Kashmir: ‘It’s not peace, but fear’

In the winding lanes of old city Srinagar, where anti-India slogans and chants of ‘azadi’ once echoed and stones clashed with riot shields, an uneasy calm hangs in the air.

The graffiti on walls has faded, the protests have disappeared, and the once-familiar shutdown calendars are gone. What remains, many locals say, is a silence that feels less like peace and more like a fear of the unknown.

The fading of separatist sentiment in Kashmir cannot be attributed to one man or one moment, but the result of a sustained, multifaceted campaign by the Indian state. This strategy gained decisive momentum after the abrogation of Article 370 in August 2019, which stripped Jammu and Kashmir of its special status under the Constitution of India.

“Aapko lagta hai yahan sab theek hai, sab shaant hai… lekin yeh shaanti nahi, yeh khauf hai jo har jagah mehsoos hota hai (You think everything is fine here, that it’s peaceful… but this isn’t peace, but the fear that lingers everywhere),” says a shopkeeper near historic Jamia Masjid in old city Nowhatta, glancing warily at a paramilitary patrol passing by.

He adds: “Pehle goliyan chalti thi, ab khamoshi maar deti hai. Hum bolte nahi, kyunki bolne ka matlab musibat bulana hai (Earlier it was bullets, now it’s the silence that kills. We don’t speak, because speaking invites trouble).”

The fear, residents say, is shaped by a sweeping crackdown on political dissent, enforced through the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act (UAPA), a stringent anti-terror law and the expanding reach of agencies like the National Investigation Agency (NIA) and State Investigation Agency (SIA).

Rights activists and political observers argue that the measures have created an atmosphere of suppression rather than reconciliation. “It’s security-led silence. The people haven’t stopped feeling what they felt; they’ve just stopped saying it,” says a former university professor, who asked not to be named due to fear of reprisal.

The Union government, however, views the present situation as evidence of peace and progress. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has described the post-Article 370 era as one of development and freedom. “The people of Kashmir are now breathing free,” he said last year, pledging to “keep winning hearts” of Kashmiris.

There are indeed signs of normalcy. Schools and colleges function regularly, internet blackouts are rare, and tourists have returned, posing for selfies along Dal Lake and Lal Chowk’s iconic clock tower.

A senior police official attributes this peace to the dismantling of the mobilisation networks: “Those who once incited unrest – student leaders, mosque preachers, separatists – have been jailed or silenced, or co-opted.”

Whether this calm signifies a lasting change or is merely a temporary pause in a long history of unrest remains to be seen. But, beneath the surface, the scars of conflict and the weight of unspoken words remain.

Back in Nowhatta, the shopkeeper flips through his ledger, the buzz of commerce returning to the neighbourhood. “Yes, there is calm,” he says quietly. “But it’s not the calm we prayed for. The silence is not always consent – it is also caution.”