Mir Sajjid Hussain
Well, I did my utmost to restrain myself and silently mourn the tragic bloodshed of innocent tourists in Pahalgam. On a personal level, I immediately and unequivocally condemned this heinous act.
As time passed, emotions — naturally — ran deeper. Every Indian, without exception, denounced this barbaric violence, and so did every Kashmiri. Yet within just 24 hours, distressing incidents began surfacing across the country: Kashmiri students, businessmen, and travellers — people entirely uninvolved — became targets of anger and hatred. They were labelled, accused, and unjustly associated with the Pahalgam tragedy.
I received several painful calls from close friends — friends of decades — questioning their trust in Kashmiris. “We trusted Kashmiris, and this is what we get in return,” they said. It left me wondering: How many times must we Kashmiris explain, even to those who have known us intimately, that we were never a part of such atrocities? How often must we prove that no true Kashmiri, no true Muslim, could ever endorse or participate in such savagery?
We have given our lives protecting tourists and guests on our soil, extending every ounce of hospitality to express not just tradition, but a deep and abiding patriotism. Yet time and again, our loyalty is put to question.
At this moment, I feel compelled to ask those who raise fingers at Kashmiris: Aren’t we Indians too? What does a simple Kashmiri — working outside his home state, side by side with you in this country — have to do with such heinous incidents? Why must we repeatedly prove our innocence for crimes we have no connection with? Why are we asked questions about Pakistan? What do we have to do with Pakistan at all? And what does Islam — a religion of peace — have to do with such barbarism?
We are tired. We are heartbroken. Kashmiris are exhausted from carrying a burden that was never ours to bear.
It seems to be our cursed fate that whenever hope appears on the horizon, tragedy strikes, and the entire valley is dragged back into suspicion and alienation. Once again, we are forced to defend our loyalty, our humanity, our very identity.
Today, every Kashmiri is grieving. From every town to every remote hamlet, people have raised their voices in protest against this barbarity. The valley reverberates with slogans of condemnation, sorrow, and solidarity.
But heartbreakingly, it feels as if no protest, no sacrifice, no expression of loyalty is ever enough.
Yet despite the heartbreak, despite the wounds, we still dare to hope — that one day, we will not have to prove we belong; we will simply be accepted as we are: Kashmiris, Indians, human beings.
