The aftermath of Free (Azad) Kashmir

For centuries, poets have romanticized Kashmir. The famous Persian couplet claimed:

“Agar firdaus bar roo-e-zameen ast, hameen ast-o, hameen ast-o, hameen ast”

If there is a paradise on earth, it is this, it is this, it is this.

Our national rhetoric held this idea and declared Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK) as an Eden of resilient souls. We were taught to view the region through a single prism from our classrooms to our living rooms. Kashmir is a land of dignity waiting for liberation. We rightly raised our voices in moral outrage against Indian state violence.  We condemned the pellet guns in Srinagar. We  called out internet blackouts as crimes against basic humanity. Yet today, as the late Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali lamented:

“Kashmiri people are being rowed through Paradise in a river of Hell.”

When the same heavy boots, digital blockades, and live gunfire echo through Rawalakot, Kotli, and Mirpur, our collective morality falls into a deafening silence.

Finally, the elections have settled down with Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) securing its lead amid heavy security deployments. Still, the official state narrative speaks of democratic continuity and institutional order.  Beyond the victory speeches lies a darker reality. Elections held under the shadow of civil crackdowns are not a triumph of democracy. In fact, they are an exercise in management.

The citizens of Azad Kashmir have not taken to the streets over abstract political games. Their demands were fundamental, human, and modest organized under grassroots movements like the Jammu Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC). They protested peacefully for affordable flour, fair electricity tariffs, local economic dignity, and genuine political representation. Instead of earnest dialogue, the state answered by banning civil rights, mobile internet access, and deploying paramilitary forces.

The cost of this refusal to listen is written in blood. Over months of recurring unrest, clashes between security forces and civilian demonstrators have left dozens dead. The deaths consumed local traders, young protesters, and security personnel alongside over 100 people wounded across the region. Reports of continuous firing near Rawalakot confirm a tragic pattern. Whenever citizens ask for basic constitutional rights, they are met with gunshots.  It is painful to admit this hypocrisy, but honesty demands it. As ordinary citizens living in Punjab, we cannot spend our lives idealizing human rights movements across the border while remaining selectively blind to Kashmir. When Delhi cut the internet in the Kashmir Valley, we rightfully called it authoritarian. What name do we give to the blackouts imposed on Muzaffarabad and Poonch? When Indian police opened fire on demonstrators, we called it state violence. How do we rationalize our forces opening fire on citizens asking for fair economic treatment?

We must acknowledge that living outside the valley does not grant us the privilege of silence. True solidarity cannot be a convenient geopolitical slogan. Azad (Free) Kashmir must’ve to be anything more than an empty prefix. Its people must possess the freedom to speak, to dissent, to connect, and to live without fear of a bullet. There mustn’t be such an electoral victory that carries legitimacy at the expense of Kashmiri lives. These political wins will remain hollow until the blockades are lifted and the state listens with humility rather than force.