Showing posts with label Kashmir. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kashmir. Show all posts

Friday, August 09, 2019

India’s Sudden Kashmir Move Could Backfire Badly

Argument

New Delhi’s crackdown could send the region spinning into instability.

By Michael Kugelman | August 5, 2019, 4:47 PM

foreignpolicy.com
Supporters of the Pakistani militant organisation Jamaat-ud-Dawa (JuD) take part in an anti-India protest rally in Karachi on August 5, 2019, in reaction to the move by India to abolish Kashmir's special status. Asif Hassan/AFP/Getty Images

India has made a series of drastic, and in some cases unprecedented, moves in the disputed region of Jammu and Kashmir, which is administered by New Delhi but claimed by Pakistan.

On Aug. 2, the state government of Jammu and Kashmir issued an extraordinary order. Citing terrorist threats, it ordered tourists and pilgrims to evacuate, and it shuttered schools. This came several days after New Delhi deployed thousands of new troops to the region. Then, on Aug. 4, officials in Kashmir cut off internet access and placed several prominent leaders under house arrest.

That was wildly disproportionate to any given threat of attack, especially in a region that’s faced terrorism before. Clearly, something bigger was at play. New Delhi was taking steps to head off potential unrest in a region with sizable levels of support for independence. Polls have found that as many as two thirds of the residents of the Kashmir valley want regional independence, though surveys find that support for independence tends to be weaker in Jammu. The last time the government took such dramatic measures was in 2016, when Indian security forces killed Burhan Wani, a charismatic young militant revered by Kashmiris as a freedom fighter, and implemented a regionwide crackdown.

Sure enough, on Aug. 5, India announced that it plans to revoke Article 370, a constitutional clause dating back to 1949 that gives Jammu and Kashmir its special autonomous status. The scale of this move cannot be overstated. Abrogating Article 370 represents a major tipping point for an already fraught dispute—and it could easily backfire on India.

The Kashmir dispute goes back more than 70 years, to when India and Pakistan became free from British rule. After Partition in 1947, the leader of Kashmir could not decide whether to have his Muslim-majority region join India or Pakistan. After fighters entered Kashmir from Pakistan, Kashmir agreed to an accession treaty with New Delhi in return for India’s intervention to push back the Pakistani fighters. In 1948, the United Nations called for a plebiscite to occur after the region was demilitarized, in order to determine the future status of Kashmir. That never happened, however, and ever since then Kashmir’s status has remained unresolved. The region has also triggered multiple wars between India and Pakistan.

Article 370, however, enables Kashmir to craft and implement policies independently, with the exception of key spheres such as foreign affairs and defense. It also prevents outsiders from acquiring land in Kashmir. Article 35A, a separate constitutional clause also likely to be scrapped, strengthens Kashmir’s autonomous status by providing special rights and privileges to its permanent residents.

It’s easy to understand New Delhi’s decision to remove Kashmir’s autonomous status.

The ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP)has frequently telegraphed its intention to ax Article 370, which is explicitly described by the constitution as a purely “temporary provision.” The BJP has long viewed the region as an integral part of the nation and rejects the idea that Pakistan has any claim to the territory. By dispensing with the region’s autonomous status, it can formally consummate that integration and deliver a definitive blow to the region’s separatist impulses. It can also better take advantage of investment and broader development opportunities for Kashmir. For these reasons, many Indians will celebrate the decision as a bold but necessary move.

Two recent developments probably pushed the government to act now. The first was U.S. President Donald Trump’s offer to mediate the Kashmir dispute. The second is a rapidly progressing Afghanistan peace process, facilitated to an extent by Islamabad, which could lead to an eventual political settlement that gives the Taliban a prominent role in government. Each of these developments strengthens Pakistan’s hand. Making a dramatic move on Kashmir enables New Delhi to push back against Islamabad. It also sends a strong message to Washington about New Delhi’s utter lack of interest in external mediation.

Domestic politics are also at play. A big-bang, early term move from the newly reelected BJP is sure to attract strong support from its rank and file, and such backing can blunt potential disillusionment and unhappiness down the road if the government struggles to ease India’s growing jobs crisis. Indeed, it may not be a coincidence that the party, during its previous term, stepped up its Hindu nationalist policies—another surefire way to attract support from its base—after it struggled to carry out an oft-promised economic reform agenda.

But the repeal of Article 370 is fraught with risk. India is unilaterally altering the territorial status of a highly disputed territory that is, per square mile, the most militarized place in the world. Something has to give, and New Delhi understands this—which is why it implemented a draconian lockdown before the announcement.

For many Kashmiris, Article 370 had more symbolic than practical meaning, given that the long-standing and repressive presence of Indian security forces had undercut the notion of autonomy. Many Kashmiris face daily restrictions on their freedom of expression and movement, along with the constant risk of rough treatment from security personnel. Still, for many Kashmiri Muslims, the dominant group in Jammu and Kashmir and the victims of what they regard as an Indian occupation, the revocation of Article 370 is a nightmare scenario, because it brings them closer to an Indian state that they despise. Most of them want to be free of Indian rule.

Instead, they will be formally living under it—and confronted with the repression left in place, which could well be amplified in reaction to the unrest that will eventually follow. There is also the risk of further social turmoil once those outside Kashmir, following the repeal of Article 370, are allowed to acquire land. For many Kashmiri Muslims, the fear is that this influx of Indians will eventually change the demographics of the Muslim-majority region and exacerbate communal tensions between Hindus and Muslims.

Furthermore, Kashmiris—and Pakistan, for that matter—have long argued, citing previous U.N. resolutions, that the status of Kashmir should be decided through a plebiscite. To be sure, they often fail to acknowledge that the U.N. has stipulated that a plebiscite should only take place after Kashmir has been demilitarized—though no one can agree on just what that means. But in at least one way, India’s unilateral move goes against its own prior arguments. Indians have long rejected external mediation on Kashmir—along with the option of a plebiscite—by citing the Simla Agreement, a 1972 accord between India and Pakistan that stipulates that the two countries settle their differences (including those on Kashmir) through bilateral negotiations—that is, not unilaterally.

Finally, the optics of India’s move are troubling. New Delhi allowed no debate on a major decision with far-reaching ramifications, with those most affected by the decision—Kashmiris—kept in the dark and cut off entirely. India may be the world’s biggest democracy, but the way Article 370 is being repealed is inherently autocratic—dictated from a distant center with no input from the people most affected.

For now, a major question is how key players will respond. So long as New Delhi maintains its security lockdown in Kashmir, unrest is unlikely. But if that grip is loosened, violence could ensue—suggesting that the lockdown could remain in place for an extended period. Then there is Pakistan. Islamabad’s immediate priority will be to step up its long-standing campaign to get the Kashmir issue on the global agenda and to get the world to condemn India’s policies. Up to now, Pakistan has largely failed to sell its case to the world. Pakistan’s image problems have left India winning the PR war. Indeed, many protesters who might rally for Tibet or Palestine don’t go out of their way to mobilize for Kashmir.

But as India’s move spurs press coverage worldwide, Islamabad has its greatest opportunity in years to internationalize the dispute. This isn’t to suggest that the world is about to gravitate to Pakistan’s side—far from it. But Islamabad can at least expect some supportive statements from Pakistan-friendly countries—Malaysia and Turkey have already expressed their backing for Pakistan following India’s move—and from entities such as the Organization of Islamic Cooperation.

A more immediate risk for New Delhi is that Pakistan will retaliate by resorting to its tried-and-true tactic of sending militant proxies into Kashmir to target Indian security forces. In recent years, much of the unrest in the region has been perpetrated by local Kashmiris radicalized by local conditions, with less direct involvement from Pakistan than in earlier years. But India’s repeal of Article 370 gives Islamabad fresh incentive to deploy its prized asymmetric assets.

While India may regard the repeal of Article 370 as an internal matter that will remove many headaches and should be of limited concern to its neighbors, the reality is quite different. The Kashmir problem has not been solved, as some Indians have suggested. On the contrary, it’s just gotten a lot more complicated—and potentially a lot more destabilizing.

Michael Kugelman is Asia Program deputy director and senior associate for South Asia at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington, D.C. He can be reached on Twitter @michaelkugelman and at michael.kugelman@wilsoncenter.org Twitter: @michaelkugelman

Source: foreignpolicy.com

Diary of Srinagar lockdown

Cut out like never before

By Sankarshan Thakur

Published 8.08.19, 2:49 AM . Updated 8.08.19, 3:11 AM

telegraphindia
A Srinagar street is seen through barbed wire on Tuesday AP

I may have never ever felt so shut out and so shut down. Not during the protracted military operations of the IPKF in northern Sri Lanka. Not during the many weeks I was on the frontier reporting the Kargil war. Not during the Tahrir Square uprising in Cairo. Not even during the darkest I have witnessed in Kashmir over the past decades.... This was not even censorship, not about what you can or cannot report. This was being cut out and left cold"

-The Telegraph’s Sankarshan Thakur returned to New Delhi from Srinagar on Wednesday and wrote this diary on the information blackout

A reporter’s worst nightmare is not being able to tell the story; this week, the powers enacted it coldly, and with singular completeness. But it’s poor form to complain of being pinched when everything around you is being hammered. The reporter in Kashmir this week was a niggling collateral to seismic enactments whose impulsive after-tremors have been stilled by jackboots and commanded at gunpoint to behave.

These are fragments from a diary that lay proscribed for days:

Saturday, August 3

Shortly after I arrive in Srinagar mid-afternoon, a friend of several decades comes around and insists on ferrying me home. “No point getting locked up in a room with nowhere to go. It isn’t safe, a big lockdown is coming.”

“How do you know a lockdown is coming?” I ask him, a little irritably.

“If a lockdown isn’t coming, why are you even here?” he retorts.

Argument over.

We visit a retired bureaucrat whose sense and instinct I have long trusted. He isn’t himself; he is unshaven and has a bedraggled look about him. “What news have you got from Delhi?” he asks me. “You tell me, I’ve merely arrived sensing something, nothing more,” I reply.

He throws up his hands. “I’ve been burning the phones, but is there anyone here I know who knows? Nobody. Something is happening but what? I am at wits’ end.”

We drive around Srinagar, through the arterial Maulana Azad Road, and dip into the warren of the downtown and weave about — Khanyar, Nowhatta, Zainakadal, Alikadal, Amirakadal, Idgah, Soura, singed flashpoints that haven’t ceased from erupting.

There’s a hint of panic in the traffic and all the honking that suggests more than just weary weekend rush. Folks are queued up at ATMs. Long, gnarled lines of cars at petrol bunks. Boys waving bottlefuls of diesel or petrol like trophies. Jostling around chemists’ counters.

“Can you not see everyone’s panicked?” my friend fumes. “What are they up to? Are they telling us all this is for nothing? That they have abrogated the Amarnath Yatra and whistled away the tourists for nothing?”

He’s on edge, he is breathlessly running through the gamut of possibilities. “What plans do they have for us? Take away 35A? Trifurcate us? Kill 370? Do you think they can do that? Is that even possible? But they can do anything, can’t they?”

It’s dark by the time we reach. The outskirts of Srinagar have turned, the air is less hurried. Governor Satya Pal Malik is exhorting calm on television. “Nothing is happening. Why is everybody panicking? There is no reason to. I know of nothing happening, but I don’t know about tomorrow.”

It rains for a bit — black, dark rain — and it puts a shine on the road. Presently a convoy carrying troops passes by, sweeping up the shine, the tyres mulching in the rain. Nothing else moves, or can be heard. Not even birds. Just the convoys, and later into the night, the report of boots getting deployed.

Sunday, August 4

I drive into Srinagar. It’s a washed, sunny morning. The traffic’s thin; it’s a Sunday. But no, it’s not thin. On the edges of Srinagar, barricades have come up overnight. And many more platoons are moving up and down, taking position. The troops are calm at the back of the trucks; some of them look tired and lost, as if they don’t yet know where they’ve been ordered to. Boys are at cricket in neighbourhood fields.

The regulation Sunday street bazaar has unfurled on Residency Road; it’s churning with hawkers and buyers, multicoloured candyfloss is flying off the carts like there won’t be a tomorrow. I see people buying cigarettes in stacks; the bakery shelves are thinning by the minute, its loaves of bread are vanishing the fastest.

I spot an elderly woman screaming down her boy for spilling a bagful of cookies on the pavement: “Now don’t ask me for biscuits a whole month, you deserve that, you clumsy!”

Central Srinagar is a whirl all its own. Did anyone even pay any heed to Malik’s plea for calm? Or do these folks know better?

“It’s practice, Sir,” a restaurateur known to me for years tells me. “Kashmiris have a keen sense of foreboding, they’ve been trained by you for years and years. If there’s panic, there must be a reason.”

I try knocking a few important doors on Srinagar’s most important street. But I run into a barricade at Gupkar Road. It’s where Farooq and Omar Abdullah live; it’s where Mehbooba Mufti is too.

“Permission nahin hai,” the paramilitary guard tells me. I try to reason with him. I show him an exchange of texts I had earlier had with Omar and push for access. He pulls the roller gates shut and waves me off. “Permission nahin hai.”

I take a detour to more approachable doors — homes of civil servants and the odd police officer I’ve known, senior journalists in town. For every question I ask, I get a question in return: “But why don’t you tell us what’s happening? You’re the one from Delhi.”

Something’s about to happen; nobody has a farthing’s clue what.

I get called by a friend on my way back. “Two truckfuls of troops just took over a polytechnic in front of our house. They were in riot gear, helmets, rubber knee-caps, helmets, guns. There are many of them, two truckfuls in just our narrow lane.”

I call my Srinagar-based colleague Muzaffar Raina to find out if he’s well and any wiser. “I don’t know, I don’t know, people are saying many things, all sorts of things, but something may happen tonight, hai na?”

We exchange “take care and keep in touch” advisories. That is the last I have spoken to Muzaffar since.

By the time I get home, another friend has called me from Srinagar and informed me she is on her way to secure a curfew pass. “When are they imposing curfew?” I ask her. “Tomorrow morning, I am told; speak to you later.”

She texts me shortly after. “Relief. No curfew tomorrow. I was told to keep in touch, but no curfew tomorrow.”

“Are you certain?” I text her.

“So I was told,” she replies, “But very frightened and uneasy. Take care, speak soon.”

An hour later, as I mull the weariness of heaping my newspaper with another “nobody knows, everything’s uncertain” report, I receive a missive from a friend in the police control room.

“The phones are going off in a while, everything.”

“Meaning?” I ask.

“Meaning everything’s off, and no movement tomorrow. See you on the other side.”

My friend who’d gone seeking a curfew pass has been walked up the path.

I make several calls to people in Srinagar who may know, but nobody responds. My friend and host tells me sagely: “Relax, they are busy. Everything is shutting down, get used to the idea.”

At 10.54, the Internet on my friend’s phone snaps. He has a local number; mine, a Delhi number, is still working.

I send a text to my editor, R. Rajagopal: “They have begun snapping Internet services incrementally.”

At 11.04, I send him another text: “It can safely be added that the administration is bracing for imposing ‘restrictions’ on movement tomorrow in the Valley.”

At 12.26, I begin writing another text to Rajagopal: “Don’t know what the cabinet will decide in Delhi tomorrow, but the iron curtain is about to….”

My phone snaps.

Like at the throw of some switch somewhere. Internet gone. WhatsApp gone. Connectivity gone. The signal towers have collapsed.

I run down to the landline. “This line is currently out of service, please try later.”

I will only ever be able to try whenever it is I am in Srinagar next.

I try heading out, but there’s nowhere to go. There are pickets and barricades, and soldiers frilled out around spools of concertina wires. Lockdown.

I may have never ever felt so shut out and so shut down. Not during the protracted military operations of the IPKF in northern Sri Lanka. Not during the many weeks I was on the frontier reporting the Kargil war. Not during the Tahrir Square uprising in Cairo. Not even during the darkest I have witnessed in Kashmir over the past decades.

All through the widespread eruption of armed militancy and the consequent flight of Pandits from the Valley in 1989-90, there was always the old reliable Post and Telegraph Office to carry your typewritten copy to for transmission.

This was not even censorship, not about what you can or cannot report. This was being cut out and left cold.

Monday, August 5

Touch phones don’t come alive from rubbing them; only their screens do. I rub my phone nevertheless. I switch it off and restart it. Meantime, I coo into the landline’s receiver like I could seduce it to come back to life. I rub my phone again. But for all the magic these instruments possess, they are no Aladdin’s lamp; and the djinn was never at my command.

But bless the skies and satellites. The television was working — not cable networks, but we were blessed, we had a dish overhead.

A bombshell came down it a little past 11 in the morning.

Home minister Amit Shah had announced to the world a bouquet of decisions that would be received in Kashmir, the core intended area, as a bunch of nettles: the spirit of Article 370 lay snuffed, Article 35A had been killed as consequence, Jammu and Kashmir itself had been both bifurcated and downgraded to a Union Territory.

Jubilation and uproar flickering off the live screen from the Rajya Sabha. Astonished silence where I sat with others gathered around, as if everything had turned to wood.

“Haaaaah, that is it then, wham-bam thank you Sam,” one of them recovered to remark. “Oh, so Kashmiris had set out to demand azadi, and now they are being asked to demand statehood. That’s how far we have come. Bravo! Bravo!”

You had to hear that tone to sense the depth and pathos of the sarcasm.

“Kashmir?” the voice rang out again, “Oh, its now forever lost.”

Source: telegraphindia

Wednesday, August 07, 2019

The Narendra Modi government scraps Kashmir’s special status under Indian constitution

HISTORY REVERSED

By Manavi Kapur 
August 5, 2019

qz.com
REUTERS/DANISH ISMAIL

India has repealed Article 370 of the Constitution of India, which grants special status to the restive state of Jammu & Kashmir.

This law gave J&K autonomy over its affairs, except in foreign affairs, defence, and communication.

Addressing parliament today (Aug. 5) following two days of heightened security in the state, home minister Amit Shah announced that Article 370 would no longer exist. President of India, Ram Nath Kovind, has signed this notification. Shah’s announcement was met with loud protests from opposition parties.

The central government was obligated to take the government of J&K into confidence before such a dramatic move, but it completely bypassed this provision. It helped that the state is under the central rule currently.

With this move, Ladakh district of the state of Jammu & Kashmir has been turned into a union territory, which will be governed by the central government. The move also renders the regions of Jammu and Kashmir Valley union territories—however, these will have their own legislative assembly, like the state of Delhi.


qz.com

 J&K notification signed by president Ram Nath Kovind.

The Modi government’s move sparked a furious debate across India. For instance, Omar Abdullah, the former chief minister of the state and a leader of the J&K-based National Conference party said it will have dangerous consequences and that “our darkest apprehensions have come true,” news channel NDTV reported.

Abdullah, along with other top leaders of the state like former chief minister Mehbooba Mufti, has been placed under house arrest since late last night.


Source: qz.com

Tuesday, July 09, 2019

Not jihad, but love: The Hindu-Muslim marriage that brought Kashmir to a halt in 1967

History revisited

The arc of the controversy has startlingly contemporary resonances.

scrollin
The arc of the controversy has startlingly contemporary resonances.

Hilal Mir

On July 28, 1967, Parmeshwari Handoo, a sales representative at the government-run Apna Bazar in Srinagar, married her Muslim co-worker Ghulam Rasool Kanth. Eight days earlier, the Kashmiri Pandit woman had converted to Islam and taken a new name, Parveen Akhtar. The love marriage set off a storm in the state.

Unlike in the recent Hadiya case, where the High Court annulled the marriage of a Hindu woman from Kerala who converted to Islam and later got married to a Muslim man, the tale of Handoo and Kanth had a happier ending. The case against the couple didn’t go anywhere.

But half a century later, the Akhtar-Kanth case makes for an interesting study. Startlingly, it bears many markings of the politics that currently inform the Sangh Parivar’s bogey of love jihad – the term used by Hindutva groups to accuse Muslim men of entrapping Hindu women on the pretext of love in order to eventually convert them to Islam.

Police complaint

Eight days after the Akhtar-Kanth wedding in 1967, her mother registered a complaint with the police that her minor daughter was missing and had probably been abducted by a colleague for “immoral purposes”. A case was registered against Kanth. A day later, Akhtar appeared at Srinagar’s Jama Masjid to announce her conversion and appealed to the congregation for support.

The police eventually detained the couple at a police station, where Akhtar’s mother, maternal uncle and a few Kashmiri Pandit elders attempted to talk her out of the marriage. Akhtar’s father had died some time before.

Akhtar was then separated from Kanth and taken to another police station where a group of Kashmiri Pandits led by Triloki Nath Dhar – who was then the president of the Kashmir branch of the Bharatiya Jan Sangh (the future Bharatiya Janata Party) – was allowed to meet her twice. Akhtar’s mother and uncle were allowed to stay with her at the police station.

The police released the couple a few days later after establishing that she was an adult and after Akhtar insisted that she had got married of her own free will.

Inter-religious marriages

Before the Akhtar-Kanth marriage, two high-profile marriages involving Kashmiri Muslim men and Kashmiri Pandit women had merely set tongues wagging. Communal tensions had not been not stoked either when a Muslim woman from an elite, conservative Naqshbandi family married a Sikh in the late 1940s, or when a Muslim woman married a Kashmiri Pandit lawyer.

Read full article: scrollin