Where Kashmir Stands: Edited excerpt from Anam Zakaria's new book 'Between The Great Divide'

Anam Zakaria's Between the Great Divide brings forth multiple voices from Pakistan-administered Kashmir, voices that are usually lost in politics and militarism, to explore the human dimension of the Kashmir conflict.

In this edited excerpt, Anam speaks with Shams Rehman to understand the nationalist struggle for a united independent Kashmir. While the nationalists are few in number in Pakistan-administered Kashmir, they offer an important perspective on the region and its future.

(Shams Rehman is a UK-based researcher, activist and broadcaster. He hails from Mirpur in Pakistan-administered Kashmir and is the author of Maqbool Bhat: Life and Struggle and Azad Kashmir and British Kashmiris)

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(Edited excerpt featured with the permission of HarperCollins India)

Through my research I found that one of the effective ways to crush the independence sentiment was by including or ‘incorporating’ the pro-independence activists into mainstream politics. Shams explained that Pakistani political parties play an important role in this. ‘They are the newest form of control. In the 1970s, when the Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP) rose to power, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto came to (Azad) Kashmir and told local people that if they wanted to be in the government they had to join the PPP… At that time a lot of activists in (Azad) Kashmir were progressive and liberal. They had socialist aspirations and the PPP claimed to be a socialist party. They thought it was going to revolutionize Pakistan and make it a socialist country so many of them happily joined.’

Today, I am told, parties like the PPP and the PML-N attract — and at times coerce — anyone with an independent vision with lucrative salaries, benefits and occasional blackmail. Young people from this part of Kashmir … disillusioned with the lack of success of the independence movement become perfect consumers…

…

The next layer of control Shams spoke about was financial. ‘All banks in (Azad) Kashmir are Pakistani banks. The capital is invested not in Azad Kashmir but in Pakistan. (Azad) Kashmiris living in the UK send back a lot of money but all of this is deposited in Pakistani banks, benefiting them.’

It was the last instrument of hegemonic control that Shams referred to on our call, however, that stood out as the most formidable one for me. It is the control over the education system, which shapes the mindset of thousands of ‘Azad’ Kashmiris every year.

‘When I was in school we were taught that Azad Kashmir is already a part of Pakistan — which goes against what the constitution of Pakistan says — and that when we say Kashmir, we are referring to the part under Indian occupation. The textbooks told us that freedom only had one meaning; getting azadi from Indian occupation and merging it with Pakistan. This is what I believed until I left Mirpur. Apart from that, little else was taught about Kashmir. This mindset has only deepened over the years. People who complete their education in AJK up to FA or BA level have no alternative views about Kashmir. They believe that Kashmir belongs to Pakistan. They are taught that because the Maharaja was Hindu, he acceded to India and India, being a Hindu state, is now controlling Kashmir and our role is to free Kashmir and make it a part of Pakistan.’

…

I asked Shams how he broke through the layers and layers of control he had spoken about … He told me that his unlearning process began one day in the mid-1980s, in the city of Karachi.

…

‘I went to Karachi University in 1981 after completing my FA from Mirpur College. When I left Mirpur, I was a very religious type of person … I wasn’t interested in politics. I was a typical, ordinary boy who wanted to go to Karachi. When I got there, for the first two years I was in complete cultural shock. I couldn’t register boys and girls sitting together and talking. I spent most of the time trying to figure out where I was and what was going on. Then, on February 11, 1984, I coincidentally became part of a protest against the hanging of Maqbool Bhat. All I knew about Maqbool Bhat until then was that he was not for Pakistan (because he spoke of an independent Kashmir) and therefore it was assumed that he worked for India. I was confused to see the reaction against his hanging. My friends … Kashmiri students … organised protests…’

…

‘I had to go to the railway station that day to buy a ticket to visit home and my friends convinced me to come with them. They said that after the protest we’d go and buy the ticket, so I tagged along. When we reached the office of an Indian airline … the students jumped out of the bus ... and started throwing stones … then we went to the Indian embassy, where they continued to throw stones. But I didn’t get out. I was very scared and refused to take part. It was only when a tear-gas shell fired by the police landed inside the bus that I jumped out. I was naive… I just ran out and stood with the other spectators on the footpath...

Maqbool Bhat, a Kashmiri nationalist and co-founder of the Jammu and Kashmir National Liberation Front (JKNLF) which advocated freedom from both India and Pakistan, was hanged in Tihar Jail in New Delhi on 11 February 1984. Accused of being an agent by both India and Pakistan at different points of time, and periodically arrested by both countries, Bhat was finally awarded the death sentence in India for the killing of inspector Amar Chand of Kashmir CID in 1966… Bhat’s body was not handed over to his family and Kashmiris on both sides of the LoC continue to demand it till today, commemorating his death anniversary as a black day every year on 11 February. For many ‘Azad’ Kashmiris, he serves as a symbol of freedom and several pro-independence Kashmiris continue to consider him as their leader.

‘I could hardly see anything because of the tear gas. Suddenly I felt someone lift me in the air from the back… It was only when he started walking towards the police pick-up van that it suddenly occurred to me that he was taking me to the police! I jerked and freed myself and ran back...’

He laughed at his sheer innocence before continuing. ‘This time that guy came and picked me up from the front and threw me in the police van and the policemen in the van started to beat me up. I was beaten really, really badly. There were four policemen inside the van and three of them were hitting me, swearing at me, humiliating me. They said, You Kashmiris do this, you Kashmiris do that. I kept saying I was not for independence but they weren’t listening. They demanded that I shout Kashmir Banega Pakistan and I did that instantly, thinking that they wouldn’t hit me again, but they continued. And then one big blow flattened me on the floor. I was still not unconscious but I pretended to be so, in the hope that they would stop beating me. It was then that a Sindhi policeman, who… had not hit me, quietly said, Baba isko kyun mar rahe ho? Ye mar jayega. Saeen, isko thaney le chalo (Baba, why are you hitting him? He will die. Saeen, let’s take him to the police station.) After that they kicked me on my side once more while I was still lying flat on the floor and then they stopped. They took the money from my wallet, took off my watch, but I didn’t care about anything. I just wanted them to stop hitting me… After maybe 30-40 minutes they took me to the police station, where there were other arrested students too. That was the day I started thinking of these things: Why did this happen to me? What was this? Before that, whenever my roommates would talk of independence, I would say no, forget it, but after that day I started asking questions… that was the day the unlearning process started.’                                                              

AUTHOR’S DISCLAIMER: This book is an attempt to study a region — ‘Azad’ Kashmir — that has often been neglected in conversations about the present and future of Jammu and Kashmir. I have used interviews with locals and various stakeholders in ‘Azad’ Kashmir to explore the Kashmir conflict through their eyes. In most cases, I have chosen to present the terms and statements as conveyed by my interviewees to me to provide readers with a better understanding of how ‘Azad’ Kashmiris experience the ongoing conflict. These statements and terms do not necessarily reflect my views or those of the publisher.

I also recognize that Kashmir is referred to with different names and titles both locally and internationally, some acceptable in India and others in Pakistan. While India refers to Pakistan-administered Kashmir, which comprises ‘Azad’ Kashmir and Gilgit-Baltistan (formerly known as Northern Areas), as ‘Pakistan-occupied Kashmir’, Pakistan refers to Indian-administered Kashmir, known as the state of Jammu and Kashmir in India (constituting Jammu, Kashmir Valley and Ladakh), as ‘makbooza (occupied) Kashmir’. In the popular parlance, however, when people in Pakistan say ‘makbooza Kashmir’, they are often mainly referring to the Kashmir Valley, not Jammu and Ladakh. Similarly, in India, when people say ‘Pakistan-occupied Kashmir’, they sometimes mean only ‘Azad’ Kashmir, treating Gilgit-Baltistan separately but still seeing it as a part of India. ‘Occupied’ and ‘azad’ are both loaded terms and as the author, my hope is to understand what constitutes ‘freedom’ and ‘occupation’ for Kashmiris, without imposing my labels.

I have thus chosen to use the terms Pakistan-administered and Indian-administered Kashmir to explore what freedom and occupation mean for Kashmiris. However, while I have employed the term Pakistan-administered Kashmir in parts of the book, ‘Azad’ Kashmir has been used more frequently to distinguish it from Gilgit-Baltistan. The two regions have unique histories, politics and cultural realities. While the book makes certain references to Gilgit-Baltistan, the region is not the book’s focus, which remains firmly on ‘Azad’ Kashmir. Further, ‘Azad Kashmir’ is how the people of the region commonly refer to the area and it is their voice that the book seeks to highlight. Where I have used the term ‘Azad’ Kashmir or ‘Azad’ Kashmiris, I have placed ‘Azad’ within inverted commas (unless I am quoting someone or using an excerpt which implies otherwise) to denote that the label of freedom — like that of occupation — in itself needs to be deconstructed to fully explore people’s experiences in the region.

I take full responsibility for the nomenclature used in the book.

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