How Democracy in J&K Got Reduced to a Signature Drive
Peerzada Masarat Shah
Ah, democracy! That sacred system where the will of the people is expressed through free and fair elections… only to be followed, years later, by leaders begging for signatures like door-to-door salesmen hawking cheap insurance policies.
On this Independence Day, Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister Omar Abdullah stood at Bakshi Stadium, waving not the magic wand of governance, but the humble clipboard of petitioning. His big announcement? A door-to-door signature campaign to demand the restoration of J&K’s Statehood — to be submitted to the Supreme Court.
Wait, didn’t Kashmiris already give their signatures, in ink, on ballots during elections? Didn’t those very ballots create the “mandate” that put leaders in power to act decisively? Well, apparently in this new era, votes are passé. What matters now is the art of chasing autographs like a teenage fan outside a Bollywood set.
Eight Weeks, 90 Segments, One Clipboard Army
The CM proudly declared: “From today, we will use these eight weeks to go door to door in all 90 assembly segments for a signature campaign on the restoration of statehood. If people are not ready to sign the document, I will accept defeat.”
It’s touching, really. Nothing says “we respect your electoral mandate” like asking the same people to re-confirm their opinion, this time without the hassle of an Election Commission. This campaign, we are told, will take “voices from our offices to the doors where decisions are taken.”
And what are those 389 registered NGOs in J&K for? Oh, right — their voices apparently don’t make enough noise unless condensed into neat stacks of paper with hand-scribbles. Because surely, the Supreme Court will say: “Ah yes, these 389 NGOs and millions of votes were fine, but look at this stack of signatures on A4 paper! Now that’s democracy.”
From the Courtroom to the Clipboard
This whole drama began with observations by the Supreme Court during a hearing on the plea for statehood, where the tragic Pahalgam terror attack was referenced. The CM, visibly frustrated, asked: “Will the killers of Pahalgam and their masters in the neighbouring country decide whether we will be a state?” It’s a fair question. But another fair question is: Will a few lakh signatures in a folder decide it either? Or are we watching a political theatre meant more for cameras than courtrooms? History offers sobering lessons here. Take separatist leader Yaseen Malik’s signature campaign in 2002-2003, launched by the JKLF to promote non-violent resistance and gauge Kashmiri opinion on self-determination and independence. It collected thousands of signatures across the region, including 3,000 in one drive alone, but ultimately yielded no tangible results—no independence, no policy shifts, just faded ink in forgotten files.Similarly, earlier this year, Iltija Mufti, daughter of PDP chief Mehbooba Mufti, spearheaded a signature campaign to support a bill for a complete ban on liquor in J&K, amid rising concerns over alcohol’s impact on society. The drive garnered widespread attention and signatures, leading to multiple bills being introduced in the assembly, but the effort fizzled out without implementation—the government continued auctioning liquor vends and even launched bids for over 300 new shops, leaving the ban as little more than a political talking point.
The CM is right that the people of J&K are being punished for crimes they didn’t commit. But if you already hold a popular mandate, shouldn’t you be wielding it to negotiate hard in Delhi, not knocking on doors like a courier boy delivering the same grievance slip to every household?
The Irony of ‘People Power’
The absurdity here is breathtaking. In the same breath, leaders lament that Kashmiris are ignored despite their votes… and then they turn around and seek another “proof of consent” in the form of a petition.
Imagine this logic applied elsewhere:
A surgeon performs a life-saving operation, but just to confirm, let’s run a signature drive among the patient’s family to approve it retroactively.
A teacher grades an exam, but before finalizing, let’s collect autographs from the class to validate the marks.
A chef cooks a meal, but hold on, we need a petition signed by diners to prove it was edible.
Why Not Use the Mandate?
The CM says he will “accept defeat” if people refuse to sign. But isn’t the true defeat already visible when a leader who holds elected power feels compelled to validate himself with petitions? If the government itself believes that its own people’s votes aren’t enough leverage in the national conversation, what message does that send?
There’s also the silent insult to the democratic process — the subtle suggestion that an electoral mandate is somehow incomplete without a follow-up stationery exercise. It’s as if governance has been replaced with crowd-sourced paperwork.
The NGO Factor
Let’s not forget, Jammu and Kashmir has 389 registered NGOs. Many of these organizations have been advocating for people’s rights for years. If collective voices mattered, these NGOs would already form a formidable moral and political front. But perhaps in the age of hashtags and trending campaigns, nothing says “serious political demand” quite like filling registers with ink, as seen in past flops like Malik’s independence push or Iltija Mufti’s anti-liquor drive, both of which promised change but delivered only headlines.
What happens next? Maybe we’ll see “Signature Camps” at wedding halls, cricket matches, and roadside tea stalls. “Sign here for statehood” might soon replace “like, share, and subscribe” as the catchphrase of our times.
Punished Twice:
The people of Kashmir are already punished once, by being denied statehood despite promises. This campaign feels like the second punishment: forcing them to re-affirm a choice they made long ago at the ballot box. The CM himself rightly points out the injustice of holding citizens responsible for the Pahalgam attack. Yet here we are, watching leaders ask these very citizens to “prove” again that they deserve the political dignity they’ve already voted for.
Final Thought: From Governance to Gimmicks
It’s hard to shake the feeling that this campaign is less about convincing the Supreme Court and more about performing conviction in front of the public. The tragedy is that the people of J&K don’t need another campaign, they need a government that treats their votes as binding, not as a suggestion.
Until that happens, expect more photo-ops with clipboards, more door-to-door appeals for what was already promised, and more political speeches framing petitions as revolutions.
After all, in today’s political theatre, the humble signature has replaced the ballot as the ultimate symbol of democracy.
And perhaps, in some dusty government archive years from now, those stacks of signed papers will sit as a monument — not to people’s power, but to the absurdity of asking a question whose answer was already given loud and clear: “We voted. What more do you want — a blood sample?”
Is a Vote Less Valuable Than a Signature?
In the evolving landscape of J&K politics, one can’t help but question if a vote—cast in secrecy, under the auspices of the Election Commission, and carrying the weight of constitutional authority—has somehow become less valuable than a casual signature scribbled on a petition sheet. Votes represent a deliberate, often hard-fought choice in a democratic framework, embodying collective will and granting leaders the legitimacy to govern and advocate. Signatures, while symbolic, lack the same rigor: they can be collected under duress, in haste, or amid public pressure, without verification or equal representation. Yet, when elected officials resort to them as a “higher” form of validation, it undermines the ballot’s sanctity, suggesting that democracy’s core tool is insufficient without supplementary theatrics. This inversion not only erodes trust in electoral processes but also risks turning governance into performative activism, where ink on paper overshadows the power of the people’s mandate.
