Beneath the Smoke of Ceasefire: Kashmir, Empire, and the Wages of Silence
Ceasefire Without Peace
A ceasefire was declared last week between India and Pakistan. A pause. A breath held in a storm. And before the ink had dried, it was violated.
This was not a surprise.
Peace has never truly belonged to the people of Kashmir. What they are offered instead are silences—temporary, tactical, state-approved silences. Pauses in artillery that allow the cameras to shift focus, politicians to reshuffle speeches, and diplomats to flash smiles. But the quiet is deceptive. Beneath it, the machines of occupation and propaganda continue to hum. In the villages and borderlands, people don't speak of ceasefire. They speak of loss, of waiting, of unending war wrapped in different disguises.
On April 22nd, 26 people—mostly Hindu tourists—were brutally gunned down in Pahalgam. No cause, no slogan, no grievance can ever justify such murder. It was an act of pure terror, and we grieve with the families. Every life lost is a universe gone dark.
But even grief is not spared from the state’s machinery. Instead of justice, they were given a performance—“Operation Sindoor,” a bombing campaign draped in the language of vengeance and patriotic mourning. Civilians in Pakistan-administered regions were killed in retaliation. Warplanes flew. Bombs fell. Children screamed. Far from healing, the fire was stoked.
The House That Empire Built
Kashmir is not a blank space on a disputed map. It is a living land carved apart by colonial scissors and imperial lies.
In 1846, the British sold it like property—to the Dogra Maharaja under the Treaty of Amritsar. A predominantly Muslim land was handed to a Hindu monarchy, birthing one of the world’s first modern examples of comprador rule: native elites empowered to manage native subjects on behalf of imperial interests.
When the British left in 1947, they didn’t resolve Kashmir—they dismembered it. The princely state was sliced into three by violence and betrayal: India controls the most, Pakistan holds a portion to the west, and China claims the northern reaches. The promised UN plebiscite—a simple vote to let Kashmiris decide their future—was buried under diplomatic rubble. That promise remains unfulfilled.
Since then, Kashmir has been turned into a crucible of proxy wars and competing nationalisms. Pakistan has backed militant groups to leverage its position. India has flooded the region with over 600,000 troops, turning it into the most militarised zone on the planet. China’s interests linger on the margins, quiet but strategic, always watching.
Where the Money Goes, the People Starve
India and Pakistan together spend over $20 billion annually on defence, much of it justified by the conflict over Kashmir. That’s money not spent on healthcare in Punjab or education in Sindh. It doesn’t build schools in Bihar or water pipelines in Baluchistan. It doesn't feed the 40% of children in both nations suffering from malnutrition. It doesn’t treat the ailing, house the homeless, or employ the jobless.
But it does fund the tanks that roll through Baramulla. It pays for the propaganda broadcasts, the surveillance drones, the bunkers that pepper the Himalayan ridges.
This is not a security strategy—it’s a class war disguised as national interest. While bombs fall on border villages, elites in Islamabad and Delhi sign arms deals and deliver nationalist speeches from climate-controlled podiums.
The Politics of Scapegoating
The timing of this escalation was no accident.
In India, Prime Minister Modi’s government is facing backlash over economic stagnation, rising inequality, and growing dissent. What better way to shift the focus than to ignite the old flame of anti-Pakistan sentiment? Hindutva forces wasted no time. Kashmiris were attacked in universities. Muslims were scapegoated once again. Voices of peace—like Himanshi Narwal and Shaila Negi—were targeted with smears and threats.
In Pakistan, where inflation and unemployment are pushing millions into despair, the army’s grip had begun to loosen. What better gift than a national crisis? Suddenly, there is no room for dissent, no time to question corruption, no tolerance for protest. All must stand “united”—under military command.
In both countries, the poor are told to sacrifice for flags that never fed them. Writers, artists, students, journalists who ask questions are silenced. Dissent is branded treason. And grief is turned into spectacle.
A Valley Not Forgotten
Kashmir has lost more than 100,000 lives since 1989. That number doesn’t include the disappeared, the tortured, the displaced. The dead are not statistics. They are mothers, sons, poets, shepherds. Many once believed in peace. Some picked up guns in despair. All are mourned.
What began as a popular, secular demand for self-determination was twisted—by states, by extremists, by foreign interests—into something monstrous. But the truth hasn’t changed.
Kashmiris are not asking to be pawns in someone else’s nation-building project. They are asking to be heard, to live without occupation, without fear, without surveillance.
This is not a “Hindu-Muslim issue.” It is not a “territorial dispute.” It is a question of dignity, autonomy, justice.
The Long Shadow of War, and the Fire of Unity
Last year’s racist riots in the UK—spurred by a deadly alliance of white supremacists and far-right Hindu groups—reminded us of a hard truth: the fires of division lit in South Asia don’t stop at borders. They follow the diaspora, infecting communities already under siege from racism, poverty, and surveillance.
We must remember who we are.
Our parents and grandparents stood together in the fight against empire—in the Ghadar movement, in the textile mills of Manchester, in factory floor struggles for dignity and equality by the Workers Associations, in the Asian Youth Movement self-defence marches of Brick Lane, Southall and Manningham. They were never divided by religion or flag. They were united by a dream: of freedom, justice, and dignity for all.
It is time to reclaim that dream.
From Birmingham to Baramulla: The Diaspora Remembers
Nowhere is the Kashmir issue felt more intimately outside the subcontinent than in Birmingham.
Home to an estimated 200,000 residents of Pakistani ethnicity, the city hosts one of the largest Pakistani diasporas in the world. Of these, roughly 75% are of Kashmiri origin. But these aren’t just statistics—they are shopkeepers and students, teachers and nurses, poets and builders. They are the sons and daughters of Mirpur, Muzaffarabad, Kotli, and Azad Kashmir—many of whose families were displaced by the Mangla Dam or forced to flee conflict and occupation.
For Birmingham, Kashmir is not an abstract foreign policy matter—it is lived experience. It is woven into family histories and community memory, passed down in living rooms, at weddings and funerals, and through WhatsApp calls from villages under siege. It shapes local politics—from the streets of Small Heath to rallies outside the Council House and Indian Consulate, to conversations in schoolyards and community centres.
So, when bombs fall on the valley, the echoes are felt in Birmingham. When the people of Kashmir are silenced, voices here are wounded too. That is why the struggle for justice in Kashmir is not distant—it is deeply local. Understanding the cause, and standing in solidarity with it, is not just a matter of empathy—it is an urgent responsibility for all who build movements for justice and peace.
Don’t Let Them Divide Us
To the young South Asians in the diaspora: this moment is not just about Kashmir. It is about what kind of future we are willing to fight for. Will we be manipulated by the same ruling classes who plundered our homelands and now pit us against each other? Or will we find strength in our shared history, our common struggle?
Unity is not a slogan. It’s a strategy. It’s what terrifies the powerful. It’s what wins.
We say: no to war. No to hate. No to nationalism without justice. No to religion used as a weapon.
We stand with the people of Kashmir—not as victims, but as agents of their own liberation.
We stand with those in India and Pakistan who resist war and speak truth to power.
We stand together, because divided, we are pawns. But united—we are the storm they cannot silence.
Mukhtar Dar
May 2025