There is something deeply disturbing about how pain in Kashmir is packaged, sold, and recycled. Our grief has become a tool of politics, our tragedy a permanent currency in the elections, and our wounds – the open, oozing, infected wounds – have become career ladders for those who claim to represent us.
Kashmir has been a bleeding land, and every drop has been commodified. I say this not merely as a witness, but as a victim – whose land was grabbed in the chaos, whose home was silenced by deceit, whose voice was ignored in the din of political slogans. I say this because I refuse to lie to myself anymore. The bitter truth is: Kashmir’s sorrow is no longer a burden for politicians to solve. It is a resource for them to exploit.
Tragedy as Political Capital
There was a time when the funeral of a slain civilian or a martyred soldier would unite people in grief. Now, those funerals are photo ops. Political leaders arrive – not to offer condolence, but to appear visible. They wipe tears while looking into cameras. They promise “justice” while already negotiating alliances behind closed doors.
The pattern is now ritualistic. A tragedy strikes. Anger flares. Politicians tweet. A visit is made. A compensation is announced. A few television debates are held. Then silence returns. But the leaders walk away with one more notch of sympathy in their vote-bank. And we – the people – walk away a little more broken, a little more used.
Just a few days ago, a heart-warming “Iftar moment” between the children of two prominent dynastic political families made national headlines. Two children smiling in Ramadan warmth, while thousands of Kashmiri youth contemplate suicide over joblessness, helplessness, and hopelessness. The imagery was touching – but it exposed the permanent disconnect between the lives of Kashmir’s ruling elite and the ruled.
A Theatre of Manufactured Suffering
It would be naïve to assume that this exploitation of pain is exclusive to one party. The entire political class of Kashmir has learned to use tragedy as a strategy. The National Conference, the PDP, the Congress, even emerging players – they have all treated suffering as a renewable political fuel. When elections near, the past is dug up: photographs of graves, stories of persecution, even tales of partition-era trauma are revived, edited, and performed to perfection.
This isn’t remembrance. It is manipulation.
They speak of Kashmiris’ “bravery” while never giving them justice. They speak of Kashmiri “resilience” while ensuring we remain in survival mode. They call us a “sensitive people” – but only to use our pain to fuel the next agitation, the next voting bloc, the next seat in the assembly.
Ask yourself: what exactly has changed in the lives of those who suffered the most in the past three decades? Have Pandits who lost land been rehabilitated with dignity? Have the families of the disappeared received closure? Have those who lost education, businesses, mental health – gotten any real path to restoration?
The answer is no. Because a healed Kashmir is not beneficial to its politicians. A hurting Kashmir is.
That is why every time there’s a chance for real healing – like pushing for truth and reconciliation, or institutional land return, or trauma counseling, or transparency in counterinsurgency violations – our leaders back off. They want the wounds to remain open, festering, eternal. Because from that pus, they extract votes.
Why We Enable Them
It is easy to blame politicians alone. But we, the people, too have enabled this betrayal. In village after village, town after town, we continue to place our trust in the same faces, the same slogans, the same empty gestures. We clap when they mention our pain on television, we cry when they cry at funerals, and we believe – foolishly – that they are on our side.
This emotional gullibility must end. We must stop romanticizing those who profit from our destruction.
Have you ever seen a politician’s child languish in the same conditions you do? Have you seen them go to the same hospitals, the same schools, the same job queues? No. Their children are in Dubai, in Delhi, in London. But when they return to Kashmir, they return with righteous slogans of self-determination and representation. How convenient!
The Need for Radical Honesty
The bitter truth is this: Kashmir’s pain has been monetized. The tears of our mothers, the ruins of our temples, the broken homes in Pulwama and Kupwara, the exiled voices from Budgam and Baramulla – all of it has been converted into election brochures.
And we keep playing along.
It’s time for a radical honesty revolution in this land. That means calling out every politician – left, right, or center – who uses grief as grammar. That means demanding performance, not presence. That means asking uncomfortable questions:
- Where is the roadmap for land return to displaced families?
- Where is the psychological support for conflict-affected youth?
- Where is the criminal justice for custodial deaths?
- Where is the acknowledgment of historic wrongs committed by ALL sides?
Do not let your anger be anesthetized by hollow gestures. Let it be intelligent, directed, and relentless.
The Only Real Resistance: Conscious Citizenship
Kashmir doesn’t need another savior. It needs conscious citizens. Citizens who can see through the theatrics, who can separate empathy from exploitation, who know that real development is not a handout – but a birthright. Citizens who demand policies, not pity. Progress, not platitudes.
We must rewrite the narrative. We must move from pain-centered politics to potential-centered progress. That means empowering local entrepreneurs, pushing for educational excellence, reclaiming stolen heritage, and speaking for the voiceless – not just as victims, but as visionaries.
Yes, our pain is real. But it is ours. Not for sale. Not for bargain. Not for benefit of those who’ve mastered the art of crocodile tears.
A Personal Appeal
I write this not just as a columnist, but as someone whose ancestral land lies encroached and whose memories have been vandalized. I’ve heard the promises. I’ve seen the smiles. I’ve met the politicians. They all say, “We understand your pain.” But they do not. They cannot.
Because if they truly understood, they would have acted by now.
So let us stop waiting for them. Let us begin the journey of reclaiming dignity on our own terms. Let us turn our grief into grit – and our suffering into strength. And most importantly, let us never again allow anyone – no matter how high or mighty – to auction our agony for their ambition.
This was your pain. Make sure it doesn’t become their profit. That, my dear fellow Kashmiris, is the bitter truth.
An author, a communications strategist, Dr Sanjay Parva was a debut contestant from 28-Beerwah 2024 Assembly Constituency.
