National Post (National Edition)
Kashmir seethes, ready to erupt
The Kashmiri capital looks as if the city has been emptied of its citizens: instead of being crowded with people, the streets are awash with gun-toting soldiers; instead of traffic jams at intersections, there are spools of concertina wires. People remain locked inside their homes with no phone service, internet network or cable TV.
No one has seen or heard from local political leaders, hundreds of whom are under detention. Of the 200 odd newspapers in the region, only five are publishing physical copies. Their websites are stuck at Aug. 5.
It’s time for Friday prayers, and Srinagar’s iconic 15th-century mosque, Jamia Masjid, is eerily quiet. Nearby shops selling carpets, chicken meat, tableware and wedding supplies are shuttered. The only sound is from a rat scrambling in a chicken pen outside a shop. The only movement is from a flock of pigeons in the air.
Five months ago, I interviewed one of the shopkeepers here after a deadly suicide bomber targeted Indian security forces. There had been expressions of sympathy with India against the violent attack. Now, a hastily scrawled “Go India, go back” is splattered across the storefront next door.
I spent four days in Kashmir in the aftermath of India’s dramatic move to strip the region of its autonomy and statehood — and got a firsthand look at how, despite the quiet on the streets, Kashmiris are seething with resentment.
Abdur Rehman, a 78-yearold resident of the downtown area who has seen Kashmir through its best and worst times, likened it to the British colonization of the country. “India is behaving with Kashmir the way Brits behaved with them,” he said.
On a side street, men returning from prayers gather. Immediately, a nearby soldier whistles, signalling them to disperse. Nobody moves for a few tense seconds. Finally, the men go back inside.
As daylight fades, security forces retreat from the streets of restive neighbourhoods. That’s when the civilians emerge. Some pelt stones at passing soldier convoys, others burn tires and some step out just to breathe fresh air after being confined all day.
Many in India point to the absence of large-scale violent protests as proof that Kashmir may not be assailed by violence, as security experts have warned. Some go so far as to paint a picture of normalcy as people line up outside ATMs or buy bread.
But the rage is evident, even if it is suppressed for the moment.
Several Kashmiris spoke to me about the humiliation they said they felt being policed in their own homeland. At one checkpoint in the city, a soldier shouted at a man on a scooter with two young children for not stopping. Shame and weariness clouded the man’s face as he took out his identification card before he was allowed to move ahead.
Near the airport, in an upscale gated community full of expansive houses with high walls, Zafar Khan, a 25-yearold MBA student, described the dilemma facing young people like him. “Stone pelting is not the answer,” he said. “But not doing anything is also not possible.”
In Srinagar’s Soura neighbourhood, which has emerged as the epicentre of protests, life has been reduced to prayers and protests. Surrounded by the majestic Zabarwan mountain range, under bright blue skies and helicopters hovering ominously overhead, men, women and children gather every day to shout against the “Indian occupation,” raising their hands in the air. Some days, the crowd swells to the thousands; on other days, only a few hundred manage to come out.
On Sunday afternoon, the day before the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Adha, a group of young children and teenage girls gathered. For the first time, they said, none of them had bought new clothes for the occasion. One girl put up her hand to show the traditional henna applied during festivals. It read, “We want freedom.”
It had already been a week since any of them had been to school.
“Every kid here is ready to get martyred,” said Ishfaq Ahmad, 25, pointing to the younger boys milling around in groups. “This time, it will be worse than the ’90s.”
He was referring to the rise of the separatist insurgency, when hundreds of men turned to guns to fight the Indian state. Over the past few years, the government had managed to bring down the number of active militants to fewer than 300, but locals and security experts say the demotion of the state is likely to prompt the younger generation to turn to violence, setting the stage for a new cycle of clashes.
“Right now, Kashmir is like a dormant volcano,” said Fizalah Kawoosa, 32, an immunologist. “We are being provoked to react with violence. All it needs is a trigger.”
Again and again, people in Srinagar asked why the government’s move was necessary at a time when things seemed to be improving in the disputed region or why there had been no dialogue with the people affected. It was a question for which I had no answer.