by Anam Zakaria
Such talks bred resentment in the region. ‘Azad’ Kashmiris told me these discussions indicated that the Pakistani establishment was willing to abandon the Kashmir cause for Chinese investment. Many of them felt that Pakistan was ready to ‘sell them’ out, accepting the status quo in Kashmir and discarding the struggle for freedom of Kashmir from Indian ‘occupation’—a struggle that it has always claimed to stand up for—to secure CPEC projects.
The Chinese investment is not limited to Gilgit-Baltistan. At the entrance to ‘Azad’ Kashmir, one saw Chinese employees working under the harsh sun to build the Rs 274.88-billion Neelum-Jhelum hydropower project, meant to generate 969 MW of energy, and the Kohala project, set to generate 1,100 MW to solve Pakistan’s power troubles.47 Approximately 3,000 Chinese workers have reportedly been employed in the area.48 In addition, while the CPEC will largely involve the Gilgit-Baltistan region, there are ongoing talks between the governments of Pakistan and the AJK to also involve ‘Azad’ Kashmir in the CPEC. Taking advantage of the bustling tourism industry, the AJK government has launched a 190-kilometre-long tourism corridor. The corridor will also connect to Rawalakot and partly to Haveli district in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. Former Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif had promised eight billion rupees for the project. Meanwhile, AJK’s incumbent prime minister, Raja Farooq Haider, is also encouraging the private sector and Kashmiris abroad to invest in the corridor. Sources in the AJK government say that negotiations are under way with the Pakistan government to incorporate the tourism corridor in the CPEC.49 Moreover, in 2017, three hydropower projects in ‘Azad’ Kashmir were also included under the CPEC. These include a project in Kohala50 (at the junction of Muzaffarabad and Bagh districts) as well as two hydropower projects in Karot51 (Kotli district) and Mahal (Bagh district).52
Apart from China, other countries are also beginning to invest in the area since the 2005 earthquake. It is estimated that nearly ‘1,000 foreign workers, besides the Chinese, are working in… (Azad) Kashmir. Saudi Arabia is helping build a university, Turkey has come up with government offices and Kuwait has invested around $100 million in the rebuilding of infrastructure. South Koreans are also working (there).’53 All of these projects make regional stability a priority for Pakistan.
Pakistan claims that the CPEC as well as the power projects in Neelum Valley are as beneficial for local Kashmiris as they are for the Pakistani economy. It is said that power generation will allow businesses to thrive in the area, spurring economic growth and overall development of the region. The same argument was made when the Mangla dam was built on the Jhelum in Mirpur, ‘Azad’ Kashmir. It was constructed in the 1960s and is cited as the biggest water reservoir in Pakistan.54 However, for the Mirpuris who lived nearby, the dam cost them their homes and livelihood. It is said that about ‘81,000 people were relocated (though others estimate that over 100,000 were displaced),55 32,900 houses were replaced, and 35,600 hectares of land was acquired. Six towns and 255 villages were affected.’56 When the Mirpuris tried to register their protest, it was violently repressed by Pakistani forces.57 While many Mirpuris are settled in Britain now and are some of the wealthiest Kashmiris, others remain displaced even today. I am told that those who continue to live in the area still suffer from water and energy shortages, while the rest of the country uses the electricity generated from the very land these Kashmiris were driven off from.
Though Pakistan-administered Kashmir has never seen the kind of unrest that Indian-administered Kashmir has, and though many ‘Azad’ Kashmiris have either been hesitant to speak up or have not had the platforms to voice their grievances, these policies have started to create resentment in their hearts against the Pakistani establishment. While Pakistan is currently advocating peace and development in the region, many Kashmiris see this as exploitative. They tell me that local Kashmiris are not engaged in vital decisions that affect them. ‘No one asks us before implementing these projects. They use our land, our resources and leave us with nothing.’ Yet, despite these grievances, I find it peculiar that there is little open criticism of government policies. People grumble, they utter their complaints, but almost in a hushed manner. There is a strange sense of resignation in the region. I wonder if this is because what they hear about the conditions in Indian-administered Kashmir sounds so much worse. I wonder if they feel they should be grateful for what they have; that in their minds, at the very least, they are ‘better off’ than their brothers and sisters across the LoC.
Unlike India, Pakistan, at least in its constitution, does not claim ownership over Kashmir. Officially, it acknowledges that the status of J&K can only be determined after a plebiscite is conducted as per the wishes of its people. ‘This significantly reduces the sense of occupation,’ ‘Azad’ Kashmiris say. ‘At least Pakistan still understands that the Kashmir issue stands unresolved. India, on the other hand, has already usurped Kashmir and refuses to negotiate on its future.’
The fact that the Pakistan Army is predominately Muslim as is the ‘Azad’ Kashmiri public also creates a sense of oneness. In contrast, many ‘Azad’ Kashmiris see the Indian Army as well as the Indian state as Hindu; it is then not just any army oppressing any people but a ‘Hindu’ force subjugating a ‘Muslim’ population. Therefore, if their only choice is between India and Pakistan, the ‘Azad’ Kashmiris I met said they would end up picking Pakistan, which, according to them, at least upholds and represents their religious beliefs.
The growing unrest in Kashmir in the wake of Burhan Wani’s killing and news reports of pellet injuries and use of civilians as human shields, amongst other narratives of oppression, breeds further resentment and discord. Often this means that ‘Azad’ Kashmiris are pushed to feel obliged for the few rights they are able to exercise in the region.
Leading Pakistani academic and analyst Dr Pervez Hoodbhoy further explains the reasons for the subdued dissent in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. ‘The general rise of religious fervour on both sides of the LoC cannot be denied,’ he says. ‘This makes it easier for Muslims to side with Pakistan over India. Add to this the massive use of force by Indian security forces against Kashmiri protestors and you can easily understand why few people want to talk about the grievances of Kashmir on the Pakistani side even if these are significant.’ While there is a high number of army personnel in ‘Azad’ Kashmir, the army has not been known to openly use force against the masses. While torture stories and military oppression are not entirely absent from the area58 (also discussed in greater detail in the next chapter), the scale is not comparable to the use of force by security personnel in Indian-administered Kashmir. When ‘Azad’ Kashmiris view video footage and photographs and hear stories of oppression on the other side, it comes as a stark reminder that at least in Pakistan-administered Kashmir people are not subject to such violence. They feel that in comparison, they have fared better. It almost takes away their right to complain, to voice their disgruntlements.
However, there is one group of Kashmiris that continues to be vocal in its demands against the Pakistani state. They see themselves as severely under ‘occupation’ as those in Indian-administered Kashmir. These Kashmiris are small in number but their voice carries weight. These are the nationalists; the separatists that many people in Pakistan do not know exist. These are people who are against Indian policies but they are also against Pakistani policies. They want independence and they do not shy away from expressing their desire. I decided that it was them I had to meet next, the people who did not want to make compromises; those who were clearly angry and were not afraid to show it.
9
WHERE THE MIND IS NOT WITHOUT FEAR
‘If you tie someone’s ankle with a chain and allow them to dance, it does not mean they are free’
While India and Pakistan continue to consider Kashmir a bilateral issue, over the years a nationalist sentiment has developed on both sides of the LoC, demanding separation from both nations and the independence of Jammu & Kashmir, restoring the state’s geographic status to the pre-Partit
ion years.
When Kashmir first piqued my interest, however, I did not think that I would find many nationalists in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. I had assumed that the majority of the nationalists were in Indian-administered Kashmir. My initial few trips to ‘Azad’ Kashmir had re-emphasized what I had already learnt from mainstream discourse, school textbooks and news reports about the relationship between Kashmir and Pakistan: that Kashmiris living in AJK were satisfied with their relationship with Pakistan and wanted to continue living here. They also seemed to have a deep-seated desire to see Indian-administered Kashmir, or ‘makbooza’ Kashmir as they called it, freed and joining hands with Pakistan. This longing was certainly shared by many ‘Azad’ Kashmiris I spoke with. When I asked them if there was any nationalistic fervour in AJK—that is, people who wanted independence from Pakistan as much as from India—they told me that the nationalist struggle did not enjoy much popularity on this side and that it was limited to a handful of angry protestors.
Over time I learnt that though the nationalists were not in great numbers, their voice was a potent one, and it gave me insights into the realities that many Kashmiris were hesitant to openly discuss. They criticized the control of the Kashmir Council on the internal affairs of ‘Azad’ Kashmir, viewing it as an oppressive power, usurping ‘Azad’ Kashmir’s promised autonomy. They spoke up against the electoral process, which prohibits anyone who does not publicly declare his or her allegiance to Pakistan, to contest elections. They protested against censorship and the banning of pro-independence or pro-autonomy literature and they argued for greater connection between parts of the state of Jammu & Kashmir, not just across the LoC but also between ‘Azad’ Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan.1
In 2016, when the ‘Azad’ Kashmir government banned sixteen books—which critics allege was because the books challenged the dominant Pakistani narrative on Kashmir and contained pro-independence literature—noise was made on both sides of the LoC against such repressive policies. Shams Rehman, a UK-based writer, researcher and activist, originally from Mirpur in ‘Azad’ Kashmir, whose booklet titled Maqbool Bhat: Life and Struggle, was also banned, unequivocally stated in an article:
The proponents of independent Kashmir view the entire set-up of AJK as undemocratic and unrepresentative of AJK people because they cannot participate in the elections without declaring allegiance to Kashmir’s accession to Pakistan. They also denounce the AJK government as a puppet (government) and argue that the whole purpose of this set-up is to serve the interest of Pakistani rulers. In return, they claim, the AJK rulers are given or allowed to stay in ‘power’, that is nothing more than a privilege to access some financial benefits, show off their ministry flags on some imported cars and exaggerated protocol. From this perspective the actual control of Azad Kashmir is in the hands of the Pakistani Army and agencies that then play and manipulate a range of local dynamics to continue and strengthen their occupation. Banning books, according to this perspective, is to clear the market of any literature or initiative that does not match with the Pakistani narrative.2
After I read the article, I reached out to Shams and set up a Skype meeting. I wanted to register the sentiments of pro-independence Kashmiris and understand why their voices did not reach most Pakistanis. Shams, an independent British Kashmiri writer and broadcaster, explained that the nationalist struggle in ‘Azad’ Kashmir had not gained as much mileage as it should have because of Pakistan’s hegemonic practices. ‘There are several layers of control that Pakistan exercises in Azad Kashmir. The ideological control is the most powerful of all,’ he started. ‘It is hegemonic because the state links it with religion. If you are for an independent Kashmir, it means you are not only against Pakistan but also Islam because Pakistan is an Islamic state. As a reaction to this you see that all pro-independent voices in Azad Kashmir are very clearly secular, progressive and socialist. On the other hand, India claims to be a secular country but has repressed Kashmiri voices by labelling them as Muslim extremists and pro-Pakistan. Therefore, on that side the ideological face of the nationalist movement is very much religious.’
Since the independence struggle on both sides of the LoC is directed against the state, activists often define themselves in opposition to the dominant stance of that very state. In Pakistan, the state projects pro-independence sentiments as not only going against Pakistan but also Islam in the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. However, given the tide of religious fervour in the country, the space for secular sentiments has increasingly shrunk. If pro-independence organizations and actors are labelled as anti-Islam or even ‘secular’, it is unlikely that they would be able to garner much support. This could partially explain their lack of popularity in ‘Azad’ Kashmir.
The next layer of control Shams spoke about was the heavy presence of military forces and intelligence agencies. ‘I haven’t done any personal research on military statistics but the general perception is that there are more than 200,000 army officials in (Azad) Kashmir. While Mirpur is further away from the LoC, those in Neelum Valley and other places closer to the ceasefire line feel their presence much more. Add to this the thick network of agencies. Whoever speaks the language of independence is marked… that this guy needs to be watched. The agencies have so many ways of controlling them, corrupting them or even incorporating them.’
Through my research I found that one of the effective ways to crush the independence sentiment was by including or ‘incorporating’ the pro-independence activists into mainstream politics. Shams explained that Pakistani political parties play an important role in this. ‘They are the newest form of control. In the 1970s, when the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) rose to power, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto came to (Azad) Kashmir and told local people that if they wanted to be in the government they had to join the PPP. This was in 1973-74. At that time a lot of activists in (Azad) Kashmir were progressive and liberal. They had socialist aspirations and the PPP claimed to be a socialist party. They thought it was going to revolutionize Pakistan and make it a socialist country so many of them happily joined.’
Today, I am told, parties like the PPP and the PML-N attract—and at times coerce—anyone with an independent vision with lucrative salaries, benefits and occasional blackmail. Young people from this part of Kashmir who are disillusioned with the lack of success of the independence movement become perfect consumers. ‘The PML-N has also attracted a lot of young voices from the pro-independence camp,’ Shams told me. ‘These people say the movement is not going anywhere… “we are getting old, what is the point of continuing on this path if it’s not going to result in anything.” A lot of pro-independence activists end up giving up their politics because of this.’ This was something that the nationalists I would speak to later would also speak about. They would complain that the mainstream parties hijacked their politics by luring away their party workers.
The next layer of control Shams spoke about was financial. ‘All banks in (Azad) Kashmir are Pakistani banks. The capital is invested not in Azad Kashmir but in Pakistan. (Azad) Kashmiris living in the UK send back a lot of money but all of this is deposited in Pakistani banks, benefiting them.’
It was the last instrument of hegemonic control that Shams referred to on our call, however, that stood out as the most formidable one for me. It is the control over the education system, which shapes the mindset of thousands of ‘Azad’ Kashmiris every year.
‘When I was in school we were taught that Azad Kashmir is already a part of Pakistan—which goes against what the constitution of Pakistan says—and that when we say Kashmir, we are referring to the part under Indian occupation. The textbooks told us that freedom only had one meaning; getting azadi from Indian occupation and merging it with Pakistan. This is what I believed until I left Mirpur. Apart from that, little else was taught about Kashmir. This mindset has only deepened over the years. People who complete their education in AJK up to FA or BA level have no alternative views about Kashmir. They believe that Kashmir belongs to Pakistan. They are taught that
because the Maharaja was Hindu, he acceded to India and India, being a Hindu state, is now controlling Kashmir and our role is to free Kashmir and make it a part of Pakistan.’
On a trip to Neelum Valley in 2017, I stopped by a book depot and scanned though Kashmiri textbooks. I found little focus on the history of Kashmir itself. According to these books, it was truly as if Kashmir was already an accepted part of Pakistan. There seemed to be no need to teach students local languages and culture nor local history. And I found that where the history of the region was taught, it was a cursory lesson. Here is a passage (translated from Urdu) from a Class 4 textbook on civic studies, written by the AJK textbook board:
In 1947, when Pakistan and Bharat gained independence, princely states were ruled by Nawabs and Maharajas. They had the right to choose between Bharat and Pakistan. Muslims were in majority in Kashmir and wanted to join Pakistan. Kashmir had a Hindu ruler, Maharaja Hari Singh, who ran to Bharat and against the wishes of the people, decided that Kashmir would join Bharat. In 1948, Indian forces entered Kashmir. The locals and mujahideen fought against these forces bravely. They managed to free a part of Kashmir and today this part is called Azad Kashmir.3
This simplistic narrative of a very complicated time period presents a black-and-white history, unlikely to evoke much critical thinking amongst students about their own past and its impact on their present.
I asked Shams how he broke through the layers and layers of control he had spoken about. How had he transformed from a passive recipient of these state narratives to an active critic of state policies? He told me that his unlearning process began one day in the mid-1980s, in the city of Karachi. Below is an excerpt from our conversation.
‘I went to Karachi University in 1981 after completing my FA from Mirpur College. When I left Mirpur, I was a very religious type of person. My father was in the Muslim Conference and later joined Jamaat-e-Islami. He had moved to Britain in 1961 but he was very religious in that respect and very strict as well, so I grew up as a Jamaati type of boy. But I wasn’t interested in politics. I was a typical, ordinary boy who wanted to go to Karachi. When I got there, for the first two years I was in complete cultural shock. I couldn’t register boys and girls sitting together and talking. I spent most of the time trying to figure out where I was and what was going on. Then, on 11 February 1984, I coincidentally became part of a protest against the hanging of Maqbool Bhat.4 All I knew about Maqbool Bhat until then was that he was not for Pakistan (because he spoke of an independent Kashmir) and therefore it was assumed that he worked for India. I was confused to see the reaction against his hanging. My friends… Kashmiri students, including Jamaatis of Islami Jamiat Tulba (a student organization) at Karachi University… had organized protests…
