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Men in uniform are
Kashmir's problem, not solution
Sanjay Kak
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Those who use
the media filter to try to understand what is happening in
Kashmir should realize they're looking at a shadow play. A
curtain lies between events and us. What is played out on the
screen depends on who manipulates the sources of light. |
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 Last
summer, the Valley was overwhelmed by several months of
unprecedented non-violent public protest. It was triggered by the
complicated Amarnath land issue, but on the streets the people were
saying "Hum kya chahte? Azadi!" We are hearing this again this
summer, triggered by the rape and murder of two young women from
Shopian in south Kashmir. Only the stone deaf could miss the cry.
Between these two
summer uprisings came the Assembly elections of December. As
everyone braced for a boycott, people did turn out to vote. This
surprise turnout was presented as nothing short of a miracle and we
were informed that this was "a vote for Indian democracy". Those who
wondered why people who had braved bullets only a month ago should
suddenly queue up to vote were reminded that Kashmiris were an
unpredictable, even contrary, people.
In fact, there is a
frightening consistence about the Kashmiri chant for decades: "Hum kya chahte? Azadi!" Protests have begun for all sorts of reasons but
they are a manifestation of the simmering anger always close to the
surface.
The current round
of protests were given a head-start by the distinctly amateur
vacillations of the state chief minister, not least his puzzling
shifts on what may have actually happened to Nilofar, 22, and her
sister-in-law Asiya, 17, on the night of May 29. Well-intentioned
though he may be, Omar Abdullah seems very badly advised, or else
possessed of a political death-wish.
 In its election
campaign the National Conference made a point of underlining that it
was seeking a mandate for development, for bijli, sadak, pani. It
made no claim to settling masla-e-Kashmir or the Kashmir issue. But
once the elections were over, they went along with the Indian
establishment, which trumpeted the turnout as a decisive mandate in
India's favour. The inability of Omar Abdullah's government to reach
out to the people of the Valley in the past fortnight is a timely
reminder of the dangers of that delusion. In just a little over 10
days, the protests have damaged the patina of normalcy that the
election 'success' painted on a deeply troubled situation.
In the middle of
all this, but almost buried by events, the J&K police announced the
arrest of Constable Nazir Ahmed of the India Reserve Police
battalion for allegedly raping a minor girl in Baramulla in north
Kashmir. (They admitted the constable was a former Personal Security
Officer of Ghulam Hassan Mir, legislator and former minister). Days
after the incident, a scuffle between the families of the victim and
the policeman led to the tragic killing of the victim's grandmother.
Both incidents of
the past fortnight must be placed next to one from a few years ago,
when the infamous "sex scandal" led to huge protests, bringing
Srinagar to a grinding halt. That was a tawdry tale of the sexual
exploitation of vulnerable women, including the prostitution of
minors. It was on a massive scale, with the involvement of
politicians, senior bureaucrats, police and paramilitary officers.
The scandal exposed the ugly networks of power and oppression, which
prop up the structures of control in Kashmir. It also laid bare the
vulnerability of women all over the Valley, prey to the brutal
arrogance unleashed by 20 years of intense militarization and
unbridled power.
It's a good time to
remember that the acquisition of land for the Amarnath yatra was
only the spark that set off last summer's protests. But the real
fuel was widespread resentment about the fact that thousands of
acres of agricultural, orchard and forest land is under occupation
by the army and paramilitary forces, housing their feared camps and
cantonments and vast logistics bases. The Kashmiris' behaviour then
turns out to be underpinned by a fairly straightforward political
reason: we don't need to delve into their fragile 'psyche'.
This week, the
lights behind the curtain are being moved around to give the
illusion of change: the CRPF's duties are to be handed over to the
J&K police. If true, this will need massive local police recruitment
and give a disturbing new twist to the Indian government's promise
of employment to young Kashmiris. (However, from the Establishment's
point of view, a policeman in every home may well be a solution to
Kashmir's troubles.)
 But
this change of guard will not alter the lives of ordinary people.
They do not care if the oppressive figure of the soldier wears the
uniform of the Indian Army, its paramilitary forces, or is their
neighbour in brand new fatigues. Such shallow transformation is not
new: people remember the 'disbanding' of the dreaded Special
Operations Group, which was simply merged into regular police
operations; or the highly public way in which the CRPF replaced the
BSF in Srinagar, leaving the countryside in the Army's iron grip.
This summer's
protest is not just about the rape and murder of two women, the
violation of human rights, or even the repeal of some draconian law.
The shadow play must not distract us from the real issue, which is
the extraordinary and intolerable militarization of Kashmir.
Sanjay Kak is a
filmmaker whose most recent documentary 'Jashn-e-Azadi' explores the
conflict in Kashmir. This article appears here courtesy the
Hindustan Times.
17
June 2009
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