Anatomy of An Anarchist -- A Kashmiri Tragedy

On the first day I landed in Srinagar, I read in the flight about Tahir Wani, a 13-year-old boy who had been hit by a teargas shell in his abdomen and died. I wanted to meet his family, find out how he had become part of the agitation, how he had even been allowed by his family to venture out on the street when there was a curfew on.

Where I come from, 13-year-olds are usually preoccupied with Play Stations and are so sheltered that they would not be allowed to go to the nearby park to play if there was so much as even a hint of a thundershower.

I sought the help of a local journalist to locate the boy’s family and find out more about his background. I was told Tahir’s family lived in “downtown” Srinagar, where the situation was fairly “tense”.

Over the next couple of days, I found out that Tahir’s father had been picked up the security forces in 1996, ostensibly for “questioning”, and never returned home. Three years later, Tahir’s elder brother had crossed the Line Of Control and went to Pakistan-administered Kashmir to join the Mujahideen. The family has no information whether he is dead or alive.

Even before I had met the family, one question had been answered. With a background like that, it wasn’t difficult to fathom why Tahir was out on the street, braving the curfew.

Tahir is survived by his mother and two sisters. On the day I was supposed to meet Tahir’s family, we found out that his grandparents have thrown out his mother and two sisters from their home. Tahir’s grandparents said the mother and her two daughters were “ill omen for the family as they were responsible for the disappearance and death of the men folk in the family”. In Kashmir, as in any other conflict-zone, the women were the worst sufferers.

The three women had left for Baramullah, 60 km from Srinagar, where Tahir’s maternal uncle lived. Eventually logistical issues ensured that we couldn’t go to Baramullah to meet Tahir’s mother and his two sisters.

But in the ten days that I was in Kashmir I met number of young boys, boys like Tahir, who were at the centre of the agitation against the transfer of land over the Amarnath Yatra, and the subsequent economic blocade of the Kashmir valley.

In Srinagar’s SMRH Hospital, choc-a-bloc with bullet-injury patients (bullets that security forces claim they have never fired), we met another young boy, who had been shot in the leg. I don’t remember his name. Through clenched teeth (he said he was still in considerable pain), he assured us that as soon as he was back on his two feet, he would join the struggle for azadi (independence).

A majority of the agitators on the streeets of Srinagar and other towns of Kashmir valley are young teenagers, most of them born in the turbulent 90’s, when things first spiralled out of control in Kashmir. Young in age, they are surprisingly articulate, and rather disturbingly for Indian authorities, have a simple single-point agenda – they want azadi (independence), independence from India.

These boys haven’t seen normal life for as long as they have lived. “They have not known what a beautiful place Kashmir once used to be,” says a sad Shazia Sheikh, who works for an NGO which works with women and children who have been displaced because of violence in Kashmir.

She said: “Caught in the vortex of violence they have lost their innocence, their youth. You might think they are brave or fearless. In reality their life is an unmitigated tragedy.”

On a day when the curfew was eased and we finished early with our work, I went on a drive through Srinagar with a young, very bright Kashmiri journalist. He said : “Srinagar is like a war zone, like Palestine and Lebanon.” As we drove through a long street of closed shops, with groups of young men sitting at street corners, he said : “This is Gaza for us. On this street there have been many pitched battles between the local people and the security forces”. Little later as he took me on a tour of downtown Srinagar, he announced grandly, “Now you are in West Bank.”

Most observers in Kashmir draw a parallel between the separatist movement which grew in the valley in the early 90s with the current agitation. There is one significant difference though. In the 1990s, the movement was driven by the Hurriyat and militant elements in the valley.

There is a subtle but important shift in the ground situation now. Though the Huriyat leadership remains at the helm of the agitation, at the heart of the present unrest are thousands of young boys, angry determined teenagers who were born and have lived through most testing times. They are no strangers to night curfews, shoot-at-sight orders, or teargassing. They are fearless boys like Tahir Wani with a single-point agenda – azadi.

Thousands of miles away from the melting pot that is Kashmir, as political mandarins in New Delhi try to work out "a Kashmir solution”, few of them realise they have to contend with a changed demographic, a new, powerful phenomenon in the valley. The thirteen-year-old agitator, next door.

Strident Call for 'Azadi' in Kashmir

Huriyat rallies have witnessed large crowds

Srinagar, curfew-bound and politically tense at that, is an unusual place to observe India’s Independence Day. But then that is where I was this 15th of August.

Ever since my childhood one always read, and believed, Kashmir to be an integral part of India. It was a belief that wasn’t shaken, despite what I saw or heard during my several visits to Kashmir during the twenty years of unrest in the region.

More than once I felt uncomfortable about the highhandedness of the Indian security forces in Kashmir, I have been outraged by their excesses and shared the anger of the local people who regard the Indian army as an “occupation force”. I felt equally angry when grenades thrown by militants killed innocent tourists. I also thought much of the unrest in the valley was fomented by separatists, who were aided and abetted by Pakistan.

Crucially, I believed that a solution to the Kashmir problem lay within the framework of the Indian constitution. If the central government gave up its ham-handed approach in dealing with Kashmiri affairs and if the more sensible voices in the valley were allowed to have a say about how the valley should be governed, I always hoped the rather complex problem could be solved.

After my recent trip to the valley, I am no longer sure of that.

This time I detected a difference in the call for azadi or independence. For one thing, the call for azadi might have come from the Huriyat leadership, but it has found resonance among the masses. People on the street speak freely and without fear about their demand for azadi, about freedom from India.

On earlier occasions when I had visited the valley, the people talked about the right for self-determination. They spoke about the promise of plebiscite that Pandit Nehru had made in the United Nations and then reneged on it. In that right all the three options existed – Kashmiris could choose to remain with and in India or they could go with Pakistan, or they could choose to be independent either from India or Pakistan.

Now the demand is more strident, people quite categorically say that they do not want to be part of India. “It is not a question of good governance or bad governance. We just want the right to govern ourselves, we don’t India to do it any more”, says Sajid Lone, a young lawyer in Pampore where an impressive number of people, in hundreds of thousands, had gathered peacefully following a call by the Huriyat.

One couldn’t help but feel it would be foolish to ignore both the voice of the common people as well as the Huriyat’s ability to put so many people on the strret at such short notice. Their mobilisation, and the ability to keep such a large crowd peaceful, suggested that the Huriyat leadership enjoyed a popularity that the Indian authorities have always been unwilling to concede.

At one point of time, elements of the Huriyat were involved in the militancy in the valley. Common people were often coerced to take the streets, following calls for strike by the Huriyat leadership.

This time, though, following the land transfer controversy and the subsequent economic blocade, there has been a spontaneous outpouring of anger from the masses, and people have been more than willing to come out on the streets in support of the Huriyat.

It hasn’t helped matters that the common man in the Kashmir valley feels completely let down by the mainstream political parties (which have agreed in principle to work within the framework of the Indian Constitution) in the valley.

The Congress Party is still viewed with suspicion – as an “Indian party which first looks after India’s interests” and then the region’s. Gulam Nabi Azad, who recently resigned as chief minister, has no mass following in the valley, and is seen, not without good reason, as a pawn of the central government. No other Congress leader commands respect or following in the valley.

Nor does Mehbooba Mufti’s People’s Democratic Party have any credibility among the people in the valley. Kashmiris realise it was the PDP which first precipitated the current crisis over the issue of transfer of land to the Amarnath shrine board. First the PDP agreed to the transfer, and once it was formalised, it backed out of the deal and eventually withdrew support to the Congress-led government in the state.

As for the National Conference, Omar Abdullah doesn’t have either his grandfather Sheikh Abdullah’s legendary popularity or his father Farooq Abdullah’s charm. Most Kashmiris see the youngest Abdullah as a central stooge, as someone who has let down the valley’s interests at critical times.

In the absence of a credible political party in the region, the mantle of political leadership has been taken over by the multi-party Huriyat Conference. The hardline faction led by Syed Ali Shah Gilani and the moderates led by Mirwaiz Farooq have tried to forge an united front and present a common face to their followers in the valley. That unity is at best fragile, but both Gilani and Mirwaiz Farooq realise a common front is the need of the hour.

Governments in Delhi have on several occasions been loathe to do business with Huriyat leaders, sometimes not without reason. Several Huriyat leaders have had a chequered past, with allegations of involvement in militant activities. Besides, at one point of time, the Huriyat propagated a blatantly pro-Pakistan line.

Now there is a change of tack, a change of strategy, if not a change of heart among the Huriyat leadership. The controversy over the land transfer and the subsequent economic blocade of the Kashmir has handed the Huriyat an issue on a platter. As I sat in the office of Mirwaiz Farooq’s office, waiting to interview him, one of his aides confided : “This time the Indian authorities have done something which Pakistan’s ISI hasn’t been able to do all these years – given us an issue that has angered and united all the people in the valley.”

Over the years, Kashmir economy has traditionally been dependent on two things – tourism and apples. Years of unrest in the valley has drastically reduced the earnings through tourism, increasing the state’s reliance on the apple trade as the major source of income.

More than the land transfer controversy, the subsequent economic blocade has hit the Kashmiris where it hurts most. As the apple season is peaking, Kasmir’s bounty lies unplucked from trees, and rotting in Sopore and other markets.

Every August about 200 trucks loaded with apples leave the wholesale apple market in Sopore every day, heading for different destinations all over India. Until August 20, only a handful of trucks would everyday venture out on the highway and brave the blocade. I interviewed the driver of one such truck in a hospital in Srinagar where he was being treated for severe burns. As his apple-laden truck crossed over from Kashmir to Jammu, two men on a motorcycle threw a petrol bomb inside his vehicle.

About 80 perecent of apple growers in the valley are marginal farmers, working on small tracts of land. Most of them have borrowed money to plant their crop, and now have no clue how to return that money.

We went to the farm of Gulam Ahmed Wani, an apple orchard owner in Sopore. Apples remained unplucked on trees in Wani’s farm, others were rotting in the baskets in which they had been packed. “I am facing financial ruin”, said a bitter Wani. “My family would be finished if I can’t get my apples to the market soon,” said the apple orchard owner who has borrowed Rs. 10 lakhs (25,000 US$) from a local bank.

In the nearby market in Sopore, said to be the second largest apple market in Asia, many farmers like Wani look for trucks that would take their produce to the market. “Our drivers are getting beaten up across the border every day. It is difficult to get people to drive our trucks,” says an offcial of the Sopore Apple Market.

As the apple trade suffers, and anger mounts on the streets of Srinagar and other areas of the Kashmir valley, the Huriyat is pressing the Indian government to open up the road to Muzaffarabad in Pakistan-administered Kashmir. “We don’t want to be held to ransom again, if and when someone decides to block the National Highway, the only road link that connects the Kashmir valley with the rest of India,” says Mirwaiz Farooq.

Besides, Mirwaiz Farooq points out that Kashmir had been part of the old Silk Route and has had social and trade links for centuries with Pakistan. The opening of the road to Muzaffarabad would open trading opportunities for the Kashmiris, he said.

The Indian government’s response to this demand has been characteristically ambiguous. A spokesman for the ruling Congress party at the centre said: “We are open to the idea of opening of trade routes, but if someone thinks that one can hold a gun to our head and make us do this, then they are mistaken.” Which means what, someone please explain.

As of now, the land transfer controversy which sparked off the unrest is history, and the Indian government claims the economic blocade has been lifted. In the valley, though, the people remain angry and the air is thick with calls for azadi.

In the past, Indian authorities have been accused of political myopia regarding Kashmir. New Delhi can still carry on with its short-sighted Kashmir policy. This time though the price it might have to pay could be unusually heavy.

The Unbearables -- A Kashmir Diary

Last Man Boarding
Two days after I had come back from Srinagar, I was heading back to Kashmir. The provocation – a senior Huriyat Conference leader leading a group of demonstrators had been shot dead by the police. The next day in sporadic incidents of violence 15 people had been shot dead in different areas of the Kashmir valley. The administration had imposed curfew in Srinagar and a few other trouble spots in the valley. As news of the violence poured in, we planned to go to Srinagar the next day.

The Huriyat Conference has over the years led the separatist movement in the Kashmir valley. Despite claims to the contrary by the Indian government, the Huriyat leadership has a mass following in the valley. Just how much of a following I was going to find out first hand over the next ten days.

For me to do that though I had to first board my flight to Srinagar, which as I sat in my car in a long traffic jam looked increasingly improbable. My driver calmly informed me that right-wing Hindu activists of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad were preventing vehicles from entering Delhi. I tried another road to sneak into the city and quickly realised I had been out thought by the VHP.

After three hours in that jam, during which I had booked myself into a later flight to Srinagar, news came in that the hoods in saffron had relented. I duly informed Kingfisher Airlines staff that I was running seriously late, they in turn informed me the flight was delayed by 30 minutes. My colleagues had checked me in, the only problem was I could just take one hand baggage. I packed quickly in the car, trading off the laptop for four shirts. The only pair of trousers I had was the one I was wearing.

After a dash through the security, during which my name was announced twice on the public address system (“This is the last call for Mr. Rajan Chakravarty”), as I made it to the bus carrying the passengers, my colleagues, Todd Baer and Maruya Gautam clapped.

The Unbearables

Remember The Untouchables? Nooo, not Mayawati, silly. Remember the movie with Kevin Costner, Sean Connery and Andy Garcia? Like that, we were The Unbearables.

Behind every great story is a great television crew. Behind the stories that have now passed into the realms of television legend, was us, The Unbearables.

The name, The Unbearables, is inspired by the part American, part Lebanese (and who I now believe is for a large part a Martian), Todd Baer, correspondent extraordinaire. It also had more than a little to do with the beer drinking abilities of the trio – Todd, Maurya and yours truly.

In curfew-bound Srinagar, our lovely hotel which looked down on the Dal Lake had few occupants. On most evenings we three were the only ones in the hotel bar. But we drank enough beers and ate enough finger-licking Roganjosh and Yakhnis to leave a lasting impression. At least, so we thought…

I Accept!

Though it was my second trip to Srinagar in three days, this time round the tension was palpable. We were given our curfew passes at the airport. The driver was watchful as we drove into the city. He warned, despite the curfew and patrolling by security forces, angry mobs had been roaming the streets and over the last few days, some members of the media had been thrashed by mobs.

We progressed uneventfully for the first 20 minutes, and then Maruya, our ace cameraman spotted a slogan shouting crowd behind us. “I need a few shots, Rajan”, he said, as he asked the driver to stop. I eyed the flak jackets warily as the crowd came closer. They were on the other side of the road. Maruya took his shots, Todd scribbled notes, as the crowd raised anti Indian slogans. As the group passed us by, and we heaved a sigh of relief, another group came towards us from the other side. We quickly hopped inside our SUV.

Soon the mob had surrounded the car. Some of them angrily beat on the bonet of the vehicle, others said we should “go back to India”. We tried to explain we were from Al Jazeera, and that we had been covering the events in the valley since the recent unrest began over the Amarnath Yatra land transfer controversy. The crowd was unyielding, even as we argued our case, interspersing everything we were saying with “Al Jazeera”, hoping that enough of them had watched the channel in the valley, and would let us through.

And then one of the young men looked at us, broke into a smile, and roared, “I Accept”. Suddenly the mob made way for our vehicle to pass, many among the crowd shouted “Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera”, and smiled at us. “Get us out of here, fast”, I barked to the driver.

Later in the hotel over a glass of cold beer Todd, Maurya and me discussed the significance of the “I Accept” remark. In another world, it would have simply meant, “I let you live.”
Phew, weren’t we grateful!