There is something almost insulting about the political conversation in Kashmir today. People want Kashmir discussed. Its politicians are discussing themselves.
Who said what about whom? Who challenged whom? Who should resign? Who betrayed whom? Who is becoming bigger than his party? Who owes his election to whom? Who will remain in the National Conference and who might walk out?
And, naturally, an obliging media has pulled up a chair, ordered popcorn and turned the whole thing into Kashmir’s latest political soap opera.
National Conference president Farooq Abdullah challenged Srinagar MP Aga Syed Ruhullah Mehdi to resign and seek a fresh mandate if he believed his electoral strength was independent of the party. Ruhullah responded subsequently that the resignation “will come”, while demanding accountability from the party leadership over its political commitments.
Fine. Now can we discuss Kashmir?
Because somewhere between Farooq Sahib’s challenge, Ruhullah’s response, Omar Abdullah’s predicament and the endless commentary of our political chatterati, one small detail seems to have been forgotten: there are people living here.
People with problems. People without jobs. People waiting for roads to be completed, government files to move, hospitals to function better, schools to improve, businesses to survive and departments to actually deliver what taxpayers pay them to deliver.
They couldn’t care less about the bruised egos of political heavyweights.
Kashmir does not wake up every morning wondering whether Aga Ruhullah will resign. A farmer wakes up wondering what his produce will fetch. An unemployed graduate wonders whether another year will disappear without a job. A businessman wonders where the customer has gone.
A villager wonders why a sanctioned road remains half-finished. A citizen wonders why his file has been collecting dust on some babu’s table. A patient wonders whether the specialist will be available when he reaches the hospital.
But apparently these issues are too boring for our microphone warriors.
Much more exciting to chase a politician down a corridor and ask, “Sir, what is your reaction to what so-and-so said about you?” Then rush to so-and-so: “Sir, he has reacted to your reaction. What is your reaction to his reaction?”
By evening we have breaking news. By night we have a panel discussion. By morning we have newspaper headlines. And after 24 hours of feverish journalism, Kashmir has learnt practically nothing about Kashmir.
Media, Please Enter the Dock
Politicians alone cannot sustain this nautanki. They need amplifiers. And sections of Kashmir’s media have become spectacularly good at providing them.
A politician throws out one provocative sentence and an entire day’s news cycle obediently rearranges itself around it. Then come the television boxes populated by party spokespersons, former politicians, aspiring politicians, political analysts, quasi-political analysts and those mysterious creatures who seem to have no identifiable profession other than appearing on television.
Everyone discusses everyone. Except Kashmir.
Where are the weekly media audits of government performance? Which departments have the largest number of pending public grievances? How many projects have crossed completion deadlines? How many sanctioned posts are vacant?
Which districts are lagging in expenditure? Which contractors have repeatedly missed deadlines? How many files have remained pending beyond prescribed disposal periods? Which hospitals lack essential specialists? Which government schemes are producing measurable results and which exist largely in PowerPoint presentations and official press releases?
These should be headlines.
Instead, we are told breathlessly that politician A has “hit back” at politician B, who has “broken his silence” after politician C “launched a scathing attack”.
Hit back. Slams. Lashes out. Breaks silence. Challenges. Warns. Responds.
This vocabulary itself tells the story. Kashmir’s journalism increasingly resembles commentary from a wrestling arena.
A Government Is Not a Talk Show
There is another uncomfortable question. The National Conference received a mandate to govern.
Governance means making things happen. It means measurable improvement. It means ministers knowing what is pending in their departments. It means MLAs knowing what remains unfinished in their constituencies.
It means officers discovering that deadlines actually mean something. It means somebody somewhere losing his chair when public work is repeatedly neglected.
Politics cannot permanently substitute for performance.
Article 370 can be debated. Statehood can be debated. Delhi can be criticised. The Centre can be questioned. Opposition parties can challenge the government. Ruhullah has every democratic right to question his party, just as Farooq Abdullah has every right to challenge him.
But none of this can become an alibi for not discussing governance.
Unfortunately, Kashmir’s political class has perfected a wonderful little ecosystem. Politicians generate controversy. Media magnifies controversy. Spokespersons debate controversy. Social media abuses one another over controversy.
Politicians then react to the reactions generated by the original controversy. And another week passes.
What an industry.
If only potholes could be repaired with press conferences, unemployment could decline through television debates and pending files could move every time somebody “lashed out”, Kashmir would have been Switzerland by now.
Ask Them Five Questions
Perhaps political reporting in Kashmir needs a temporary detox.
For one month, stop asking politicians what they think about other politicians. Instead ask every minister, MLA and MP just five questions:
- What problem did you solve this week?
- Which stalled project did you get moving?
- Which public grievance did you personally pursue?
- Which officer did you hold accountable for non-performance?
- What measurable improvement did your constituency see?
The resulting silence might be the most informative political programme Kashmir has watched in years.
Because ultimately, whether Ruhullah remains, resigns or launches another political journey is important, but it cannot be more important than Kashmir itself.
Whether Farooq Abdullah wins an argument within his party cannot be more important than whether a young Kashmiri wins a livelihood. Whether Omar Abdullah manages dissent within the National Conference cannot be more important than whether his government manages departments under it.
These gentlemen may consider themselves the principal characters in Kashmir’s story.
They are not.
Kashmir is. Its people are. Their problems are. Their future is.
Let Farooq Abdullah challenge Ruhullah. Let Ruhullah challenge Farooq Abdullah. Let Omar Abdullah sort out his party. Let the National Conference conduct its family arguments, ideological arguments, generational arguments and personality contests wherever it wishes.
But spare Kashmir the pretence that this is governance.
And media houses might remember something equally elementary: your job is not merely to report what politicians want to talk about. Your job is also to force politicians to talk about what people want answered.
Kashmir has had enough political theatre. Enough drawing-room gladiators. Enough microphone bravery. Enough breaking-news tamasha.
People want Kashmir discussed.
The bitter truth is that Kashmir’s politicians appear far more interested in discussing themselves. And perhaps the greater tragedy is that much of our media keeps allowing them to.
