In the aftermath of the horrible attack, the voices of Kashmiris deserve to be heard—not judged—with empathy
Once again, Kashmir is in the news for all the wrong reasons. A place known for its stunning beauty, snow-capped peaks, and tranquil valleys is once again marred by violence. The recent Pahalgam attack has not only left the nation in shock but has also pierced the hearts of common Kashmiris who live under the weight of this never-ending conflict.
Whenever such incidents happen, the immediate narrative that follows is disturbingly familiar: fingers are pointed, judgments are passed, and entire communities are blamed. As a Kashmiri, I can say with certainty that nothing breaks us more than the assumption that we somehow approve or support such killings. This notion is not only baseless but deeply hurtful.
Why must we keep proving ourselves?
It’s a painful pattern. Every time an attack happens in or around Kashmir, there’s an invisible but powerful expectation that Kashmiris must publicly prove their loyalty, their humanity, their grief. Why is it so hard to understand that we, too, are against violence? That we, too, crave peace, perhaps even more desperately than others?
We are tired of being questioned, doubted, and held collectively accountable for acts committed by a fewacts we have no control over and no sympathy for. The ordinary Kashmiri has suffered enough. Our pain is no less; in fact, it might be more. We live in the middle of it. We don’t switch off the news and move onwe live it, breathe it, and often bury it deep inside, because what space is left for our grief?
When blame becomes a reflex
There is something deeply unsettling about how quickly public discourse turns against us. The people of Kashmir are blamed not just for the violence but for the very existence of unrest as if we have chosen this life, as if we gain from the bloodshed. Let us ask what we have gained? A childhood filled with fear, dreams crushed by curfews, careers lost in shutdowns, and a lifetime of being looked at with suspicion? No one pauses to think that we are mourning too. We are shaken too. That every attack triggers old traumas and fresh fears. But instead of sympathy, we are handed silence or, worse, blame.
We feel it more than you know
It may be hard for the outside world to understand, but the sorrow of these attacks is heavier on us. When a tourist is harmed or a pilgrim’s journey is threatened, it is the Kashmiri who feels the pain most. Not just out of shared humanity but because we know what it will mean for our people, our economy, our safety, and our image. And perhaps most importantly, because we know the truth, we don’t want this. We never did. Each life lost is a loss to all of us. Each act of violence is a stab at the heart of Kashmir’s soul, which still beats with the hope of peace despite decades of suffering.
Let us be heard, not judged
It is time to change the narrative. Time to stop looking at Kashmiris as suspects and start seeing them as survivors. As people who have endured, resisted, and hoped in spite of everything. We have not been silent because we don’t care; we have often been too heartbroken, too afraid, too unheard. Let us be part of the conversation, not just as headlines but as human beings. Let the world know: we too condemn violence, we too desire peace, and we too deserve dignity.
Kashmir cannot heal if its people are not heard. The healing of a place begins with the healing of its people. It is time we stop demanding explanations from the wounded and instead stand beside them with empathy and understanding.
Only then can peace truly find a home in the valley again.
The writer is a Medical Officer at the PHC Shargole
Dr Fazal Ul Haq Wani
wa*******@***il.com