Opinion | Kashmir Rejects Terror: A Local’s Perspective on Change

If you really want to ask what has changed, don’t ask those whose political agendas were served by chaos. Ask the father who received his son’s lifeless body wrapped in a shroud. Ask the mother whose child lost his eyesight to a protest he didn’t even understand. They will tell you what has changed.

I vividly recall the days following the killing of Burhan Wani in 2016. Back then, I was a student in Class 9, home for the Eid holidays from my residential school. That year, Eid was on July 7, and later that evening, I went to my Naanihal. On July 8, while my cousins and I were outside enjoying the summer break, the news of Burhan Wani’s killing broke out. It was only three months earlier, on April 4, that Mehbooba Mufti had taken the oath as Chief Minister of Jammu and Kashmir after the demise of her father, Mufti Mohammad Sayeed. Though I was just a child at the time, I could sense the unrest brewing in the air. By the evening of July 8, protests had already erupted in South Kashmir. If I recall correctly, internet services were suspended that very evening, followed by a complete mobile phone service blackout the next day. The entire Valley turned into chaos. Fear and terror engulfed Kashmir, with separatists and secessionists dictating hartal calendars—ironically, while their own children pursued normal lives in prestigious universities abroad. As expected, Pakistan seized the opportunity to fan the flames, openly glorifying Burhan Wani as a martyr. Then-Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif even dedicated Pakistan’s Independence Day (August 14, 2016) to Kashmir’s so-called ‘freedom struggle’ and eulogized Wani in his UN speech.
What followed was sheer devastation. Schools, businesses, and transportation came to a standstill. More than 100 civilians lost their lives, and over 15,000 were injured, including thousands who suffered blindness or partial blindness due to pellet gun injuries during the four to five months of unrest. As a Class 9 student, my biggest fear was how I would return to school amid the turmoil, especially since my school was in South Kashmir. The official reporting date was July 15, but that was impossible. Adding to my anxiety was the complete communication blackout—I had no way to contact my school authorities. On the night of July 27, my father—a brave man—decided to take me back to school in our own car. Around 3 AM, after covering nearly 30 kilometers, we were stopped by a group of young boys, some barely older than me. Terrified, I quickly hid my school ID card as they aggressively questioned us. Their leader, a boy of about 19, approached my father, demanding his name and identification. We lied, claiming we had a critically ill relative in Srinagar. Just as we thought we had escaped, one of them swung a stick, shattering our car’s rear windshield. My heart pounded. At that moment, I realized how even children had become soldiers of this unrest. We encountered multiple roadblocks and threats throughout our journey, but by 5 AM, I finally reached my school. My father left, and for two months, I had no way of knowing whether he was even alive. I share this story for a reason. If I, coming from a relatively privileged family, faced such trauma, imagine the plight of the poorest Kashmiri. Their children, whose only dream was to attend a normal school, had their futures stolen by those who issued hartal calendars from the comforts of Srinagar while ensuring their own kids studied abroad. This was the Kashmir we lived in before 2019—a place where, every few years, our lives were upended by fresh waves of turmoil.

For those who ask what has changed after the abrogation of Article 370—here is the answer. At the very least, a student no longer has to hide his school ID card to protect himself from street violence. My father no longer fears sending me outside our home. Businesses are not shutting down due to hartals but are thriving, and people are no longer living under the constant shadow of uncertainty. For me, the greatest achievement is that when I help my nephews get ready for school today, I know they are going there to study—not to pelt stones. There’s an old story of a deeply religious man who was drowning. Two rescuers came, but he refused their help, saying, “God will save me.” When he finally drowned and questioned God, the divine answer was, “Who do you think sent those two men to save you?” Similarly, God doesn’t descend to fix things Himself; He sends people to do it. And I believe that, after decades of turmoil, God had mercy on Kashmiri children and sent Prime Minister Modi to save them and their future. There is no debate about what has changed post-2019. Even setting aside the law and order situation, look at the infrastructural development. The four-lane expansion of NH-44 was sanctioned in 2011—two state governments came and went, yet the project stalled. Why is it being completed now? The highest number of tourists in Kashmir’s history has been recorded in the past three years. Entrepreneurship is thriving. Roads are being built. The Smart City project is transforming Srinagar. Film tourism is making a comeback. Grassroots democracy is strengthening. Electoral participation is higher than ever. The days of frequent internet suspensions are behind us. Terrorism is on the decline. If you really want to ask what has changed, don’t ask those whose political agendas were served by chaos. Ask the street vendor who couldn’t sell his goods because of hartals and struggled to feed his family. Ask the businessman who lost crores due to shutdowns. Ask the father who received his son’s lifeless body wrapped in a shroud. Ask the mother whose child lost his eyesight to a protest he didn’t even understand. They will tell you what has changed.

Kashmir has endured decades of pain, uncertainty, and bloodshed, often at the hands of those who claimed to be its well-wishers but thrived on its instability. The 2016 unrest was a grim reminder of how an entire generation was held hostage by chaos, where even the simplest acts—like a student carrying his school ID—became a matter of survival. But Kashmir is changing. The days of hartal calendars dictating our lives are over. The streets once filled with stones are now filled with ambition and dreams. The voices of progress have begun to drown out the echoes of separatism. While challenges remain, the difference is that today, there is a path forward—a path where our youth are holding books instead of rocks, where businesses flourish instead of shutter, and where a father no longer fears if his child will return home safely. Terrorism has no place in Kashmir. Not anymore. The people of Kashmir have suffered enough, and they now deserve peace, development, and prosperity. Those who still try to fan the flames of unrest must know—Kashmir is no longer a battleground for their politics. It is a land of resilience, a land of hope, and most importantly, a land that is reclaiming its future. The darkness that once engulfed us is fading. And this time, we are not looking back.
The Writer is a student activist and can be reached at soulofkashmir1@gmail.com