DROP DEAD GORGEOUS

Narrative: Abdul Qadeer Dar

Written by: Nawaz Gul Qanungo

I was eighteen years old in the year 1987. The Muslim United Front (MUF) had been formed and we students supported it. It was an important moment of our lives when I, along with many others like me, entered the world of politics and became involved with what is our legacy: masla-e-Kashmir (the issue of Kashmir).

The MUF consisted of Kashmiris who had decided to fight democratic elections to form the government in a bid to resolve the Kashmir dispute. The ruling establishment rigged the elections. The government at that time targeted many MUF supporters including young students. We were blacklisted and labelled as being anti-democracy. I was just one of the many who became disenchanted with India. We were convinced that India did not want the Kashmir issue to be resolved and that it only wanted to maintain pro-India governments in the region.¹

I studied history in college but Kashmir did not really exist in what we were taught. It was all about ‘Indian’ history.² Kashmir has always been a disputed territory under Indian occupation. It is not like Delhi, or Punjab; it is not a part of India. India has occupied it after accession since 1947. This is what I as well as many others in Kashmir thought of the problem. Nothing can change it, certainly not my opinion or what I may or may not say. Initially, Kashmir was fully under the special-status Article 370. We had our own prime minister, and slowly that special status was eroded and in the last thirty years people have even been denied basic human rights. We were promised a plebiscite by India. Jawaharlal Nehru had declared at a rally in Kashmir that we would be given a chance to decide our future, but this promise was never fulfilled.³ This is why we raised our voices in 1987 through fighting elections. We demanded that Kashmiris be allowed to choose their destiny.

The MUF was supposed to enter the assembly, where it could then represent our position on the Kashmir issue, something that was otherwise being put into cold storage. But the establishment never allowed the MUF to move ahead. We tried what the world respects as a democratic effort and it was made to fail. We were left with little option.

We were just a few young men. After all, not a lot of people have a genuine interest in politics. People usually want to take care of their own lives, their businesses and their futures. Those who are genuinely motivated by a political cause are few, but then they manage to lead the masses. Look at India’s freedom movement, led by Gandhi. Or consider Nelson Mandela.

When a sword is raised against you, as they say, you can practise faith in three different ways. You can fight the sword with a sword. Or you can fight it with words. If neither of these is possible, you just fight it with your belief. People who belong to the first category are few, but we have them in Kashmir and they are dedicated to the Tehreek-e-azadi (freedom movement), and have little interest in worldly things. These people invested their lives and blood in the movement. Had there been no dispute, there wouldn’t have been Tehreek. The movement is because of the dispute. Kashmiris are demanding that India’s occupational forces must leave the Kashmiri nation alone, so that they can take care of their lives, their country and their future on their own terms.

I was a student in Baramulla Degree College. Many of my friends and I were supporters of the MUF and we were often jailed for it. We were just small fries and not in the big league. Ghulam Mohammed Safvi was the MUF candidate in our constituency. He was just a common man, perhaps in his forties. He was a political activist and a member of the Jamaat-e-Islami, which was one of the parties that formed the larger conglomerate that was the MUF. We supported the MUF because they represented the sentiments of Kashmiris as far as the Kashmir issue was concerned.

The MUF was a strong movement; it was a wave and not something ordinary. People like me who were ordinary students, professionals and traders offered support the MUF during the election campaign. We were not at the centre of the politics, but were active supporters. We used to talk to people and try to convince them to vote for the MUF. We helped in identifying people who could be suitable polling agents. Even for carrying out such trivial jobs in the MUF campaign, the police would nab and harass us. But this was not new. The police had harassed people long before the MUF arose.

I remember we used to demonstrate on 14 August, which is Pakistan’s Independence Day. In Kashmir we have a long-standing culture of celebrating Pakistan’s Independence Day. The government would always detain us during this time. But we would go into hiding and reappear just in time for the celebrations and demonstrations. We used to unfurl and wave Pakistani flags – there were no Kashmiri flags in those days – we used to celebrate and enjoy. Then, at night, people would observe a blackout and keep the lights turned off throughout the localities and neighbourhoods. I think it was just about a dozen people who would lead these celebrations, not like today when people throng every lane and by-lane. Most active in these events would be activists from the Jamaat-e-Islami, or the Jamiat-e-Talaba (the Islamic Students League). Our events were low-key and benign, and nothing dangerously violent was ever done. We were just a motley group and not even organized, so to speak. Yet the police would always be after us, and label us ‘wanted’. This was around 1985 or 1986.

During this time, the police would try to nab me but had never been successful. But in 1987, they caught me some time before the elections, when we were campaigning for the MUF. That day, a rally was coming from Srinagar. I was near the town, leading a crowd of about 1,000 or perhaps more college students. People like Qazi Nisar, Abbas Ansari, Prof. Abdul Gani Bhat, Ghulam Mohammed Safi, Prof. Ashraf Saraf, and others were coming to speak at the Baramulla Eidgah. I’m not sure if all of them were present. The formation of the MUF had just been announced. It was the summer of 1987.

But before the rally could arrive at Baramulla, I was arrested. Dataji Ganjoo used to be the Superintendent of Police in Baramulla in those days. He was the one who jailed me. There was one more student named Showkat Ahmed who was arrested. Our rally was lathi-charged and dispersed. Later, we came to know that the rally had arrived and a strong protest had been lodged against the police action and our arrest. Under pressure, the authorities released us at night, around 10 p.m.

Our campaign was not in vain. We were seeking the resolution of the Kashmir dispute and claimed that India was an occupying power. We believed that the MUF would enter the assembly and pass a resolution that would proclaim that India was forcibly occupying Kashmir and call for international intervention. This was our focus. But the Indian state did not allow a democratic dissent to happen. We were pushed into the corner. Mohammed Yusuf Shah, now better known as Salahudeen (head of Hizb-ul-Mujahideen), was originally a MUF candidate from Amira Kadal.

Not only were the elections rigged, but people were intimidated, harassed and even jailed for voicing their opinions. We felt there was no way to achieve our goals through a democratic process. We felt we needed the international community to intervene, but something drastic was needed to bring their attention to South Asia, where three big military powers held Kashmir and its extended territories in their clutches. We wanted the crisis resolved. Yet, there was no way to get rid of the Indian state. The Kashmiri freedom movement has never stopped. There have been phases. Finally, our struggle led to an armed movement, and we decided to be a part of it.

Both Salahudeen and Showkat are now in Azad Kashmir.

If the MUF had won they would have raised their voices in the assembly and invited the international community to intervene. During our campaign we would hold rallies and mobilize people. We would try to make people understand the value of their vote. Earlier, most people would vote for the National Conference. Such was the sway of Sheikh Abdullah and ignorance about his demagoguery. Our campaigning was a challenge; we did not have the machinery that National Conference had, nor did we have media support. There was no Internet, no social networking sites, newspapers were few and barely reached the villages. Transport was scarce. There was no instant communication system. Few owned even radios and the programmes would broadcast outright lies and people would believe them. So, the only way out was for individuals to physically go from village to village, and talk to them about the issues facing us as Kashmiris.

We published a lot of literature in the form of books and pamphlets. People in rural areas were not very educated; so we would conduct general public awareness programmes. We were trying a mass mobilization through individual and collective efforts, and help educate people politically on the Kashmir conflict. Candidates and representatives would go to the villages and form little platforms for debate and help people understand the genuine history of Kashmir and their rights. I think this process led a great number of people towards a genuine political awakening and that was the reason for the rebellion we witnessed later. Today, show me one person in Kashmir who doesn’t have a clear understanding of the Kashmir conflict. In that we have been more than successful.

We used to publicize the programme of the MUF. We would discuss how the Indian state had systematically assaulted Kashmir’s identity. Its special political status even vis-à-vis the Indian Union was not spared, turning it into just another Indian state. We would talk about how initially we had our own prime minister in Kashmir but now it was just a chief minister. This would help people understand how our position had been eroded and how India had slowly made us like any other state in its federation.

Unfortunately, none of the material we published exists any more. I remember we distributed many copies of the book Pahadon Ka Beta (‘Son of the Mountains’). There were others too, and newspapers like Azaan. Pamphlets would carry quotes, information and opinions, like this:

India is a country of some two dozen states. It has an armed force of, say, one million troops. Within these armed forces, there are huge sections or regiments belonging to particular states, regions, and even races. Hence, there are the Dogras, Jats, Sikhs and so many others. Now why is it that just the Kashmiri ‘regiment’ is nowhere to be seen? If they have, say, fifty generals in the army, is there one Kashmiri among them?

The leader of the National Conference, Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, was considered the greatest leader who had ever risen from amongst the Kashmiris. The party was originally called the Muslim Conference and, under the Shiekh’s leadership, it demanded independence for Kashmir. But later it made a compromise, whether through accords or something else, and allowed the newly independent Indian state to bring its armed forces into Kashmir. Unfortunately, people couldn’t see through the real design and the Sheikh was allowed to have a free run. Slowly, Kashmir’s political status as a state was compromised and Article 370 was eroded. India basically strengthened its occupation in Kashmir. If at all there were any guarantees against Indian interference in the state’s politics or its political status, the Sheikh ensured that all such guarantees were made redundant. India brought its forces to Kashmir and the National Conference (NC) ensured that they never left, all for the sake of its own power. Not just that. Look at how the army used to make its barracks. They used to be temporary structures made of wood. Now they have concrete constructions. All this happened because we allowed the powerful to have a free run over us. But for such an illegal occupation, there was also a need to maintain a facade of legitimacy. It is in creating this facade of legitimacy that the National Conference played a big role. Today the police is guarding the Sheikh’s grave; that is the hostility people have towards him.

The control over our mineral resources, our water resources, our forests, our fertile agricultural land – all of it was taken away from us. Nothing was left for Kashmiris. Look at our fertile lands, which are occupied by the Indian forces. People’s land has remained under occupation for generations and the owners have no say against it. If you look at the Indian Constitution, the natural resources of any state belong first to the state. What control does Kashmir have over its natural resources? Our rights as the true owners have been denied. Who is responsible for this disempowerment? I will not deny that there are many Kashmiri people who have collaborated with the Indian state and ensured India’s rule in Kashmir. Sheikh Abdullah was amongst them and most of the ruling parties in Kashmir are absolutely pro-India.

During the MUF campaign, there was hardly any opposition to the National Conference. And there was hardly any opposition against the MUF other than the NC. The NC was the biggest, the most powerful political party and it was a big deal to even stand against them. We also knew that our getting into the assembly wasn’t a solution to our problems. On the contrary, the assembly was part of the problem. But had the entire democratic exercise been allowed without any Indian interference, things would have certainly been different. I am sure that the violence that began in 1989 and has continued ever since would have been prevented and we would have adopted more political means.

Then the question was what the MUF would do inside the assembly. At that time – and I am talking about those days when militarization wasn’t at the level we see today – the MUF wanted to pass a resolution in the assembly saying that India’s was an occupational force in Kashmir. The assembly would then have been dissolved and the international community would be asked to intervene in the matter. The Kashmir issue would have been highlighted. This would be a non-violent, democratic process.⁴ But I must humbly submit that India didn’t understand our non-violent language.

After seeing what happened in those elections, when India did everything, including rigging, to keep the MUF out of power, we understood that they wouldn’t listen to our voice. The democratic option was closed. In fact, we were left with no option at all. India proved that the only language it understood was the language it finally heard in 1989, the language of the gun.

After the 1987 elections, we continued to meet among ourselves. We used to discuss politics, current affairs and Kashmir’s history, trying to understand how it was and remained divided between India and Pakistan, and how wars had been fought over it. We mulled over the uncertainty that people lived in. We’d meet normally – in the markets, in our homes, restaurants, fields, orchards or playgrounds. We’d meet and talk to friends and people who shared our views regarding politics and the movement. As Kashmiris, we had an identity and we wanted our voice to be heard. But then we realized that whatever we said found no resonance with the outside world, and we started thinking of an alternative approach. The system was deaf, mute and blind. No one would listen to the truth we spoke. They would reject it and label it as falsehood.

Imagine a stranger outside your house who doesn’t allow you inside. How would you feel? We belonged to Kashmir. But Kashmir didn’t belong to us. Such was the state of our mind when we decided to pick up the gun. If we hadn’t occupied any people or any land, why should anybody occupy us, or our land, or our resources? What justification did they have for occupying us? There was no recourse to law. We had been enslaved.

You ask me about my own state of mind. I say our occupiers came from far-off lands; from a different culture, and a different religion. They had occupied our land and were ruling us. Why would I not revolt?

When the Dogras ruled us, we used to be taken for begaer (bonded labour). The Kashmiri Pandits would also take Muslims as bonded labour to till their land or harvest their crops and the poor Muslims wouldn’t even get any wages for this. The Pandits believed that the establishment was behind them, but the Muslims had no one to turn to except Khuda (God). Everyone knows what had happened when we rose against the maharaja in 1931. Kashmiri Muslims had always been the most dispossessed and badly treated in the society.

Even today, Kashmiri and Indian Muslims are part of the state apparatus in the Valley. There may even be a Muslim Indian army general. There may be local SPs and DIGs here, which is fine, but look at how the Public Safety Act (PSA) is invoked. This law is draconian and invoking the PSA locally is in the hands of deputy commissioners. But when the same PSA is to be revoked, the orders are sent from the home department in New Delhi. So what good are these deputy commissioners and what powers are vested in local administration? What good is the government machinery?⁵ Draconian laws continue to be in vogue. Which soldier or policeman has been brought to book for murder? Why does the home ministry or the Ministry of Defence come to their rescue? Major Avtar Singh was given an escape route right until he reached the US. How and why did the Indian state shield him?⁶

My comrades at the time and I all solidly agreed that the only way to get the Indian state to listen to us was an armed movement. And so, we decided to cross the LoC into Azad Kashmir, returning with arms. Before going across the LoC, we’d often talk about the path ahead and how the armed struggle would possibly affect us; we discussed all its consequences – good and bad. But once we returned and were in the field, we had to take care and defend our goals and ourselves. For instance, if I were made the head of the militants in northern Kashmir with five or ten thousand armed boys under my command, I would have to make sure that nothing went out of control and nothing that could be deemed as ‘terrorism’ was allowed to happen.

It’s easy to talk about it, especially in hindsight, but practically it was very, very difficult. Look at how we fight within our small homes and families. Imagine this enormous group of armed men with doctors and engineers, teachers and students, literates and illiterates, farmers and labourers, and having to carry them all as a team towards a single goal. It was very difficult to observe and monitor each person and their activities and to actually have a system of accountability. But be that as it may, our armed struggle against the occupation had begun. And the world had begun to take notice.⁷

I crossed the LoC in 1989 and received training in arms. I am not sure about the dates, or even the month. It was sometime between the summer and winter. We were three, and a guide. It didn’t take too long, perhaps a night. Crossing over was very easy those days. Later on, it became difficult and lengthy. We walked all the way from Baramulla. We didn’t know what route we were being taken through, though one initial spot I remember was a place called Qazinag. There were no villages or habitations on the way. We crossed forests here and bare hills there. It was dry throughout though you could see snow-capped mountains at some distance. There were army posts visible in some places, but we made sure they didn’t spot us and we moved only at night.

In Azad Kashmir, we met a group of people in plain clothes. They had no uniforms. We didn’t know the place. They took us to a rather uninhabited place and we were trained in using arms. It was a hilly area, without any human presence. We barely knew who our trainers were or where they were from. They spoke a language that sounded neither like Urdu nor Punjabi; in fact, we used to find it quite difficult to speak to them. The Afghan struggle against Russia was also raging at that time. Maybe there were people from there as well. The training continued for two to three months in various kinds of weaponry and tactics, physical and mental. Then all three of us returned, guided by the same man who had brought us.⁸

The situation was still ‘normal’ when we returned. There was no violence but a war was brewing against the system. There was no concept of militant groups when we went for training, or even when we returned. Afterwards, militant groups were formed. We belonged to a group called the Muslim Janbaz Force. Later, it merged with another called the Jihad Force and became the Al Jihad.⁹ People had no idea where we had been. All they knew was we had been travelling. We would tell them that we were in Delhi or something like that. But later, our families came to know.¹⁰

Once we were back, all that was on our minds was to reach our goal of azadi. The police and government agencies here were doing their work, and it was a major challenge to try and neutralize their efforts. India began to increase the level of militarization in a big way. Indian forces were deployed in operations leading to great bloodshed. Many of our friends and comrades were martyred. I was in the field for six years. We used to stay in far-flung areas at the highest possible altitudes. At times, I would lead a couple of hundred men, sometimes even a thousand. It depended on the capacity and arrangements of the place at which we would camp. I think I had led about 8,000–10,000 men. In all, I think there were 60,000–70,000 militants in Kashmir. But very few survived. The Indian state conducted brutal, systematic operations such as Operation Tiger, Operation Catch and Kill, Operation Flush Out – I don’t even remember all those terms now.¹¹ I don’t think I can say anything more than this. Whatever cases were charged against us, none were proven in a court of law, but I am still apprehensive. Anything can happen with us.

As I said, it was an extremely difficult job. We were dealing with a huge, unorganized group of people and most of them were not paid like army soldiers. They were people working without a salary, fighting out of their own conviction. Look at people who disappeared, were killed in custody, killed arbitrarily. The Indian Army did all this and this is a regular organized armed force, the world’s second largest. This is the army we had chosen to fight. It was difficult. When we were released, we were given no court documents. The police gave us a certificate. We were granted bail and the cases were closed, but it was not like they couldn’t make an excuse to imprison us again. The abrogation of the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities Act (TADA) was another reason that some of the cases were dropped. If you see the first information report (FIR), there are countless things that they charge you with, irrespective of whether they are true or totally false. But later on, the charges didn’t stand in a court of law. We were prisoners of war, not criminals.

We witnessed bloodshed. We saw our comrades being killed in front of us. We saw the dead bodies of our close associates. We saw entire neighbourhoods being set ablaze by the Indian forces.¹²

As I said, we belong to the prisoner of war category. So, if they [Indian forces] had one of our men nabbed, they were supposed to disarm them, arrest them and let a legal course of action take place and not torture or kill them. Torture is not a part of any constitution. The third-degree torture and brutality they used to practise – they were actually taking revenge against us for the armed struggle that we had waged against them. And they continue to take revenge against us. You know they have blacklisted us. Our families are not allowed a normal life. We are not issued any passports, nor given any government jobs and no necessary police verifications are provided to our families or us.

There were countless men who were caught and jailed, irrespective of whether they were militants or not. If at all they were set free, alive, they’d be left half-dead and debilitated after all the torture. Then if they managed to get back on their feet, they would have no idea of what to do with their lives. Those who had any personal or family responsibilities just couldn’t manage to find any means of subsistence. In fact, most are yet to ‘settle down’ in their lives.

As far as we militants are concerned, there was no question they [Indian forces] would let us go. To begin with, if we weren’t killed on the spot, we would be sent to various torture centres. And it would take months – even years – for us to just get out. Then we would be charged under the PSA and kept in jail.

Countless boys were picked up in cases of mistaken identities. Even they were severely tortured until the forces were convinced that they were not the ones they were looking for. The army had the option of invoking draconian laws such as the TADA, AFSPA, and so on. The forces were just not accountable to anyone and could do whatever they pleased.

I was tortured continuously for nearly seventeen months at various secret torture centres. Even now, I don’t understand fully what they did, or why. They seemed fuelled by dilich bhadaas – a sense of revenge. They would say, ‘Your activities are suspicious, we know this and that, we have information against you,’ and then subject me to third-degree torture. This would go on for four or seven or fifteen days, or even more, and finally they’d let me alone. Then after some time, they’d start it all over again.

Once I was severely injured and had to go to Srinagar for treatment. It was in 1994. I had sustained a fracture in my right knee, apart from other injuries. I had traction applied to my leg for a month and a half. When I began recovering, I slowly started walking. While walking through a street, I was caught by an army patrol party who had an informer among them. The informer identified me, but couldn’t identify the other person with me, who was also a militant commander. But even after the identification, they didn’t really know who I was. They had some suspicions and sent me to a torture centre at the Old Airport (army airfield). Five days later, they identified me. Then they tortured me again.

The Indian forces in Kashmir have many torture centres. The rooms are usually kept unfurnished, but a certain part of the floor is always kept wet. There you might find a tub of water, electric wires for giving shocks, hooks attached to the ceiling to suspend detainees, stretching equipment, belts that you normally find in band saw machines that they use for lashing. The floors are wet, so they can transmit electric current, and the shock effect is amplified. This is all for physical torture.¹³

Then there is the mental torture they subject you to, like verbal abuse and threats. Sometimes, they don’t allow you to sleep and force you to stand on one leg all night, or they suspend you from the ceiling for days at a stretch. Things like chilli powder, petrol, iron rods and steel wires are inserted into your private parts. They have heavy rollers that they roll over the legs or body. These are the kinds of things they do.

All this has been done to me.

What haven’t I seen in those prison chambers! We’d be taken to the torture rooms and you’d see blood all around. We’d help each other after being tortured. People would return from sessions with their muscles ripped open, and we’d massage them with some ointment or medicine. I remember when they would insert chilli powder in our private parts. We used a plastic container filled with water and would help each other sit in that water to cool the burning pain. There was nothing more we could do.

There are thousands of torture victims in Kashmir. There’s hardly a home, or neighbourhood that hasn’t witnessed torture. People have been tortured in their homes, playgrounds and schools, just about anywhere. Even today, torture continues to be used as a weapon. It is widely believed that 2008 and 2010 decisively changed the course of the pro-independence movement in Kashmir, moving it from an armed to unarmed struggle. But as I said, torture hasn’t stopped. There are draconian laws that continue to be in vogue here, such as the AFSPA. Kashmir is far from being a normal place. There has been no decrease in the level of militarization and the armed forces continue to be granted the immunity they have always had.

And torture continues. However, the army may be a bit cautious when it comes to leaving any visible signs of torture now. Many human rights groups are working against this practice and the media is watching too. But that does not mean it doesn’t happen, it is just well covered up.

But has all this torture worked? Have people stopped speaking the truth? No. We had injuries and scars on our bodies due to torture. And we have forgotten those injuries. They are healed. But the scars on our souls, we cannot forget them.

I was in jail for three-and-a-half years. I was released in 1998. But even afterwards, I was arrested repeatedly and tortured again and again. As I said, there was never any real purpose for either the arrests or the torture.

Once we were released, we had no idea of what to do. I was trying to get back to normal life, set up a shop, or start a business. But the state was after us, blackmailing, extorting and doing other such things.

My family had a piece of land and I tried to start a fruit business. But the state didn’t allow it and I was repeatedly arrested and tortured. My choices seemed to be to either pick up a gun again, or just leave the country and run away.

I saw the need to raise my voice against brutality again and chose the path of human rights activism in 2007. In that year, I met Parvez Imroz, who is a renowned Kashmiri human rights defender, and his associates. And during conversations with them, this whole idea of starting a human rights group against torture came up.

Once I began to raise my voice against torture, a lot of other people who had been subjected to the same treatment joined me. If there are any new cases of torture, our organization tries to highlight the issues and bring some relief, solidarity and support to the victims. The organization is called ‘Voice of Victims’. We just released a report that found that 471 torture centres still exist in the state. Anti-insurgency operations continue to take place, people continue to be detained and arrested. Perhaps the intensity of torture and the extent to which it is practised have been reduced. But it has certainly not stopped.

There are difficulties still. One only faces problems. But you have to do the work. You can’t let the situation be as it is and leave the victims to their fate.

The government supports and defends the people who are involved in murder and the most brutal atrocities. Our responsibility is to expose them and let the world know that they are murderers and that the establishment is on their side.

Going back to the question of Tehreek, our first priority was to internationalize the issue. We have succeeded in that. The nations of the world are talking about us at some level. Of course, there is no guarantee of any time frame within which the Kashmir issue will be resolved.

Looking back, nothing has changed as far as our politics are concerned. We have not and never will abandon our Tehreek. We have sacrificed all we had for it. So, wherever we find something that we can do to help it, we do it. We try to do peacefully what we once did by strength of arms. Whenever one of us human rights activists speaks somewhere, the foremost concern is the movement. We have sacrificed all we had, be it our wealth, or our lives. We have sacrificed our dignity and respect. Our lives have no value in comparison to the movement.

And the goal? The goal is independence. We haven’t achieved it yet. But until we do, our struggle continues peacefully.

Abdul Qadeer Dar is a former militant and now heads the Voice of Victims, a non-profit human rights organization that works on the issues of rehabilitating militants and victims of torture.

Nawaz Gul Qanungo is a Kashmiri journalist. His work has appeared in South Asia and elsewhere including in The Hindu, The Times of India, The Caravan, Himal Southasian, Dawn, The Friday Times, Biblio, Tehelka, Scroll, Down to Earth, Dinamalar, Fountain Ink, Kashmir Times, and Rediff among others, apart from the anthology Until My Freedom Has Come—The New Intifada in Kashmir (Penguin, South Asia 2011; Haymarket, United States 2013). He is the editor of The Polis Project.

NOTES

1For a discussion on these elections and the role of the MUF, see Bose, Sumantra, Kashmir: Roots of Conflict, Paths to Peace, Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 2003.

2For a renewed debate on the school curriculum, refer to Naseer, Ganai, ‘Army Chief’s Education Remark, Police’s Shopian FIR Split J&K Coalition’, Outlook, https://www.outlookindia.com/website/story/shopian-killings-trigger-fresh-debate-on-education-reforms-in-jk-defocusing-kash/307762 (accessed on July 7 2018).

3Also see Noorani, A.G., The Kashmir Dispute 1947-2012, Toronto: Oxford University Press, 2013.

4For discussion on the political environment around the MUF and elections, see Roy, Kaushik and Scott Gates, Unconventional Warfare in South Asia, 1947 to the Present, New York: Ashgate Publishing, 2011. For an insight on how the important votaries of the MUF thought, see Hussain, Masood, ‘MUFfed,’ Kashmir Life, 2016, http://kashmirlife.net/muffed-99889/ (accessed on 27 October 2017); and Nabi, Danish bin, ‘The 23rd March 1987, the day that changed Kashmir as never before’, Rising Kashmir, 2015, http://www.risingkashmir.com/news/the-23rd-march-1987-the-day-that-changed-kashmir-as-never-before (accessed on 7 July 2018).

5See ‘A lawless law’, (2011) and ‘Still a lawless law’, (2012), reports by Amnesty International India. PDF available online at www.amnesty.org

6Major Avtar Singh later committed suicide after shooting his family in California. For more discussion on Avtar Singh, please refer to Amnesty International Public Statement, 2011, ‘No more delay: 15 years after Jalil Andrabi’s murder, India must seek extradition of former Indian Army Officer, AI Index: ASA 20/011/2011. Also see, Human Rights Watch, ‘Patterns of Impunity, p. 50, https://www.hrw.org/reports/2006/india0906/india0906webwcover.pdf (accessed on 7 July 2017); Kazi, Seema, Between Democracy and Nation: Gender and Militarization in Kashmir, New Delhi: Women Unlimited, 2009; and Mathur, S., The Human Toll of Kashmir Conflict, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016.

7See Abdul Qadeer featured in ‘Enduring the effects of partition in Kashmir’, by Violeta Santos Moura, Al Jazeera, http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/inpictures/2017/08/enduring-effects-partition-kashmir-170813084523836.html (accessed on).

8For insights on the nature of militancy, see Evans, Alexander, ‘Warlordism and Political Violence in Kashmir 1988-97: Gun Culture’, in Paul B. Rich (ed.), Warlocks in International Relations, New York: St Martin’s Press, 1999. Also see Shekhawat, Seema, Gender, Conflict and Peace in Kashmir, New Delhi: Cambridge University Press India, 2014; and Ali, Rao Farman, Kashmir Under the Shadow of the Gun, Srinagar: JayKay Books, 2012.

9See Qadeer’s interview on his militancy days with Ipsita Chakarvarty, ‘“They are fighting our battle”: In angry North Kashmir, the return of the foreign militant’, Scroll, 19 October 2016, https://scroll.in/article/819251/they-are-fighting-our-battle-in-angry-north-kashmir-the-return-of-the-foreign-militant (accessed on 7 July 2018).

10For more discussion on this phase of militancy, see Ali, Rao Farman, History of Armed Struggles in Kashmir, Srinagar: JayKay Books, 2017.

11See ‘The Human Rights Crisis in Kashmir, A Pattern of Impunity’, A report by Asia Watch, 1993, https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/INDIA937.PDF (accessed on 27 October 2017).

12See Irfan, Shams, ‘Every fifth Kashmiri victim of torture: Voice of Victims,’ Kashmir Life, 5 June 2014, http://kashmirlife.net/every-fifth-kashmiri-victim-of-torture-vov-60364/ (accessed on 11 February 2018).

13Amnesty International, India: ‘Torture and deaths in custody in Jammu and Kashmir’, AI Index: ASA 20/001/95, 31 January 1995. Also see, ‘Denied: Failures in accountability for HR violations by security force personnel in Jammu and Kashmir, 2015’, ASA 20/1874/2015; ‘The crackdown in Kashmir, torture of detainees and assaults on the medical community’, 1993, Physicians for Human Rights & Asia Watch, HRW, https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/INDIA932.PDF (acceded on 11 February 2017); and WikiLeaks cables, ‘India accused of systematic use of torture in Kashmir’, The Guardian, 16 December 2010, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2010/dec/16/wikileaks-cables-indian-torture-kashmir (accessed on 27 October 2017).