Opinion | This Is Not Who We Are: A Kashmiri’s Apology and Plea

They say, “a single fish can spoil the whole pond,” and I am amazed and equally devastated by how true this idea is. It takes years to build something strong and trustworthy—something people can rely on, love, and feel proud of. It takes a whole community to make a place feel like heaven. With delicate care, attention, love, and hard work, people make a place worth living in. And then one day, a single person decides to destroy everything in just a matter of seconds, without thinking about the consequences, without caring how it will affect people and haunt future generations.
For the past two years, we have been constantly writing about how developed Kashmir is now, how things have changed, how there is nothing to worry about anymore, and how safe it is for both Kashmiris and tourists. We have been talking about Dal Lake, the Tulip Garden, Gulmarg, and so many other beautiful places. We aimed to show the world that we are not how we have been portrayed for so many years. We were inviting people to come and make memories in this beautiful valley, to come and share this heaven with us.
And we were succeeding. We were seeing growth, development, happiness—we were finally on our way to greatness. Then the lightning hit us. And now, we cannot help but blame ourselves because we could not keep the one promise that mattered most: the promise of safety. We cannot help but wonder, “Where did we go wrong?”
Yesterday, we received news that felt like a thunderstorm tearing through our hearts. Pahalgam—one of the most peaceful and beautiful places in Kashmir, a place where people go to escape the noise of life and feel the calm of mountains and rivers—saw a horrifying tragedy. A group of terrorists opened fire on tourists and killed more than 26 innocent people. Their only mistake was wanting a simple vacation in Kashmir to make memories with their families.
The whole of Kashmir is heartbroken. We cannot express our grief and disappointment in words. We are still trying to understand what happened. How do we make sense of something so senseless? How do we ask the world to trust us again, when even we feel broken inside?
Pahalgam wasn’t just a destination—it was a sanctuary. A place that whispered peace and gave people comfort. Now, it echoes with cries and questions we don’t yet have answers to.
The pain we feel is not just from loss—it is also from betrayal. A betrayal of every promise we made to ourselves and the world. We told people things were better, that they could come here and feel safe. And even though most of us—the real Kashmiris—put our hearts into making that true, it only took a handful of hate-filled people to destroy everything.
After years of suffering, we were finally seeing real change. People were smiling again. We had something to look forward to. But now, it feels like we’re back to zero. And the saddest part is that people outside won’t believe us when we say we didn’t support the terrorists. They won’t see that we are victims, too.
Just a few days ago, I was inviting my friends to visit Kashmir this summer. I was joking with them for never having come here before. And now, I feel ashamed to talk to them. I’m scared they’ll look at me and see only destruction. They used to tease me about internet issues here, and I would proudly tell them that we were past all that. When they asked about terrorism, I confidently said it’s been years since we’ve seen anything like that. I had almost forgotten the weight we carry with us.
Now, I find myself apologizing for something I didn’t do—but I’m apologizing anyway. We all are. We’re saying sorry to the world for what some inhuman people did in the name of religion or so-called freedom. But let me say this clearly—these people have no religion, no caste, no nationality. They are only terrorists. We lost our childhoods because of this, and now we’re losing our adulthood too.
I remember telling my friends that I never properly attended high school because we had shutdowns almost every other day. I told them how our exams kept getting postponed due to curfews, how we never finished our syllabus—and I was telling it with a smile because I thought it was all in the past. I thought that chapter was closed.Now, when I see posts about this tragedy, I look at the comment sections—and I feel crushed. People are blaming us. They’re assuming the locals supported the terrorists. And that hurts. After all these years of pain and loss, we still haven’t earned their trust.
People are protesting here. The whole market has shut down in grief and anger. We are mourning with the rest of the world—but still, some people think we’re faking it.
And I just want to ask one thing: Why would we hurt the tourists who are our guests? Why would we harm the people who support our livelihoods? We are known for our hospitality. This is not something we will ever accept or support. We condemn this attack with all our hearts. We want justice. We want the culprits to be punished. But we also want people to stop blaming us—we are hurting too.
This is not just a tragedy. It’s a wound. And it will take years to heal. But even in this darkness, we still hold onto a little hope. Because Kashmiris have always been strong. We’ve always gotten back up after every fall. And we will do it again.To the people we lost—we are so, so sorry. You came to our home, and we failed to protect you. But you will not be forgotten. Every flower in the Tulip Garden, every ripple in Dal Lake, every breeze in Pahalgam will carry your memory.This cannot continue. We need to stop this now. We need to protect our future—our children. We do not want another generation to grow up in fear. We want them to live in peace, to dream big, to smile without worry.And this will only happen when we stand together, in solidarity, and fight this evil—not by blaming each other, but by holding each other through the pain.

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