Insights from my experience in Chandipora reveal the pressing need for empathetic governance that actively listens to and addresses the struggles of the marginalised.
My experience conducting a CSDS (Centre for the Study of Developing Societies) survey in the Rajpora constituency of south Kashmir’s Pulwama district was eye-opening. It took me to a village called Chandipora 77, where I interacted with people outside the limits of a classroom for the first time. This survey not only gave me an understanding of how governance works at the grassroots but also brought me face-to-face with the challenges faced by local communities.
A glaring issue I encountered was the ten-year gap in local governance, which left people without a platform to voice their concerns or seek solutions. People seemed to carry a sense of hope and urgency, eager to share their problems when they found someone willing to listen. Following the wisdom shared by elders in the community—”listen to anyone more than to give a solution”—I approached these conversations with patience and an open mind. It became clear that simply listening was a powerful act, making people feel acknowledged and valued.
One interaction left a lasting impact on me. I met Sajah Begum, a 64-year-old woman who appeared tired and defeated. When I asked if she had cast her vote, she responded with visible frustration, stating that she would only vote if someone brought her an ear machine. Her words stopped me in my tracks. The frustration in her tone reflected her sense of abandonment and neglect. She went on to explain that although she had children, they had their own struggles and could not afford to buy her an ear machine. Her health had deteriorated, and she struggled to walk because her legs had grown too weak. Her voice resonated with despair, and I was overwhelmed with questions: Why did people like her suffer so much? Why were basic necessities like healthcare and support missing from their lives?
Sajah Begum’s story mirrored the stories of countless others I met during my six-day survey. Their struggles revealed how governance had failed them, and it forced me to confront the reality of being unable to help. I began to question the broader system: Why was governance so disconnected from the lives of these people? Why were the voices of the vulnerable ignored? This experience emphasized the importance of leadership that listens, acts, and prioritizes the welfare of its people.
Through my survey, I also observed the stark difference between theoretical governance taught in classrooms and its practical implementation on the ground. Policies and programs might look good on paper, but their impact is only as effective as their delivery to those in need. There was an urgent need for systems that provide real solutions, like offering medical support to people like Sajah Begum or ensuring welfare measures are accessible to all.
As I continued my journey through the village, another encounter left a permanent scar on my heart. I met a widow—a woman whose life had been completely dismantled by circumstances beyond her control. Her only son, her sole source of hope and companionship, was imprisoned, leaving her utterly alone. To make matters worse, her house had been sealed by the authorities, taking away not just her home but her sense of belonging and security.
I could see the weight of her pain in her weary eyes and trembling voice. She spoke of her isolation, of how no one cared enough to ask how she was surviving. The world seemed to have turned its back on her, leaving her to face the unrelenting tides of hardship alone. It was as if she had been erased from the society that once surrounded her.
Her story broke me internally. I couldn’t fathom the depth of her despair—how she endured such profound loneliness and loss. The silence of her surroundings was deafening, a grim reminder of the indifference of those who could have helped but chose not to. I felt powerless, unable to offer her the justice or solace she so desperately needed.
This encounter wasn’t just a story; it was a harsh reality. It forced me to confront the failures of our systems and the coldness that can pervade human interactions. It left me questioning not just governance but humanity itself. Her pain became my own, and her story became a haunting memory I will carry with me forever.
To address these systemic gaps, I believe governance must be reimagined to serve the people at its core. Simple measures, such as displaying the names of beneficiaries on public walls or offering transparent welfare schemes, could go a long way in restoring faith in governance. For example, incentives for senior citizens and widows need not be streamlined and widely communicated. Leadership, especially in regions like Jammu and Kashmir, must prioritize efficiency, accountability, and transparency to prevent further suffering.
This experience taught me the significance of governance in shaping lives. It also instilled in me a sense of responsibility to contribute towards creating systems that truly serve the helpless and voiceless. People like Sajah Begum and many others are a reminder that governance is not just about policies—it is about human lives, dignity, and hope. Only through committed and honest leadership can we address the gaps that continue to perpetuate the suffering of the most vulnerable.
The writer is pursuing his postgraduation at the Department of Political Science, University of Kashmir
By Aamir Afzal
aa*************@***il.com