by Anam Zakaria
It is perhaps easier for Kamran Baig to assert that Kashmiris on the other side are better off because they are physically oppressed, and thus pushed to react, because he has not been subjected to such treatment. It is a politically grand statement to make—that emotional prisoners are worse than physical ones—but I remain unsure of whether those who have suffered brutality, rape and violence would agree. Yet, Kamran’s statement remains poignant because it reflects the state of suffocation in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. With increased censorship and crackdowns, invasion of privacy and lack of development, more and more people feel repressed, their voices choked, their pockets shrivelled, their political views carefully tailored to fit the national narrative.
‘No private telephone companies are allowed to set up business here without permission from Islamabad, communication is poor… our royalties from Mangla dam are not given to us, the rest of Pakistan benefits from our water while we suffer from water scarcity in a land so abundant with water… there is poor sanitation, lack of education… How is this “Azad” Kashmir? You call it “Azad” Kashmir but we call it Pakistan-occupied Kashmir,’ Fazal joined in.
‘Before 1947, only salt would be purchased from the mandi (market) in Rawalpindi. Everything else was indigenously produced. Now, we have to get everything from Pakistan. We have been made entirely dependent. People who say we can’t live without Pakistan don’t know anything. They have been fooled. Do you think before 1947 vegetables didn’t grow here? Before 1947, was there no wheat, no rice in the region? Did people only eat stones or the salt that came from Pindi? What they call “Azad” Kashmir used to be independent, it used to create everything on its own. Today, there is no factory, no business. They say that Kashmiris and Pakistanis are Muslim brothers… they use religion to try to unite us… but they exploit us… they cut our trees and take our valuable wood all the way to Karachi to reap benefits. They don’t give us any space to generate businesses. The people who sign the election papers and come to power in this so-called Azad Kashmir government also loot us. They get all the benefits because they support Pakistan while ordinary people suffer. Yeh Azad Kashmir nahi hai… yeh makbooza Kashmir hai (This is not Azad Kashmir, it is Pakistan-occupied Kashmir).’
‘Let me give you some facts… humari chhoti si riyasat ko sirf 400 megawatt electricity ki zaroorat hai. Hum hazaron megawatt bijli banate hain magar phir bhi idhar solah ghante load-shedding hoti hai (our small little state only requires 400 megawatts of electricity. We produce thousands of megawatts of electricity but we still continue to face 16 hours of load-shedding per day). All the electricity that is produced here is given to the national grid in Pakistan. I can keep crying all day that Pakistan is a villain, an autocrat, but when people read your book—may God give you the ability to complete it—they won’t be satisfied until you give them these details. You must write about this. After the earthquake, Rs 55 billion25 was earmarked for rehabilitation, but it was all usurped by Pakistan. Why did they close the rehabilitation programmes? Why didn’t they rebuild the schools, the homes, as promised, from the donations? Even today, our children are studying in tents.’
It is estimated that 2,792 educational institutions were destroyed in ‘Azad’ Kashmir as a result of the earthquake. According to a report published in Dawn ten years after the earthquake, ‘Of those flattened institutions, donors pledged to rebuild 402—309 were to be rebuilt by the Asian Development Bank-funded Earthquake Emergency Assistance Project (EEAP); 201 by the World Bank-funded Earthquake Additional Financing Project (EAFP); 35 (mostly colleges) by the Saudi Fund Development and Kuwait Fund (SFD&KF) and the remaining, 1,845, by Government of Pakistan (GoP) funding. GoPfunding is the term used for the money Islamabad received from the international community as donation/soft loan to exclusively spend in the quake-hit areas of AJK and neighbouring Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KP). This money was to be channelled through the Earthquake Reconstruction and Rehabilitation Authority (Erra). However, ten years down the line, only 1,277 educational buildings have been completed in AJK. Of the rest, 833 are still under-construction and 682 are yet to be initiated.’26
‘Today, the Government of Pakistan is running a project here by the name of Neelum-Jhelum project,’ Fazal continued, ‘but until now, no agreements, no negotiations have been made with the local people. Our government hasn’t even signed the papers yet. They just came, deployed their machines, and gave control to the Chinese… but who will be responsible for all the environmental damage because of the project? The natural flow of the river has been disrupted… lakhs of people living beside it will have no place to go. We will have an issue of drinking water… there will be smell everywhere… mosquitoes and infections like dengue will spread… magar na koi bolne wala hai, na koi poochne wala hai (but there is no one asking questions, no one speaking up),’ he stopped, panting as the words raced out of him, and took a sip of water. Just then another colleague of theirs joined us.
Ather Ali (the name has been changed to protect his identity) is also a nationalist. He was quieter than the other two and mostly observed the conversation from the side but each time Fazal or Kamran criticized any policies of the Pakistani state, whenever they called ‘Azad’ Kashmir ‘Pakistan-occupied Kashmir’, he nodded or grunted in agreement.
Reclaiming the conversation after the brief introductions, Fazal told me of an incident from a couple of years ago. ‘A few people visited us from Sweden, Denmark and Norway… the establishment got very upset about our meeting and asked to meet me. I remember some officer came to meet me outside the district courts, in a hotel. He asked what the foreigners said to me and I said, Nothing that should trouble you. He cautioned me not to speak up against the army, against the establishment. I told him, We never speak ill without reason and that if he and his colleagues meant well for Pakistan then they should focus on good governance. There is so much corruption here… look at the education system, water, health livelihood, security… there is no law for the powerful while for the poor… well, you can say all laws are only made to be enforced upon them. We think that the establishment only cares about its own interests… and mind you, I’m not talking about the sepoys but rather their commanders… when the time comes to raise flags on 14 August, when they have to show their allegiance to Pakistan, they are there but when there is corruption…when people’s rights are infringed upon, then they are nowhere. Makbooza Pakistani Kashmir is facing the worst oppression… the worst kind of human rights violations,’ he finished, rather breathless.
By this time, almost two hours had passed since our conversation began and it seemed like more people had collected in the lobby, observing us from all corners. We had attracted unwanted attention. Sharjeel had told me that tabs were kept on every hotel in Muzaffarabad. An official visits the hotels every night to check who is staying where and for what purpose. I wanted to wrap up our conversation but found Kamran Baig unsatisfied. He had many other things he wanted to share with me. I told him we were in a hurry to get back to Islamabad but he said I must hear about two more problems prior to leaving. I slumped back into the couch and thought I might as well let him continue speaking.
‘There are two things here. First, everywhere in the world, it is an established fact that armed forces are not supposed to be deployed near civilian populations. Army officials are not meant to use routes nor water sources meant for the civilians. But if you look anywhere in Neelum Valley, you will find them everywhere out in the open. Most of the grounds have been taken over by the army in the name of security. The establishment has invested here, making their own shops and running their own businesses… You need to understand that Kashmir is not the subject of India or Pakistan. Ever since the 1971 war between the two countries, after which the Simla Agreement was signed, India and Pakistan have used the policy of bilateral dialogues. They say they will decide our future, not the Kashmiris. You need to write that this agreement is in violation of the earlier resolutions, which clearly stated that Kashmiris could decide their own fate, even if i
t meant independence from both India and Pakistan.’
I told him I would and waited for him to come to his second point. ‘Secondly, in terms of governance,’ he began, ‘In 1970, we got the 1970 Act, which gave the people of Kashmir a few rights. For instance, they could decide matters of trade, tax collection, establishment of businesses, etc. Then, in 1974, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who is seen as a democratic idol in Pakistan, a hero in Pakistan, implemented an act which completely changed our state. Today, fifty-two out of fifty-six state subjects are controlled by the Kashmir Council, whose chairman is the prime minister of Pakistan. And let me tell you the conditions of the four subjects that lie with the legislative assembly of Azad Kashmir. Our prime minister cannot agree to anything until he has the consent of the chief secretary, who cannot agree to anything until the federal Ministry of Kashmir Affairs and Northern Areas (now referred to as the Ministry of Kashmir Affairs and Gilgit-Baltistan) in Islamabad gives its approval. Our people are kept behind… One cannot join any good service without swearing allegiance to the Pakistani state. We are one of the only regions in the world where we have our own flag, supreme court, high court, our own legislative assembly, and yet we have to agree with the ideology of Pakistan, we have to salute the Pakistani president. Then what is the point of having our own president or flag? Our concern is that if Pakistan wants to empower us, then it should empower us. If it wants to be our vakeel, then it should represent us properly. It shouldn’t be a farce, a show. If you tie someone’s ankle with a chain and allow them to dance, it does not mean they are free.’
As we brought our conversation to a close, I asked Kamran what the next steps would be like for pro-independence Kashmiris like him. He explained, ‘We look at it this way… if there are two crore people in the riyasat (state), we cannot decide the future for all of them. Our first concern is to use our political and democratic struggle to speak up for people’s rights. I believe that when even 50 per cent or 60 per cent people begin to recognize that they are prisoners, when they become aware of their mental cages, when this finally culminates into physical violence and the establishment begins shooting people here like it does on the other side, then the people will be closer to azadi (Kamran feels that right now ‘Azad’ Kashmir is in a state of mental oppression, and many people are oblivious to their exploitation. He believes that when this oppression takes a physical form, then people will come out into the streets, pelting stones and protesting against the status quo as they do on the other side of the LoC.) Until then we will not pick up any weapons. We understand that hardly anyone sees the culmination of their freedom struggle within their own lifetime. We aren’t disappointed because we know we are making progress. Thirty years ago, if anyone would chant slogans like “Pakistan, Mangla dam ki royalty humein do” (Pakistan, give us the royalty for Mangla dam), fellow Kashmiris would abuse them because they were pro-Pakistan and thought Pakistan had their best interests at heart. Today, ordinary people join us when we chant such slogans. They have become more aware. They know that the state is eating away their resources. They demand their rights, they demand electricity, water, their basic needs. If you sit anywhere in Kashmir today, even on top of a remote mountain, you will find people who will be able to have a politically mature discussion with you. We have achieved a lot and will only achieve more now that we have social media and better ways of connecting with each other. Humein bus is zehni ghulami ko jismani ghulami mein badlana hai, phir mere khayal mein hum azadi ke aur kareeb honge (we need to convert this mental oppression and enslavement into physical torture, then freedom will be closer to us).’
I asked him whether by this logic he felt that Kashmiris on the other side of the LoC were closer to freedom, since there was more of ‘physical’, rather than ‘mental’, oppression in Indian-administered Kashmir. He didn’t answer my question directly. Instead, he told me that it wasn’t freedom that was Kashmir’s biggest problem but unity. ‘Kashmir ka masla azadi nahi hai. Azadi qaum ko milti hai aur azadi demand bhi qaum karti hai. Humara masla yeh hai ke hum ek qaum nahin hain. Hum tukron mein bati hui qaum hain. Humara pehla masla wahdat hai (Kashmir’s problem isn’t freedom. Nations secure freedom, and nations demand freedom. Our problem is that we are not a nation. We are in fragmented pieces. Our first concern is that we need unity, we need to be unified as a state). The struggle for independence will begin when people of the riyasat (state of J&K) will be able to stand together and decide what they want. Our struggle is for that unity. The ceasefire agreement of 1949 did not say anywhere that Kashmiris cannot go across and meet each other. We say, let us travel, open our natural routes. I want to go to Jammu and talk to people there. People from Jammu should be able to sit in Muzaffarabad. If I sit here and speak on behalf of people from Jammu and Srinagar and say this is what azadi should look like, it would be wrong. That is not political progress. Log qaum tab bante hain jab unke maishi, siasi, ikhlaqi, samaji, aur sakafti mamlat muttafiq hon… hum to 60-70 saalon se toote hue hain. (People form a nation when their economic, political, moral, social and cultural institutions converge. We have been divided for 60-70 years).’
I thanked them for their time and they got up to leave while Haroon and I turned to clear the bill. The receptionist in the lobby asked if we were journalists. Before I could answer, he pointed to the young boy next to him and said, ‘My colleague here wanted to come and interrupt your conversation. He got very angry hearing the kind of things they were saying about Pakistan. We love Pakistan. We don’t have any problem with Pakistan.’ ‘Yes my blood was boiling,’ said the boy, ‘we love Pakistan. We have nothing to complain about. These people are Indian agents. They try to create a distance between Kashmir and Pakistan. Where would we go without Pakistan? Please don’t listen to a word they said. We are shocked by their audacity!’ Just then another man joined the conversation to reiterate his affection for the country, ‘Yes, you must leave here knowing we love Pakistan. We have no problems,’ he said, repeating the sentiment uttered twice already. We told them not to worry, that we understood that the people we had spoken to just offered one perspective—but they remained adamant. Perhaps they truly felt otherwise, or perhaps they were scared, scared of what we may do with the interview that had taken place in their lobby, scared of officials questioning them about our visit. Or perhaps, they were just some of the mental prisoners Kamran had spoken about, unaware of the oppression, unaware of the state of affairs, of their state of belonging.
10
NEITHER PUNJABI NOR KASHMIRI
Mirpur, Kotli and other journeys
On 18 June 2016, Haroon and I drive to Kashmir Chowk in Islamabad to pick up Sharjeel, who has made his way from Muzaffarabad earlier that morning. We are scheduled to leave for Kotli district from there. Kotli, formerly a part of Mirpur district and now a separate district on its own, is located in Jammu. I have been wanting to make this trip for several months now, for unlike Neelum Valley (which remained relatively peaceful between 2003 and 2015), Kotli saw ceasefire violations and resulting casualties every year. It seemed as if the ceasefire had failed to extend its benefits to this region. However, my trip had been delayed until today because of bad weather. Heavy rainfall over the past few months had led to landslides in parts of Kashmir, and Sharjeel, who was to accompany us and help me interview people in Kotli, wasn’t able to travel to Islamabad. Once the rain stopped, the election campaign had begun. Ahead of the 2016 AJK assembly elections, political parties and their candidates were holding rallies across Kashmir to garner support before the voting day in July. Sharjeel was busy capturing the speeches and public appearances for the media channel he worked for. It was only this morning that he was finally able to take out time to travel with us.
The election campaign involved a battle between the two largest political parties in Pakistan: the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), which was in power in AJK between 2011 and 2016, and the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N), the ruling party of Pakistan since 2013.1 Bilawal Bhutto, chairman of the PPP, was dil
igently running down then Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif by claiming that his friendship with Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi was one of the reasons that Kashmir was still in the shackles of India. He asserted that the ‘pro-India’ PML-N would hurt the Kashmiri cause and by voting for them, the electoral base in Kashmir would inevitably be endorsing Nawaz Sharif’s pro-India polices. Sharif had attended Narendra Modi’s oath-taking ceremony in 2014, and the latter had made a surprise visit to Pakistan in December 2015. It seemed as if Sharif was trying to improve the relationship between India and Pakistan, just as he had in the late 1990s, when Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee and Sharif signed the Lahore Declaration, which was viewed as an important diplomatic initiative aimed at easing military tensions between the two nuclear powers. Bilawal insisted that Nawaz Sharif’s ‘friendship’ with India, and particularly his cordial relationship with Modi, was an insult to the people of the area. He asserted that, ‘the Indian premier (was) responsible for the massacre of Muslims in Gujarat and during (his) rule, Kashmiris (were) facing the worst form of state terrorism’.2 A common slogan during the election campaign became, Modi ka jo yaar hai ghaddar hai, ghaddar hai…Modi ke yaar ko ek dhakka aur do (Modi’s friend is a traitor and should be thrown out).3
