Zahid Zahoor
In the modern theatre of Indian democracy, the boundaries between morality and manipulation are becoming increasingly blurred. The disturbing trend of political opportunism is no longer a whispered concern; it is now an undeniable reality. Today, power is not earned through service, sacrifice, or vision — it is grabbed by those willing to trade their conscience for convenience. The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), which once stood for ideology and nationalist principles, has now become a refuge for individuals with stained pasts, criminal allegations, and records of harassment or corruption. Instead of being scrutinized, they are offered garlands, party flags, and front-row seats at political rallies.
The BJP, under the veil of nationalism, has effectively provided a clean slate to people who should be answering in courtrooms, not campaigning in constituencies. Their sins are not cleansed but cleverly hidden — not erased, but rebranded. The moment one joins the ruling party, the history of wrongdoing is buried beneath layers of manufactured respectability. With the media tamed and opposition weakened, political rehabilitation is as easy as switching sides. The very platform meant to serve the people becomes a fortress of protection for the tainted.
But this crisis is not just institutional — it’s deeply psychological, especially in regions like Jammu and Kashmir. Here, the betrayal stings sharper because it comes not only from the Centre but from within. The manipulation doesn’t end at rewarding the corrupt; it stretches to distorting communities and dividing voices — especially among Muslims.
There was a time — not a distant memory — when Muslims within various political frameworks stood up for justice and dignity. Even within the BJP, there were voices that questioned, debated, and resisted. The older generation remembered sacrifices. They knew the cost of freedom. They believed in truth over propaganda. That torch, though flickering, still burns in the hearts of some of today’s youth. But increasingly, this legacy is being targeted with an insidious strategy: divide to discredit.
This strategy does not rely on brute force. It relies on confusion, contradiction, and co-optation. Muslim leaders are no longer silenced — they are played against one another. If one speaks about justice, another counters it in public. The state then watches with satisfaction as internal conflict replaces united dissent. This psychological warfare allows the ruling power to claim neutrality while systematically dismantling the very idea of Muslim political unity.
The strategy played out in its most tragic form on 13th July — Kashmir’s Martyrs’ Day. This date is sacred to every Kashmiri, commemorating the martyrs of 1931 who rose against the tyrannical Dogra regime. It’s not just a date — it is a deeply emotional symbol, passed from generation to generation as a reminder of courage and resistance. But on this solemn day, a disturbing betrayal unfolded. Some local political workers, perhaps in a desperate bid for relevance, denied the very essence of this history. In public interviews, they declared that those who died on July 13 were “not martyrs” — parroting the BJP’s longstanding effort to rewrite Kashmir’s historical narrative.
Their statements were not only factually wrong but morally shameful. In attempting to appease Delhi, they stabbed their own history in the back. What they didn’t realize, however, was that such betrayals impress no one. The people of Kashmir felt hurt and humiliated, seeing their past disrespected by their own. And ironically, even the BJP’s inner circles viewed these individuals with suspicion. “If they turn against their own people,” the logic goes, “how can we ever trust their loyalty to us?”
This is the political paradox of Kashmir today. Those who bend over backward to align with Delhi are neither accepted there nor respected at home. Their political capital is neither here nor there. They are reduced to tools — momentarily useful, easily disposable.
The cost of this opportunism is far greater than political embarrassment. It is a corrosion of identity, of memory, of soul. When historical truth is traded for press conferences, and sacrifice is denied for sound bites, a people’s legacy begins to die. Martyrs become myths. Dissent becomes disorder. And betrayal becomes the new currency of power.
Yet all is not lost.
Across Kashmir, there are still people — young and old — who remember. Who read history, who honor memory, who understand that the fight for justice is not about winning favor but about preserving dignity. They don’t appear on primetime debates or trend on social media, but they exist — in classrooms, on streets, in poetry, and in prayer. They carry forward the legacy not through politics, but through conscience.
In the end, the question that looms large is not whether one should be in power — but what one is willing to sacrifice to be there. If it is memory, loyalty, and truth, then power is not a triumph. It is a tragedy.
Because when power is gained at the cost of principles, it leaves behind nothing but a hollow shadow — a name without trust, a face without honor, and a legacy written in betrayal.
About the Author:
The author is a renowned businessman and commentator who frequently writes on the political landscape of Kashmir. Known for his insightful critiques and fearless analysis, his work reflects a deep concern for justice, history, and the socio-political well-being of the Valley.
