Opinion | From Hartals to Schools: How Separatism in Kashmir Has Become Irrelevant

For years, the sound that defined mornings in Kashmir was not the school bell, but the announcement of a hartal. Children woke up unsure whether they would attend class or remain confined to their homes. Parents prepared schoolbags with hesitation, knowing that a sudden shutdown could turn an ordinary school day into another lost chapter of learning. In this prolonged uncertainty, education became the quietest yet most enduring casualty of shutdown politics. Today, as schools function with increasing regularity and parents insist on uninterrupted education, the decline of Hurriyat’s relevance is most clearly visible not in political arenas, but in classrooms. Education depends on continuity. Schools are institutions of routine, structure, and gradual progress. Hartals shattered this continuity repeatedly. Academic calendars were rendered meaningless as schools shut down for days, weeks, and sometimes months. Board examination schedules were postponed or compressed, forcing students to prepare under stress and confusion. Teachers struggled to complete syllabi, often rushing through lessons once schools reopened, leaving students with gaps that followed them for years. Learning, which requires patience and consistency, was reduced to survival.

The impact was particularly harsh on primary and middle school students. These are the years when children build foundational skills in reading, writing, mathematics, and critical thinking. Interruptions at this stage have long-lasting consequences. Many students progressed to higher classes without mastering basics, not due to lack of intelligence, but due to broken schooling. By the time they reached high school, they were already disadvantaged, competing with peers elsewhere who had enjoyed uninterrupted education. Beyond academics, hartals stole something far more precious: childhood itself. School is where children learn not just from books, but from friendships, sports, cultural activities, and shared experiences. In Kashmir, these moments were replaced by confinement, anxiety, and exposure to unrest. Playgrounds remained empty, annual days were cancelled, and excursions became rare memories. Children grew up faster than they should have, burdened by an environment where uncertainty replaced innocence.

Psychologically, the damage was deep. A child repeatedly told that school may or may not open tomorrow internalizes instability as normal. Many students developed fear, lack of motivation, and disengagement from learning. Education lost its sense of excitement and became something fragile, easily taken away by events beyond their control. This emotional erosion cannot be undone simply by reopening schools; it leaves scars that surface later as low confidence and diminished ambition.As these children grew into adolescents, the consequences became more visible. Competitive examinations demand discipline, preparation, and continuity—precisely what hartal-era students were denied. Many capable students struggled in entrance tests for professional courses. Others dropped out altogether, unable to cope with academic pressure compounded by weak foundations. Careers were delayed or derailed, not because of lack of potential, but because years of schooling had been sacrificed to politics.

The loss of youthfulness followed naturally. Youth is meant to be a period of exploration, dreaming, and confidence-building. For many in Kashmir, it became a period of waiting. Waiting for schools to reopen, waiting for exams to be held, waiting for normalcy. By the time stability began to return, many had crossed the age when opportunities are easiest to seize. They entered adulthood carrying frustration and fatigue instead of optimism. Parents, perhaps more than anyone else, understood this cost. Over time, families began questioning the purpose of shutdowns that harmed their children more than anyone else. Mothers and fathers who had once reluctantly accepted school closures started insisting on education at all costs. They saw clearly that no political slogan could compensate for a lost academic year, no protest could restore a child’s missed childhood. This shift in public attitude marked the beginning of Hurriyat’s decline in relevance. When schools suffer repeatedly, even sympathetic communities withdraw support. Education is universally valued, and any politics that undermines it eventually stands exposed. In Kashmir, the classroom became the silent judge of shutdown politics.

In recent years, the steady reopening of schools and improved attendance reflect this change. Students now speak more about exams, careers, and future plans than about shutdowns. Parents measure stability not by political statements, but by whether their children return home with homework. Teachers focus once again on teaching rather than adjusting to disruption. This quiet normalcy speaks louder than any declaration.Hurriyat’s irrelevance today is not the result of suppression alone, but of its failure to protect the most basic right of a generation: the right to learn. Politics that once claimed to represent the people could not justify the long-term damage inflicted on children. Over time, society moved on, choosing classrooms over closures and books over boycotts. The story of hartals versus schools is not merely political; it is deeply human. It is about children who missed lessons, adolescents who lost confidence, and young adults who entered the world less prepared than they should have been. Kashmir is now attempting to heal this damage, one academic year at a time, but the lost years cannot be reclaimed. (ayanalishahabadi@gmail.com)