The Valley of the shadow.(struggle for Kashmir)
Article from:The Economist (US) Article date:May 22, 1999
A STRETCH of the main road from Srinagar, Jammu & Kashmir's summer capital, to Anantnag is lined with workshops that fashion the local willow into cricket bats. There is something cheering about these little enterprises making a living from South Asia's favourite pastime in the region's most contested territory.
The cheer quickly dissipates. Gulam Qadir (not his real name) says he shifted his stock from road level to the first floor of his shop because counter-insurgents, former anti-Indian militants who have changed sides, have been harassing him. Sometimes they just demand free bats; when angry, they ``take up these sticks and beat us,'' Mr Qadir claims, gesturing towards the stacks of unfinished planks. He wants what almost everyone in the Kashmir Valley seems to want, azadi-- independence. But like most businessmen, Mr Qadir has a pragmatic streak. ``Before azadi, we want a relaxed atmosphere,'' he says, ``which is not happening.''
Mr Qadir and his fellow Kashmiris are caught up in one of the world's most intractable disputes. There is a legal side to it, there is a fiendishly complex issue of self-determination, there is a regional tussle that involves China as well as India and Pakistan, and then there are the realities on the ground, kept rigid by the power of the gun. These forces pull in different directions. But India is happier with the status quo than are the other main players, Pakistan and the Kashmiri people, and it is with India that a solution must start.
The Kashmir problem is part of the aftermath of partition. The Hindu maharaja of Kashmir wanted independence, but hurriedly acceded to India in 1948 after Pakistani tribesmen invaded his realm. The principle that Kashmiris be allowed to determine their own future was established at the beginning. India's first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, struck a deal with the maharaja, but thought that his (mostly Muslim) subjects should be the the true masters of Kashmir. A 1948 UN Security Council resolution, designed to end the first hostilities between India and Pakistan, calls for the withdrawal of Pakistani forces, followed by a plebiscite allowing Kashmiris to choose between joining India or Pakistan. It never happened. The state remains divided into zones of Indian, Pakistani and--because the Pakistanis let them have it and China occupied a chunk on its own--Chinese control. Pakistan regards union with the rest of Kashmir as ``the unfinished business of partition''. India, for its part, deems the state an integral part of its territory. China says it will talk about its slice once the other two have reached a deal.
Missed opportunities
India might have won a plebiscite had it not governed Kashmir so badly. Nehru had an ally in Kashmir's most popular leader, Sheikh Muhammad Abdullah, who thought of himself as a Kashmiri first and a Muslim second, and preferred Indian secularism to Pakistani sectarianism. It was a rocky relationship. Abdullah flirted with independence, and the central government never reconciled itself to the autonomy it had granted Kashmir. India's best friend in the state was imprisoned twice for a total of 18 years between 1953 and 1975. He won Kashmir's first genuinely free election in 1977. Yet in 1984 his son, Farooq, was dismissed as chief minister by Nehru's daughter, Indira Gandhi. There followed a period of obtuse and thuggish rule by the central government, a flawed election in 1987 that gave a more obedient Farooq another spell in power, and the outbreak of violence two years later.
It has been an ugly war that does none of the parties involved much credit. The 400,000 or so troops that India keeps in Kashmir have often shown the same brutality as their foes. So far, about 24,000 people have died in the decade-long insurgency, say the police. The militants say 60,000. Either way, more have been killed than in all three Indo- Pakistani wars put together.
Pakistan insists on sorting out the mess by holding the plebiscite as envisaged in the UN resolutions. That would bring more self- determination than at present, but not much. Jammu & Kashmir's population of 9m-10m is far from being all Muslim (see map). The Kashmir Valley has become almost all Muslim. Jammu has a Hindu majority and Ladakh a Buddhist one. It is a safe bet that in a plebiscite both would vote to remain with India but be dragged into union with Pakistan by the overall Muslim majority. In that event the Kashmir problem might well go on, with oppressor and oppressed swapping identities.
More important, the UN-mandated plebiscite does not offer Kashmiris what most of them really want: azadi. A 1995 poll found that 72% of the Valley's inhabitants wanted independence. Being mostly Muslims does not make them Pakistanis. Their separate identity is based on place, kinship and culture as much as on religion.
In India's view, Kashmiris would become loyal citizens again if only Pakistan would stop interfering. It sees the insurgency as a proxy war, which would end as soon as Pakistan stopped giving militants money and weapons and letting them infiltrate Kashmir across the line of control. Most militants, India claims, are foreign zealots imported from other holy wars, such as that in Afghanistan. It regards separatist political groups, two dozen of which are grouped under the All Parties Hurriyet Conference, as stooges of Pakistan
Pending a diplomatic solution, India thinks the war is going well. ``We are happy,'' says C.S Pokharia, deputy inspector-general of the Border Security Force, which keeps order in Kashmir. Fewer militants are infiltrating from Pakistan, and ``the killing of militants during encounters is quite favourable.''
Mr Pokharia has some grounds for smugness. After a period when militants ruled the roost in big towns like Srinagar and even ran a parallel administration, the government now has the upper hand. Militants have been pushed out of the towns and the bazaars bustle again, though there are still sporadic shoot-outs even in the middle of Srinagar. The security forces are trying harder to target combatants and spare civilians. Elections in 1996, which were boycotted by the separatists, replaced direct rule from Delhi with a government headed by Farooq Abdullah.
Normality is relative. Srinagar still looks like a city dumped inside a maximum-security prison, with guns poking through piles of sandbags on nearly every corner. Tourism, Kashmir's biggest industry, is still way below its pre-insurrection peak. Without the money spent by soldiers and their families, the economy would be flat on its back. And the war is far from over. The militants lie lower but strike harder, sometimes at the security forces, sometimes at innocents who happen to be Hindus. Casualties among security forces last year just fell short of the 1995 record.
The security forces have become choosier, but no less brutal. Ravi Nair, head of the South Asian Human Rights Documentation Centre, says that captured foreign militants are summarily executed in faked ``encounters''. Detainees are routinely tortured. Kashmir is still subject to laws that permit security forces to shoot suspects and destroy property. And when they abuse their powers, there is no redress. Parveena Ahanger speaks for the parents of 300 missing children, including her son, who disappeared in 1991 after the National Security Guard arrested him: ``Not one person has been found, not one person has been punished.''
Why peace is hard to do
Competing claims of sovereignty and self-determination can never be resolved to everyone's satisfaction. Even modest ambitions, such as a lessening of violence, have been frustrated because every concession has been looked upon as a surrender of principle. It is unlikely that the Indian and Pakistani prime ministers bent their principles in Lahore. Compromises offered by either country always fall short of the other side's minimum demands. Thus India might accept the line of control as the permanent border, and Pakistan is willing to talk about holding a plebiscite in Kashmir by region rather than for the whole state, which would allow the parts populated by Hindus and Buddhists to vote to remain with India. But the crunch issue for both countries remains the disposition of the Muslim-dominated Kashmir Valley.
Mr Sharif is as close to being soft on Kashmir as any Pakistani leader is likely to get. Looking over his shoulder are Islamic fundamentalists, who have already branded his meeting with Mr Vajpayee a betrayal of Kashmir; the armed forces, whose budgets depend on continued tension with India; and Inter-Services Intelligence, the part of the armed forces thought to be arming and training fighters both in Afghanistan and Kashmir.
In India, there are two distinct schools of thought on Kashmir. The weightier one, to which Mr Vajpayee and probably his electoral rival, Sonia Gandhi, belong, argues that there can be no compromise over the sovereignty of Indian-held Kashmir. But there are others who see merit in giving Pakistan some say in the affairs of the Valley--though such creative solutions are unlikely to be tried for years to come.
There need not be a grand settlement for things to improve in Kashmir, but two things will have to happen: Pakistan will have to squeeze the supply of violence and India will have to discourage the demand for it. If violence inside Kashmir goes down, India could reduce its security forces in the interior.
Will Pakistan rein in the rebels? It denies giving them anything other than moral and diplomatic support, and claims to have limited power to curb them. It probably exaggerates its impotence. It has a large army along the line of control, which it uses selectively. The mujahideen of Lashkar-e-Taiba, one of the main guerrilla groups, mill about their office in Lahore impressively armed in full view of the police. Mr Sharif is under intense pressure from the United States--which controls the flow of money to Pakistan's bankrupt economy--to reduce tensions with India. But he is also on the hit-list of one of the extremist Islamic groups, and may be reluctant to provoke such groups further. India's behaviour towards its Kashmiri citizens should not depend on the number of terrorists infiltrating across the border. Farooq Abdullah's National Conference government in Kashmir, which had a flimsy mandate to begin with, has lost whatever popularity it had because of its clumsy administration and its failure to fulfill its promise to win back some of Kashmir's autonomy. Moreover, Kashmiris feel they are being ruled not by a popularly elected government but by policemen who behave more like an occupation force. Secessionist leaders, who represent an important slice of public opinion, play hardly any part in politics. The All Parties Hurriyet Conference is not an impressive body. Its two dozen members agree on little except opposition to Indian rule. Its leaders, fearing harassment by Indian forces, have little contact with the people they claim to represent.
Mehbooba Mufti, a member of the state assembly from the Congress party, thinks the government should open an ``unconditional dialogue'' with militant groups and their political representatives. So far the separatists have held out for tripartite talks with India and Pakistan- -``the only kind we will accept,'' says Yaseen Malik, leader of the pro-independence Jammu & Kashmir Liberation Front. But Ms Mufti reckons that even hardened separatists would agree to talk to the government on its own. ``Militant boys want a normal life--with honour, not with surrender,'' says Ms Mufti. She may be wrong. But if India is to prevail over the separatists, it will have to persuade rather than simply punish them.