Between the Great Divide

by Anam Zakaria

  I wondered if in the midst of all the sloganeering, he stopped to inquire upon his own ancestors’ role in maintaining the status quo in Kashmir. After all, it was his grandfather who had signed the Simla Agreement in the aftermath of the 1971 war as Pakistan’s president, converting the Kashmir conflict into a bilateral issue between India and Pakistan, and then, as the country’s prime minister, instituted the 1974 interim constitution of AJK. Kashmiris, including the nationalists I had earlier met, see the latter as a draconian law.

  The PML-N candidates, meanwhile, focused on corruption and the lack of development and economic growth under the PPP government. Federal minister Barjees Tahir alleged that Rs 55 billion meant for the rehabilitation of areas devastated by the 2005 earthquake was transferred to other heads by the PPP government.4 The chief secretary of AJK, Sikandar Sultan Raja, publicly acknowledged mismanagement of funds and corruption scams. Speaking to an Urdu newspaper, he claimed that a department bought medicines costing Rs 7 lakhs but drew seventy million rupees from the national exchequer.5 The 2015-16 budget allocations further showed that the PPP government in AJK intended to spend Rs 61.5 billion on non-developmental expenditure while an amount of only Rs 12 billion was reserved for development-related projects.6 This in a region where development indicators are extremely poor. For instance, in 2015, it was reported that the average population per doctor in AJK stood at 4,799 whereas the ratio was 1,127 in Pakistan. Furthermore, according to the planning and development department of AJK, close to 50 per cent of the AJK population had no access to piped water.7 Farhat Ali Mir, secretary to the government of AJK, confided that ‘about 95.5 per cent of recurring budget goes to pay salaries while the remaining fraction, comprising around 5 per cent, is spent on all types of expenditure, including the running of government departments as well as covering official expenditure’.8

  Using the resources and power that come with being the ruling party of Pakistan, the PML-N promised an overhaul—strengthening the economy, creating employment and building infrastructure across the region. The party also promised to reduce dependence on the federal government and launch large-scale construction projects, including connecting Muzaffarabad to Islamabad through a fast train and building a motorway to connect the northern parts of AJK with south Mirpur. In addition to the regular budget, the PML-N vowed to spend an additional Rs 50 billion in infrastructure development projects.9

  Such promises found favour, especially among the youth, who were increasingly frustrated by the lack of focus of the AJK government on their needs. In 2016, the unemployment rate in AJK stood at a towering 14.4 per cent as compared to 6.2 per cent in Pakistani provinces.10 The youth, who comprise 62 per cent of the population of AJK,11 were disgruntled and severely critical. They wanted to minimize the role of the centre and strengthen local institutions to address their economic woes. The PML-N was promising to do just that.

  Some pro-freedom parties and individuals also decided to contest in the elections, by agreeing to swear allegiance to Pakistan in the election papers. I am told that while a few pro-independence parties try to participate every time, they hardly win any seats. Voters know that real power lies with those who have support from the centre, that is, Islamabad. In 1970, Maqbool Bhat, separatist leader and guru of Kamran and Fazal Baig (my meeting with them is described in the previous chapter), had also contested, only to be defeated in apparently rigged elections. According to a former leader of JKLF who served as Bhatt’s polling agent in Rawalpindi in the 1970s, ‘non-Kashmiris, instead of genuine Kashmiris, were allowed to vote to ensure that Mr Bhat did not succeed.’12 As a result of the presidential elections of that time, Sardar Abdul Qayyum Khan of the Muslim Conference—allegedly a pro-establishment party—had come to power. As soon as he became president, he had introduced a provision in AJK’s constitution of 1970 that discouraged any pro-independence parties from engaging in elections. The 1974 Act—the AJK interim constitution Act—had retained this provision. It reads: ‘No person or political party in Azad Jammu and Kashmir shall be permitted to propagate against, or take part in, activities prejudicial or detrimental to the ideology of the state’s accession to Pakistan.’13 Thereafter, candidates wishing to win seats in the legislative assembly had to sign the following declaration: ‘I have consented to my nomination (by the proposer and seconder); I am not subject to any disqualification; and I believe in the ideology of Pakistan, ideology of the state’s accession to Pakistan, and the integrity and sovereignty of Pakistan.’14

  Several pro-independent groups have traditionally crossed out this declaration before submitting their papers, only to see their nomination papers trashed. In 2016, while certain nationalist groups boycotted the elections, others decided to participate. They said that their plan was to come to power and then struggle against Pakistani ‘occupation’ of Kashmir. As a representative of the Kashmir National Party explained, ‘We have done it under a game plan… History shows that even the founder of Pakistan had sworn allegiance to the British crown in the beginning even though he struggled against it for the partition of India.’15 Some pro-independence groups agree that they have no other choice. Others like Kamran and Fazal Baig reject this approach outright. They see it as propaganda to clinch power and nullify the azadi cause. They tell me that this is a strategy the establishment uses; it tries to absorb the pro-independence groups into mainstream politics, giving them perks and incentives to seduce them to compromise on their ideology. It pushes those outside the government further towards the periphery.

  Election results (revealed a month later) showed that the pro-independence parties were unable to secure any substantial votes; the PML-N won a landslide victory. It is a perennial trend here that the party at the centre mostly wins; that is why the PPP had earlier come to power in 2011, while it was still serving as the ruling party of Pakistan between 2008 and 2013. Once the PML-N came to power at the centre in 2013, PPP supporters claimed that the budget of the Kashmir Council had been usurped because Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif (of the PML-N), who headed the council, did not want to allocate resources to a PPP-led government in ‘Azad’ Kashmir (Sharif had to resign from the prime ministership following a Supreme Court order in July 2017).16 They assert that if the PPP had been in power at the centre, they would not have allowed this to happen. History, however, reveals another story. And that is, regardless of which party has been in power in AJK and Pakistan, Kashmiris have not got their fair share. When I ask my Kashmiri friends if they think the PML-N government will keep their promise of developing ‘Azad’ Kashmir during this term, they tell me that promises are only made to be broken in this region. Yet many voters remain hopeful year after year, ready to cast their votes in favour of the ruling party at the centre.

  As Sharjeel, Haroon and I make our way into Jammu, hydropower projects pop up at brief intervals, a sign of development but the benefits of which, many Kashmiris believe, will escape them. Kotli, where we are headed, was a part of Mirpur until the mid-1970s. I had first visited Mirpur in 2012 as part of an ‘adventure’ trip organized by a local tour company. Thirty other young Pakistanis from various universities and professions had joined me. The highlight of the trip was a visit to the Mangla dam. At that time I was only vaguely aware that the construction of the dam had left thousands displaced. Over time, I would learn that the dam had had an overarching impact, which continued for decades. Built between 1961 and 1967, after the Indus Water Treaty gave Pakistan rights to the Jhelum, Chenab and Indus rivers, the dam displaced over 100,000 people,17 many of whom made their way to the UK to rebuild their lives. As early as the 1950s, protests against the dam had already begun. To crush the dissent, several protestors were jailed, including Abdul Khaliq Ansari, who later formed the Jammu and Kashmir Plebiscite Front to further the cause of ‘azadi’ not only from India but also from Pakistan. In 1965, ‘an underground wing of the Plebiscite Front was established in Azad Kashmir, the Jammu and Kashmir National Liberation Front (NLF), led by Maqbool Bhat and Amanullah Khan�
�, to start an armed movement for the liberation of Indian-administered Kashmir.18 The wing set the foundation for the Jammu & Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF)—established in the UK in 1977—which would play an instrumental role in the insurgency of the late 1980s. The seeds of the rebellion were sown in the aftermath of the construction of the dam.

  Once the dam was constructed, the issue of royalty arose. As per Article 157 of the Constitution of Pakistan, net profit of hydel power income can only be disbursed to provinces. Given that AJK does not enjoy a provincial status, the royalty from the dam has been fundamentally denied.19 Sharjeel tells me, ‘When they built the dam, they treated Mirpur as if it was an ordinary part of Pakistan that they had a sovereign right over. They didn’t bother asking Kashmiris what they felt about the dam. Yet, when Kashmiris asked for their royalty, they were told that they aren’t a province and thus not eligible. This is exactly how resentment is bred. We are considered a part of Pakistan when it is convenient and shunned when it is not.’

  Over and over again, Kashmiris have demanded 45 per cent royalty for the dam. They ask, if Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa can get royalty of Tarbela dam, why can’t AJK receive its royalty for Mangla dam?20 In 2010, it was reported that ‘according to careful calculations of the AJK government, the tentative net hydel profit share since the commissioning of the project stands approximately at Rs 125.33 billion.’21 Eight years later, the figure must have increased considerably. As reported in 2016, only 15 paisa per unit water charge is issued to AJK, which too is seven times less than the rate being offered to provincial governments.22

  The displacement of people, compounded with the issue of nonpayment of royalty to the Kashmiris, meant that the construction of the Mangla dam would remain an agitation point for Kashmiris across the board for decades to come. It created a strong nationalistic fervour, leading to both armed and unarmed struggle for independence from not only India but also Pakistan.

  Shams Rehman, whose booklet on Maqbool Bhat was banned by the AJK government, told me, ‘When people write about Azad Kashmir, they don’t see the connection between the movement against Mangla dam and the rise of pro-independence sentiments in Kashmir (on both sides). I think there is a direct link.’ He explained that Mirpur had traditionally hosted pro-independence activists, even before the construction of the Mangla dam. ‘Historically there were only three main cities in the original princely state of J&K: Srinagar, Jammu and Mirpur. After Partition, Mirpur was the only city that had a modern political, urban kind of culture in Azad Kashmir. There was a lot of political awareness in the area. There was even a college in Mirpur, which was rare for that time… in fact, even before 1947, three newspapers used to be printed in Mirpur—the Sadaqat, Sach and Himat.

  ‘Prior to 1947, a mixed group of activists residing there, comprising Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs, were calling for independence from both India and Pakistan. They wanted to remain autonomous. This was in contrast with the stance of one of the factions of Muslim Conference—one of the dominant parties of that time—that wanted to join Pakistan, especially in the areas that became Azad Kashmir after 1947. The Muslim Conference was mostly supported by the landed class whereas the non-landed opposed them, primarily on economic grounds… because they felt the Muslim Conference wouldn’t represent their interests. You can say that the struggle for independence at that time was rooted in economic grievances. However, after 1947, those who were pro-independence turned into a minority in ‘Azad’ Kashmir. Most people were comfortable with the status quo. They thought Pakistan had their best interests at heart. It was only when the government announced the construction of the Mangla Dam that ordinary people got agitated. They were afraid their homes, their towns, were going to be submerged, that they would lose everything. It was then that pro-independence voices started to gain clout. They were led by Abdul Khaliq Ansari, who later formed the Plebiscite Front. He became a vocal face of the movement against the Mangla dam, mainly because he was fairly educated and could articulate the opposition effectively. He linked the resistance movement (and the exploitation of Kashmir’s resources) to the wider national question of J&K and said, Pakistan cannot do this, it must not do this, they don’t have the legal right to do this because we aren’t a part of Pakistan and they can’t make decisions without taking us into account. Of course, he didn’t know about the royalty issue then because the dam hadn’t been constructed but it was anticipated that it would swallow the city and the fertile land in the surrounding areas, where people grew fruits and vegetables. Gradually, other issues like displacement, royalty, ownership of the dam, etc., were brought to people’s notice.

  ‘Even though the movement was crushed by the establishment (through arrests, etc.), Abdul Khaliq Ansari emerged as someone who could neither be bought nor silenced. This was when the independence movement became a widespread struggle, going beyond baradari (kinship) concerns. This was the start of it all. Later, Abdul Khaliq Ansari formed the Plebiscite Front and people like Amanullah Khan and Maqbool Bhatt joined him… people who would later form the JKLF and become the face of the independence struggle (they would advocate for independence from India as well as from Pakistan, believing that both states were usurping Kashmir’s resources and exploiting its people). So, in many ways, the pro-independence movement started from Mirpur, and particularly from Mangla dam. In fact, one of the first pro-independence organizations born in Britain, called the Kashmir Independence Movement, was also set up in the 1960s as a direct result of the resistance to Mangla dam. It was formed by a disgruntled resident of Mirpur, Babu Abdul Rahim.’ Though Mangla dam directly affected and displaced the people of ‘Azad’ Kashmir, it reignited nationalist politics in the region. The exploitation of resources was an unpleasant reminder that till Kashmir (Indian and Pakistan-administered parts) gained independence from both India and Pakistan, its people and its resources would always remain vulnerable, open to abuse. The people involved in the movement against Mangla dam sought independence not only from Pakistan but also from India so that Kashmir would be an independent state, free from the hegemony of both countries. This aligned with the pro-independence vision that had existed even in 1947; the anti-Mangla dam movement gave it a new life, new vigour.

  The new hydropower projects reveal that not much has changed since the construction of the Mangla dam. I am told that most of them are under construction without seeking official approval from the AJK government,23 and it is likely that the benefits from these will predominantly be extended to Pakistani provinces, leaving ‘Azad’ Kashmir on the periphery once again. I can see many signboards in Chinese as we make our way into Jammu. Major development projects are under way. And Kashmiris like Sharjeel are sceptical. ‘We will get no advantage from these projects. The main reason is because people don’t make a noise about it. They are scared of the big parties, the PPP, the PML-N. The establishment has installed people here to manage discontent. Their agents curb any opposition and crush any nationalist sentiment that goes against their interests.’ Pointing towards a project to our left, he says, ‘Here is another huge water project. It’s being constructed on our Jhelum but God knows who will benefit from it eventually.’

  Signs for Kotli and Mirpur greet us up ahead. It has been a difficult ride. It is the month of Ramzan and although Haroon and I are not fasting, the laws of the state prohibit anyone from eating publicly. Just this month, an elderly Hindu man in Sindh was beaten black and blue for eating before sunset outside his home. It is a hot day and we are parched. The route is full of bumpy patches. A thick layer of dust, accumulated from the construction projects, has cast a thin veil on our windscreen. We make slow progress as a big truck blocks our way, the driver not allowing us to overtake him. The back of the truck is plastered with local pick-up lines, one of which reads, dekho magar pyaar se (look, but with love). We are encircled by mountains and pine trees, characteristic of Kashmir, but the landscape and the surroundings are different from what we have experienced in Neelum Valley.

  The area neighb
ours Potohar and Punjab, and only parts of it touch the LoC. As a result, army barracks and personnel are rarely seen. Unlike at the entrance of Muzaffarabad and Neelum Valley, we were hardly checked on our way here. Only one security personnel was standing at the entrance to Kotli, too busy on his phone, and quite possibly exhausted from fasting on a scorching hot day, to ask us the purpose of our visit.

  As we enter Kotli city, darbars and Sufi shrines punctuate the landscape periodically. The region has had a Sufi character for generations. Mosques crop up at small distances, as do men wearing green turbans and long beards. PML-N, PPP and PTI (Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf) posters dot most of the busy market areas ahead of the upcoming elections. Posters of Mumtaz Qadri, the assassin of the Punjab governor Salman Taseer, accompany them on every nook and corner.

  Qadri, recently executed by the Pakistani state, belonged to the Barelvi school of thought. Barelvis, traditionally centred around the shrine culture in Sufism, have popularly been viewed as pioneers of tolerant Islam amidst the wave of global Islamic fundamentalism and Talibanization, which holds distinct anti-shrine elements. This perception is reinforced by the fact that several Sufi shrines across Pakistan have come under fire from the more puritanical militant groups averse to shrine veneration, which they deem to be un-Islamic and thus unlawful. However, Barelvis have always supported the blasphemy law in Pakistan, which they see as an essential way to protect the sanctity of the Prophet. The frequent mob violence that ensues as a result of alleged blasphemy has been responsible for the death of countless Pakistanis—Muslims as well as non-Muslims. When the Punjab governor, Salman Taseer, tried to highlight the misuse of the law, his own bodyguard, Mumtaz Qadri, riddled his body with bullets in broad daylight in one of the most posh areas of Islamabad. Overnight, Qadri emerged as a hero, worshipped not only by followers of the Barelvi sect but also by educated lawyers and fellow countrymen, who saw the act as a veneration of the Prophet. Posters asking people to recognize Qadri’s sacrifice in the name of Islam are often found hanging in various parts of Pakistan. More than 100,000 supporters joined his funeral in February 2016.24 On the first day after his funeral, it is estimated that Rs 80 million was donated by Pakistanis to the Mumtaz Qadri Shaheed Foundation.25 Recently, a shrine has been built for Qadri’s devotees to enable them to pay their respects. It is situated on the outskirts of Islamabad but within the Capital Territory of Pakistan. While intolerance has traditionally been ascribed to puritanical Islamist groups, the recent emergence of Qadri as a hero perhaps shows that extremism is a more complex phenomenon, casting a web over diverse religious practices. Whereas death anniversaries and pilgrimages to shrines have usually involved revering of peaceful Sufi saints symbolising tolerance and religious syncretism, today thousands pay homage to Qadri’s shrine and organize an ‘urs’—death anniversary of a Sufi saint—celebrating what they perceive as his sacrifice in the name of religion. ‘Azad’ Kashmir too seems to have been influenced by this growth of religious fundamentalism across the region.