Demolishing homes without trial doesn’t fight terror—it fuels it
The Kashmiri proverb “Wutini balayih tut”, which translates to ‘the bird is blamed for the broken nest,’ aptly captures the tragic irony of the recent events in Kashmir. This saying reflects the unfairness of holding someone accountable for circumstances beyond their control. After the Pahalgam terror attack that took the lives of 26 innocent tourists, the valley witnessed a chilling response — not by the rule of law, but by the logic of collective punishment. The state’s actions — demolishing the homes of alleged militants and suspects — mirror this proverb, where entire families are blamed and punished for the actions of none or one, or a few of them.
While the entire region mourned the loss of lives, the state machinery chose to bulldoze the homes of those associated with the attackers, not by court order, but by arbitrary executive action. The demolitions, often conducted without any judicial process or formal charges, have set a dangerous precedent — one that bypasses the law and punishes identity.
In the days that followed, the visuals of rubble and crying children were overshadowed by aggressive media coverage, which chose to fuel nationalistic fervour rather than question the legality or morality of these actions. Kashmiris, once again, were painted as the “other,” with the crimes of terrorists pinned on an entire community.
It’s crucial to step back and ask: who do these demolitions truly punish, and what legal justification underpins them? India’s Constitution, under Article 21, guarantees the right to life, liberty, and dignity — including the right to shelter and due process. In Maneka Gandhi v. Union of India (1978), the Supreme Court clearly held that no procedure depriving a person of liberty can be “arbitrary or unreasonable.” Bulldozing a home without a trial or conviction hardly satisfies this standard. In Puttaswamy v. Union of India (2017), the apex court reaffirmed the right to privacy and protecting one’s home.
Despite these protections, collective guilt has been weaponised. Punishment has been extended to mothers, children, and relatives of suspects — individuals who have not been proven guilty in a court of law. Legal scholars have long cautioned against such extrajudicial practices. Justice V.R. Krishna Iyer once wrote that “punishment must proceed from a reformative spirit, not a vindictive one.” The idea that the state must lead in justice, not revenge, lies at the core of Indian jurisprudence. Dr Upendra Baxi, a renowned legal thinker, has often argued that punitive populism erodes the democratic contract. When the law becomes a spectacle, its soul withers. Even in global jurisprudence, collective punishment is regarded as a violation of human rights. Article 33 of the Fourth Geneva Convention prohibits the punishment of people for actions they did not personally commit. Democracies do not bulldoze homes to prove toughness; they build trust through the rule of law.
In Kashmir, homes are sacred — generational repositories of identity, memory, and belonging. To demolish them is to send a chilling message: not only will you be punished for who you are related to, but also for the identity you share. The state’s actions, amplified by a frenzied media, have blurred the line between counter-terrorism and collective intimidation. Moreover, this narrative is not without consequences. The alienation of ordinary Kashmiris deepens when they are painted as perpetual suspects. Youth growing up among ruins are unlikely to feel any allegiance to institutions that destroy before they investigate.
The path to peace in Kashmir does not lie through punitive populism, but through lawful justice and reconciliation. Reformative justice — the idea that punishment must be proportional, individualised, and aimed at rehabilitation — must guide state policy, especially in conflict zones. Legal systems across the world have moved towards this philosophy. Even post-genocide Rwanda and post-apartheid South Africa used truth commissions and restorative justice frameworks to heal and rebuild. India, as the world’s largest democracy, must not forget its own promise of fairness.
Kashmiris have long lived under the shadow of militarisation and extraordinary laws, and now, to add collective demolitions to this mix is to formalise their alienation. It tells them that their innocence is conditional, their homes, temporary — just as “Wutini balayih tut” suggests, the innocent are punished for the actions of others. There is still time to course-correct. Judicial intervention, civil society advocacy, and media ethics must converge to stop this spiral. If we continue to treat communities as extensions of criminality, we will fail not just Kashmir, but the Indian Constitution itself.
Ultimately, justice is not about optics or nationalistic rhetoric. It’s about fairness, due process, and the commitment to a rule of law that upholds dignity and individual rights. If India is to live up to its founding values of liberty, equality, and fraternity, it must reaffirm them, especially in Kashmir.
Hamid Rather is a lawyer, public policy specialist, and writer. He works at the intersection of law, conflict, and public policy.
Hamid Rather