Pahalgam and Politics of Convenient Tragedy

Pahalgam and Politics of Convenient Tragedy

The recent massacre in Kashmir’s Baisaran Valley has reopened a troubling chapter in the region’s long and bloody history. Twenty-six civilians were killed and at least seventeen wounded in what appeared to be a chillingly calculated attack—religiously targeted, brutal, and suspiciously well-timed.

The official narrative was predictably swift: blame was assigned across the border, security forces sprang into delayed action, and political leaders offered standard condemnations.


But the deeper questions—those of responsibility, accountability, and pattern—remain smothered in media noise and nationalistic rhetoric. Why does this keep happening? Who continues to benefit? And how have we normalised such deadly spectacles?


This is not the first time a high-profile attack in Kashmir has occurred at a politically sensitive moment. In 2019, Pulwama became the stage for a nationalistic crescendo just before the general elections. Now, with dissatisfaction mounting over governance failures and economic strain, the killings in Pahalgam offer a convenient distraction and renewed emotional capital.


Intelligence Warnings 

According to Indian media reports from outlets such as The Hindu, Indian Express and Times of India, intelligence warnings preceded the attack. Locals testified that victims were singled out based on religious identity—asked to recite verses to prove their faith.

Mehr un Nisa 

Yet, despite heightened security post-Article 370, a group of militants reportedly moved unhindered through a tourist-heavy, militarised zone. The disquieting absence of police or army personnel during the onslaught only amplifies suspicions.


Survivor accounts paint a harrowing picture of institutional abandonment. Wounded civilians were transported on mules by locals. Lieutenant Vinay Narwal reportedly bled to death over 90 minutes, awaiting help that never came. His widow’s public grief was not just personal—it was political. It exposed the grotesque mismatch between India’s military posture and its operational readiness on the ground.


And therein lies the crux of the matter. These attacks, while tragic in human terms, serve important political functions. They reignite cross-border narratives, stifle domestic dissent, and galvanise the ruling party’s nationalist base.


After Pulwama, Balakot Airstrikes?

After Pulwama, India launched the much-hyped Balakot airstrikes, whose strategic impact remains debated. Leaked WhatsApp chats from a media executive gloating over the attacks in advance of the airstrikes only reinforce the troubling marriage of politics, media and militarism.


This isn’t unique to India. Governments around the world have long manipulated crises to consolidate power. What’s troubling in India’s case is the regularity and impunity with which it happens in Kashmir. As the Norwegian sociologist Johan Galtung described, structural violence is built into political systems—violence not just in action, but in the silence, negligence and distortion that follows it.


Today’s Kashmir reflects that structure. A place where citizens bleed unattended while political elites enjoy fortress-like security. A place where each cycle of violence triggers a wave of televised rage, rather than introspection.


Government data shows India’s military is facing a critical manpower shortage—over 100,000 soldiers, including 8,400 officers. Recruitment slowed during the pandemic, and budget cuts have made matters worse. Yet, this is not presented to the public as a failure of state capacity—it’s papered over by appeals to nationalism.


The killings in Pahalgam expose a deeper rot.


Democratic Downslide in India

Post-2014 India has witnessed a steady erosion of democratic safeguards. After the 2008 Mumbai attacks, senior officials resigned over security lapses. No such accountability followed Pulwama. None has followed Pahalgam. Instead, we see media blackouts, journalists cut off mid-broadcast, survivors sidelined by patriotic music and war-mongering panels.


This is not just poor governance—it is a deliberate suppression of scrutiny. When children ask why such an attack could occur near an army base and receive no honest answer, it signals something broken in the democratic fabric.


There is also an international dimension. Framing Kashmir as a battleground of cross-border terrorism helps India posture globally as a victim rather than an occupying power. It rallies diplomatic support, justifies military escalations, and delegitimises Kashmiri resistance. It shifts the global conversation away from constitutional violations, human rights concerns and democratic decay.


But the ethical cost is profound. When states manipulate tragedy for tactical gain, they desecrate the very notion of public security. They weaponise victimhood and discard citizens as collateral damage. In such a landscape, even the most basic norms—like the Geneva Conventions’ prohibition against targeting civilians—are rendered meaningless.


Enforcing Internal Legitimacy

There is a strategic logic behind this, of course. Political theorists from Chalmers Johnson to Barry Buzan have noted how regimes under pressure often resort to external enemies and hyper-securitisation to shore up internal legitimacy. In today’s India, where inflation bites, unemployment soars, and rural despair grows, every “incident” becomes an opportunity to deflect.


Look at the pattern: Amarnath (2017), Sunjuwan (2018), Pulwama (2019), Poonch-Rajouri (2023), Reasi (2024), and now Pahalgam. The script rarely changes. The perpetrators may differ in identity and location, but the outcomes remain eerily consistent—public grief, state impunity and political profit.


We are left with a critical question—not just who committed these acts, but who consistently gains from them?


Until India confronts that question with honesty, Kashmir will remain trapped in a cycle of bloodshed and blame, its people pawn in a larger political theatre. And as Hannah Arendt warned, the real danger lies not in dramatic tyranny, but in the normalisation of cruelty—the quiet consent to evil wrapped in flags, anthems and prime-time spectacles.


(Mehr un Nisa is head of the Research and Human Rights Department at the Islamabad-based Kashmir Institute of International Relations (KIIR).
Email: mehr_dua@yahoo.com)

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