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Pakistan-occupied Jammu & Kashmir (PoJK), which also includes Gilgit-Baltistan, sits on some of South Asia’s loftiest peaks and deepest discontent. While Islamabad trumpets “self-governance”, residents speak of rationed wheat, brutal crackdowns and a shrinking space for dissent. Across the Line of Control (LoC), towards India, Kashmir has moved on with record tourism footfalls, solar villages and the world’s tallest railway bridge. The gulf between rhetoric and reality has never looked wider.
Quiet Siege in Muzaffarabad
In November 2024, the Peaceful Assembly and Public Order Ordinance (PAPOO) was imposed across PoJK, criminalising gatherings of more than 15 people without a magistrate’s nod. “We only asked for our own water and power,” Raja Amin, a protester from Muzaffarabad, told local reporters. Islamabad’s response, he added, “was tear gas, bullets and lectures on patriotism.”
Hunger Lines in Gilgit: Wheat Becomes a Weapon
Gilgit-Baltistan’s subsidised wheat quota—lifeline in a region where the growing season is barely four months was slashed last year, triggering rallies outside the Gilgit Press Club. Highlighting the serious health risks, a protester stated that residents of Gilgit-Baltistan are receiving substandard wheat, leading to a surge in hospital admissions. They called on the government to halt the distribution of this poor-quality flour and ensure the public gets access to better, healthier alternatives.
The protester pointed out that even prisoners in Pakistan receive 12 kilograms of flour each and are served two rotis daily—more than what the local population is currently being given. The Awami Action Committee led several sit-ins and protests between September and December 2024 before the federal cabinet grudgingly restored part of the subsidy. Even now, prices hover at ₹100 per kg—triple the 2022 rate—while lorry convoys carrying Ukrainian wheat rumble past farms starved of local seed.
Electricity from Their Rivers, Bills They Cannot Pay
Four of Pakistan’s largest hydropower stations—Mangla, Neelum-Jhelum, Kohala and Karot—draw water from PoJK rivers, yet households here pay the same tariff as Karachi’s air-conditioned suburbs. In May 2024, the Joint Awami Action Committee mobilised valley-wide strikes, pointing out that power generated at ₹5 per unit was sold back to locals at ₹50. Islamabad responded with a televised promise of concessionary rates; the fine print never arrived.
Sectarian Fault-lines and the Cost of Dissent
Decades of state-sponsored sectarian engineering have left deep scars. The 1988 Gilgit massacre, when tribal lashkars trucked in from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa razed Shia villages, still haunts survivors. In November 2024, gunmen again ambushed Shia convoys in Kurram, killing 52, sparking reprisals that pushed the death toll past 130 within a week. Activists who expose the pattern pay a steep price. Left-wing organiser Baba Jan was branded a terrorist and handed a 71-year sentence for leading landslide victims’ protests; he walked free only after a decade behind bars and a six-day hunger strike by Hunza families. Human Rights Watch calls PoJK residents “anything but free”, citing enforced disappearances and a law that bars candidates who question Pakistan’s Kashmir stance. A UN submission in 2024 listed arbitrary detentions, gag orders on the press and systematic denial of provincial status among the gravest concerns.
Islamabad’s ‘Self-governance’ Myth
Elections in PoJK are tightly choreographed: federal appointees sit in key bureaucratic posts; the powerful Kashmir Council in Islamabad can veto local legislation; and critics risk being booked under anti-terror clauses for “sedition”. When protests over food and fuel turned violent last May, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif flew in with a ₹23 billion relief package but left the constitutional status question unanswered.
A Valley Across the Line That Moved On
Contrast this with the Indian side of the LoC. On 6 June 2025, Prime Minister Narendra Modi flagged off Vande Bharat services over the Chenab Rail Bridge—35 metres higher than the Eiffel Tower—cutting Srinagar-Katra travel to just over three hours. Tourist arrivals in Jammu & Kashmir hit 2.35 crore in 2024, a five-fold jump in four years. Remote Simari village on the Karnah frontier, once lit by kerosene wicks, now runs on four solar micro-grids installed under Operation Sadbhavana; 53 households also received LPG connections. Apple farmers in Sopore tweet harvest updates over 5G; Banihal’s tunnel carries freight overnight while the Pir Panjal sleeps.
The Road Not Taken
PoJK’s people are not asking for moon-shot megaprojects—just roads that don’t wash away, power they can afford and the right to assemble without fear. Islamabad retorts with ordinances, sectarian militias and televised cheques that rarely reach village banks. Until those voices from Muzaffarabad’s bazaar and Gilgit’s wheat queues are heard, “azadi” will remain a slogan sold at mosque pulpits and military briefings. Across the mountains, steel arches and solar rooftops quietly remind them that another path is possible—one paved with dignity, not duplicity.
Ashu Mann is an Associate Fellow at the Centre for Land Warfare Studies. He was awarded the Vice Chief of the Army Staff Commendation card on Army Day 2025. He is pursuing a PhD from Amity University, Noida, in Defence and Strategic Studies. His research focuses include the India-China territorial dispute, great power rivalry, and Chinese foreign policy.
