Kashmir Isn’t Silent—We Just Aren’t Listening

By Sibil Sebastian

May 14, 2025

Kashmir is a case study in how power crushes people. Supremacist ideologies, land grabs, the race for natural resources, state-sponsored violence—all converge to control a landlocked population. It is the most militarized region in the world, occupied by the Indian army, where nearly every aspect of daily life is lived under surveillance. Imagine growing up surrounded by soldiers, with checkpoints at every turn, internet blackouts, and the constant threat of raids or detention. Movement is restricted. Speech is monitored. Grief is normalized. In Kashmir, freedom isn’t just limited—it’s suffocated under boots, guns, and silence. Add in three nuclear-armed neighbors—India, China, and Pakistan—and you might wonder why the whole world hasn’t stopped to talk about Kashmir.

Let’s get up to speed—with facts sourced from kashmirawareness.org.

Kashmir has been a contested territory since 1947, when British India was partitioned into India and Pakistan. The princely state of Jammu and Kashmir was given the choice to join either country or remain independent. Despite being a Muslim-majority region with growing unrest and tribal incursions, its ruler, Maharaja Hari Singh, controversially acceded to India. This ignited the first Indo-Pak war, followed by a UN-mediated ceasefire and the drawing of the Line of Control, dividing Kashmir. The promised UN plebiscite to allow Kashmiris to determine their future never happened.

On August 5, 2019, India revoked Articles 370 and 35A of its Constitution, stripping Jammu and Kashmir of its limited autonomy and splitting it into two federally governed territories. While the Indian government framed the move as a path to “integration” and “development,” many Kashmiris saw it as the final blow to their political and cultural identity. India deployed 50,000 additional troops in 2019—on top of the 700,000 already stationed—making Kashmir the most militarized zone on earth. Since then, the Indian military has seized over 54,000 acres of land, and more than 80,000 domicile certificates have been granted to non-Kashmiris, raising alarms over settler-colonial intent. Genocide Watch founder Gregory Stanton has warned of a growing risk of genocide, especially against Muslims in the region.

From 1989 to 2009, Indian security forces have been implicated in more than 70,000 deaths, 8,000 enforced disappearances, and widespread torture, rape, and arbitrary detention. Over 15,000 legal petitions remain unanswered, and thousands of mass graves remain uninvestigated.¹

The Pahalgam Attack

On April 22, 2025, an attack in the peaceful Baisaran Valley near Pahalgam shattered the already fragile reality of Kashmir. Armed militants opened fire on a group of tourists, killing 26 civilians—most of them non-Muslim Indians, with a Christian and a local Muslim among the dead. It was the deadliest civilian assault in India since the 2008 Mumbai attacks, but it didn’t stop there.

As the bodies of the fallen were counted, India quickly blamed Pakistan-based groups, launching airstrikes and escalating the already volatile tensions between two nuclear-armed countries. Following the attack, India and Pakistan agreed to an immediate ceasefire two days ago, brokered by the United States. The agreement called for an end to all military actions on land, air, and sea. However, just hours after the truce took effect, both nations accused each other of violations. India reported artillery fire from the Pakistani side of the Line of Control, while Pakistan denied any infractions.²

This fragile ceasefire underscores the deep-seated mistrust and unresolved issues that continue to plague the region. While the agreement was a step toward de-escalation, the immediate breaches highlight the challenges in achieving lasting peace between the two nuclear-armed neighbors. And importantly, a ceasefire does not provide a solution to the real problem; the militarized occupation of the civilian population in Kashmir.

Whose Grief Counts?

Last night, after doomscrolling through propaganda, fake news, and distorted narratives about the conflict, I felt that familiar grief I’ve carried for the past 19 months. I watched as Indian celebrities expressed their sorrow, condemning the attack and standing with India. And I couldn’t help but wonder: where have they been when Kashmiris were disappeared, slaughtered, or when Gazans were bombed?

And then there’s the muddying of the discourse. I came across a post from someone who identifies as "pro-Palestinian" and of Indian descent. The post argued that Western liberals, in their response to Gaza, were unfairly equating India with Israel and projecting guilt onto the India-Pakistan-Kashmir conflict. It claimed that Pakistan cannot be compared to Palestine because Pakistan is a nuclear power with a military history linked to terrorism and oppression. The post also suggested that India is not Israel, and criticized any such comparisons. Furthermore, it stated that 95% of Indians live under oppression perpetuated by Western colonialism, positioning critiques of India’s actions in Kashmir as misguided and rooted in colonial guilt.

What struck me was how this post, from someone who claims to understand occupation in the context of Palestine, failed to recognize the same dynamics in their own homeland, or better yet, used it as a tool to confuse. The rhetoric weaponizes half-truths and historical distortion, deflecting attention away from the brutal realities faced by Kashmiris. It frames any criticism of India’s actions as xenophobic, while glossing over the deep-rooted oppression happening right now.

This kind of discourse is designed to obscure, to divide, and to prevent deeper inquiry into the systemic oppression at play. It manipulates the narrative and keeps people from asking the uncomfortable questions about power, occupation, and the rights of the oppressed. The truth is, my grief isn’t just about the pain I feel for Kashmir or Gaza. It’s the constant reminder that most people only seem to care about their own—whether that’s an ethnic, national, or even familial circle.

The Ugliness of State Nationalism

Just as with the genocide of the Palestinian people at the hands of the U.S. and Israel, for me, there is no religious qualifier necessary for the occupation of Kashmir. State-sponsored occupation and military presence define the roles: one party is the oppressor, the other the oppressed—no matter their religion. Combine occupation with the ugly spectacle of state nationalism —this time from my ethnic homeland of India. The flags, the hashtags, the blind patriotism, and the anti-Muslim rhetoric. It’s the kind of nationalism that never ends well, yet it continues to fuel itself, creating division and hostility.

When I study oppression, violence, and resistance, I always ask: Who has the power? Who has institutional control? Who holds sovereignty? If one side is the oppressed, then the oppressed have the right to resist. That is not up for debate. Even without knowing who was responsible for Pahalgam, we already know who is caught in the crossfires: the Kashmiris.

We also know that during British rule, Indians were the oppressed—exploited through economic and capital extraction, famine, racism, agricultural theft, and cultural suppression. Post-independence, India has evolved into a more nationalistic, Hindutva-led state, one that now has no issue using similar tactics to harm its own people. Hindutva, which literally means "Hindu-ness," is an ideology rooted in the belief that India should be a Hindu nation, where Hindu culture and religion are the defining characteristics of the country. It goes beyond being simply a religious belief system; it is a political and cultural framework that seeks to reshape India’s identity around the notion that the country is primarily for Hindus. From a critical perspective, Hindutva can be seen as leading to Hindu supremacy because of its discriminatory implications, the policies it encourages, and the broader political climate it fosters. When Hindutva policies and rhetoric are put into practice, they often marginalize or disenfranchise non-Hindu populations.

Grounding in Justice

I don’t speak from religion or identity. I speak from a commitment to moral integrity. My values reject tribalism in favor of justice. I don’t speak for any one people—I speak with all those denied their rights and dignity.

My grounding isn’t in a flag or a faith. It’s in the belief that no one should live under surveillance, in fear, in occupation. That the way we treat the most vulnerable—whether they are living beings or the land itself—reflects the health of our collective conscience.

As someone from the Indian diaspora, a first-generation American, and raised a Christian from Kerala, I’ve always felt like an anomaly—never really belonging anywhere. I’ve been told to leave America more than once. That kind of dislocation shapes how I see the world—it attunes me to patterns of power, displacement, and the harm of exclusion.

While I feel a deep respect and reverence for my ancestral roots in Kerala—its culture, history, and rhythms of life—I don’t root myself in this identity. I am rooted in universal principles: justice, dignity, and compassion for every human being, no matter where they are from.

I won’t pretend to be an expert on every issue or always get everything right. But I’ve lived long enough to recognize the recurring logic of oppression—how it mutates across contexts, how it is justified, normalized, and defended. My ongoing decolonization practice is about naming those patterns. It is a discipline of learning and unlearning, of refusing to be numbed by familiarity or silence.

And what I see is this: it’s all connected—from Kashmir, Palestine, Sudan, and Congo to the ICE raids and deportations. These aren’t separate struggles. They are expressions of the same violent systems—extraction, surveillance, erasure, and control. Capitalism, patriarchy, and ethno-supremacy are destroying our world. And while some resist, many stay quiet—afraid of losing paychecks, social status, comfort, or even family approval.

What troubles me deeply is how justice is often treated as conditional—extended first to those who look like us, pray like us, or live near us. That kind of selective solidarity isn’t justice—it’s comfort in disguise. Real justice asks us to expand our moral imagination. It asks us to see the full picture. It asks us to interrogate, starting with the ugliness hiding within us. It requires us to give things up, even if it’s inconvenient, costly or painful. Dare I say, especially if it’s those things. Because justice—when it’s real—doesn’t stop at fairness. It moves us toward liberation: the kind that frees not just others, but ourselves.

My praxis, developed over years and still evolving, is rooted in this belief: that I must strive to contribute the least amount of harm possible while working toward a more just world. That means aligning how I live with what I stand for. It means deep self-inquiry, humility, and standing with the oppressed—morality and alignment are priceless. Even when I am the anomaly.

On days like today, when I swing between the hope that more people will speak truth to power and the despair of knowing most won’t, I return to what I can do: plant the seeds and build the world I want to live in. Whether it happens in my lifetime or not.

Footnotes:

International People's Tribunal on Human Rights and Justice in Kashmir
NPR, NDTV, Reuters

Sibil Sebastian (she/her) is the founder of In Pursuit Collective, a consulting practice focused on systemic change and strategy for impact-driven organizations. A CFA and CAIA charterholder with over 20 years in corporate finance, Sibil’s critical lens is shaped by firsthand experience within capitalist institutions, where she held leadership roles across strategy, product, and client development. Her work bridges institutional knowledge and a commitment to equity, decolonization, and collective liberation. She holds an MS in Finance from Baruch College, a BBA from Pace University, and is an ICF-certified coach.