpless and their te the dissolution of and lawyers continmission’s head at the lls/complaints from eart wrenching that osed and those who are already distressed, being victims of violence lose hope to get justice. [I] try to provide respite whichever way possible in my individual capacity.” An order for closing the commission reached her office on 23 October directing the commission to “hand over the files, documents, and everything with regards to the working to the administrative department, in our case it was the Social Welfare Department,” said Ms. Masoodi. The commission, she said, was dissolved at a time when “some of the cases were just pending disposal, only on the next date of hearing we were to pass judgements or an order and in some cases we were just nearing the closure.” Many of these commissions had remained side-lined and ignored by successive state governments for years, including the State Women’s Commission. Now, nearly a year after the Reorganisation Act was unilaterally passed by the parliament to undo what the Bharatiya Janata Party had called injustices to the erstwhile state, there seems to be little hope for the public to redress its grievances. The Reorganisation Act, however, had certain which could have ensured the continuation of the commission because of the applicability of national laws from 31 October—the day J-K’s special status under Article 370 ceased to exist, said Ms. Masoodi, a lawyer by profession. Simultaneously on 31 October, the President of India signed the Removal of Difficulties order that gave continuity to all the statutory bodies in J-K, pointed out Ms. Masoodi. “Meaning thereby it superseded the order of closure by the [UT administration],” she said. “Because the order was signed by the President of India. It goes without saying that it has an overriding effect on it [closure order].” Section 17 of the order states that: “Any authority constituted under any law in the existing State of Jammu and Kashmir immediately in force before the appointed day shall be deemed to have been constituted under the corresponding provisions of the Central laws applicable to the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir and the Union Territory of Ladakh, until a new authority is constituted under the law applicable to the Union Territory of Jammu and Kashmir or the Union Territory of Ladakh, as the case may be, and any proceedings initiated or action taken by such authority, shall for all purposes be deemed to be valid and operative.” Following the order, Ms Masoodi said that “hopes were amplified that the commission will be back soon and people will not have to suffer” but still, the J-K administration has to follow certain procedures to reconstitute the Commission. However, for unspecified reasons the administration in J-K decided not to go ahead with re-establishing the dissolved commissions. Further, in May 2020, the administration also wound up the State Vigilance Commission. Ms. Masoodi said that other union territories had made their own enactments to establish local commissions. “You cannot ensure the applicability of the National Commission for Women Act of India if the local level dispensation is not there,” she said, pointing out that the union territory of Puducherry, the only other union territory in India with an elected legislature, and Lakshadweep with a population of 50,000 had their own Women’s Commissions. “It is not because the NCW Act is applicable in JK that we do not need a body, it is a poor interpretation of it [the law]. Rather, the NCW act can only be made applicable in J&K if there is a local mechanism like the one we had” Recently, Ms. Masoodi said that she had approached the district administration in Srinagar after coming across news reports on the plight of a bed ridden girl abandoned in a Srinagar hospital. “I was flabbergasted with the response from certain quarters including some NGOs that I expected help from,” she said, adding that officials of the administration had later responded. “Once you are in chair you have the authority to give and get your orders implemented. Once you are not there, people [officials] don’t feel responsible enough to revert even if it is for a mere social cause. This is precisely why the gulf has been created between the public and the administration.” “We don’t need to invoke Newton’s law to understand what is going on in Kashmir,” said Ms. Masoodi. “It is a gulf between the system and the people which is the basic bone of contention and has blown out haywire.”

|16 One Year Of Abrogation: Look Back At The Top Policy Decisions TKW Staff cus on Class IV and Class III vacancies, since April 2020. O n 5 August 2019, the Government of India broke down the erstwhile state of Jammu and Kashmir ( J-K) into two federally-governed territories—J-K (with legislature) and Ladakh (without legislature). It put the divided regions under the direct control of the Lieutenant Government (LG). However, the erstwhile state was already administered by the Central government-appointed governor since the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) pulled out from the coalition government with People’s Democratic Party in the assembly in June 2018. In the past year, the LG-governed administration has taken several policy-related decisions in J-K. Here is a brief look at them: The J-K Reorganization Act 2019 made all the central laws applicable in the region, which was earlier governed by a separate constitution conferred under article 370 of the constitution. Though, a few state laws, which were retained, were also modified. One of the major policy changes undertaken by the administration was issuance of domicile certificates after the region’s special status was revoked. Now, the domicile is defined as an individual who has resided in J-K for a period of fifteen years or have studied for a period of seven years and appeared in tenth or twelfth examination in a registered educational institute in J-K. The definition also includes children of central government or central government aided organizations, Public Sector Undertaking (PSU) who have served in J-K for a period of ten years. The government claimed that this will benefit discriminated categories like West Pakistan Refugees, Gurkhas, Safai Karamcharies, and women native to J-K that married outside. Since last August, anti-corruption bureau (ACB) has also taken large scale, big ticket actions, including the arrests of a Former Managing Director (MD) Small Scale Industries Development Corporation Limited (SICOP) Bhupinder Singh Dua in a disproportionate assets case and the former Chief Agriculture Officer (CAO) and Agriculture Extension Officer (AEO) Budgam for alleged misappropriation in government funds. In a major recruitment drive post 31 October 2019, when the region officially started functioning as a federally-governed territory, the administration began the selection of candidates for over 10,000 posts at various levels, with a particular foIn another major decision, the administration approved several amendments in the Jammu and Kashmir Reservation Rules, 2005, wherein Pahari Speaking people (PSP) were included in the category of socially and educationally backward classes and increased the income ceiling of backward classes from 4.5 to 8 lakh rupees. Kashmir’s Saffron was also awarded the long-awaited Geographic Indication (GI) tag that, LG Girish Chandra Murmu said, would also put it on the world map with authentication. In addition, the GI would help the saffron grown in Kashmiri saffron gain more reputation in the export market, thus helping the farmer earn better income. The government claimed the move was to rationalize the existing reservation policy and give representation to the Pahari community. The decision will impact about 9.6 lakh people of the Pahari community across J-K. The Central government has long claimed that it has empowered the grassroot democratic politics—Panchayati Raj system. In a number of policy changes, the government placed a grievance box in every Panchayat and institutionalized a regular system of interaction of district officers with Panchayat representatives. The administration also developed funds, functions and functionaries for the panchayats. Elected representatives were given honorarium and formal position in the Warrant of Precedence by the government as well as organised another Back to Village (B2V) programme, where every Gazetted officer spent two days and a night in the allotted Panchayat. The government claimed that 20,000 development works identified directly by the people. On 31 December 2019, the administration also abolished Lakhanpur toll after “interact[ing] with various stakeholders and to suggest measures to improve the competitiveness of the local industry.” However, it was met with protests by industrialists termed the withdrawal of toll tax as a “Black Death Warrant for J-K Industrial Sector”. The administration also moved the process of land registration in J-K from the courts to executives as it appointed seventy-seven sub-registrars and formed e-stamping rules. With a focus on improved service and stable revenues, the Jammu and Kashmir Power Distribution Department was unbundled and five new corporations were set up. The administration also claimed to have extended the Ayushman Bharat Pradhan Mantri Jan Arogya Yojana to the entire population. Under this scheme, which is a part of the Central government’s National Health Policy, free health coverage is provided at the secondary and tertiary level to its bottom 40 per cent poor and vulnerable population. Amid the clampdown after August 2019, the administration introduced a Market Intervention Scheme for the apple growers across Kashmir Valley. It claimed that the scheme helped stabilize the market. In an attempt to reach out to the people on ground, thirty-six Union Ministers visited twelve districts in J-K in a week and held a hundred public meetings as 210 public projects were inaugurated. In a coordinated plan, the administration also integrated J-K Grievance Website with Centralized Public Grievance Redress and Monitoring System (CPGRAMS) to make it more specially-abled people friendly. Another developmental project, which had become a laughing stock -- Rambagh flyover in Srinagar, was finally inaugurated and opened for traffic. Another project to ensure better connectivity, the work on Jammu-Akhnoor road, Chenani-Sudhmahadev road started and accelerated. Under the administration, nearly 25 per cent of Jammu Ring Road was also completed. The administration also finalized the Light Rail Transit System (Metro) for Jammu and Srinagar as Detailed Project Report (DPR) prepared for Rs. 10,599 crores. To finish multiple projects that were languishing for about a decade, the administration set up J-K Infrastructure Development Finance Corporation (JKIDFC) and sanctioned 2,273 projects worth 5,979 crore rupees. Out of them, the administration claimed that it has completed 506 projects, while 963 projects are scheduled for completion by March 2021. In a push to the hydro projects in J-K, work started on contracts of 1,000 MegaWatt (MW) Pakal Dul Project and 624 MW Kiru Project. Also, to push the transmission and distribution works in the power sector, the administration took over 213 packages for execution; out of it, 128 already have been completed. The administration also claimed that it completed the Jhelum Flood Mitigation Project (Phase-I), which increased the river’s capacity by 10,000 cusecs. To strengthen the education sector in J-K, the administration also sanctioned seven new medical colleges, which added 1,400 more medical and paramedical seats combined. It also approved five new nursing colleges and a State Cancer Institute. In the meantime, fifty new degree colleges were also started.

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