The Budgam By-Election and Kashmir’s Action Gap
I Ahmed Wani
When I was a student, I was taught that “man is a social animal,” a fancy way of saying humans love to connect, share, and live together. It made sense back then—people helping each other, building communities. But now, at 48, living in the Kashmir Valley, I’ve come to see us differently. We’re not just social; we’re political animals. We talk endlessly about politics, flood social media with opinions, and get worked up over every issue. Yet, when it’s time to act—vote with purpose or hold leaders accountable—we often sit back, leaving things to fate or “God’s will.”
This gap between our loud talk and quiet action is playing out in the Budgam by-election, set for November 11, 2025. Budgam, a Shia-majority area in central Kashmir, became a hot topic after Chief Minister Omar Abdullah gave up this seat last October. He had won it in the 2024 assembly elections, beating PDP’s Aga Syed Muntazir Mehdi by over 18,000 votes, but chose to keep his family stronghold of Ganderbal instead. Now, as parties gear up for the by-poll, it’s not just about who wins—it’s a test of whether Kashmiris can move beyond words to make a real difference.
Take Aga Syed Ruhullah Mehdi, the Srinagar MP and a big name in Budgam, where his family holds both religious and political sway. Ruhullah is a star on social media, often called a “Facebook warrior.” His posts on X and Facebook stir up excitement, especially among young people who grew up during the tough years of 2008-2019. They love his bold talk against the scrapping of Article 370 and his jabs at the central government. He’s been openly critical of Omar Abdullah’s National Conference (JKNC) for what he calls a “soft” approach—not pushing hard enough for things like statehood or freeing political prisoners. His fans, especially the youth, cheer him on, sharing his posts, debating in WhatsApp groups, and even joining his protests.
But when it comes to action, Ruhullah pulls back. Just yesterday, October 14, 2025, he made headlines by saying he won’t campaign for JKNC’s candidate in Budgam—whose name hasn’t even been announced yet. “Last year, I campaigned promising we’d fulfill people’s hopes,” he said. “But the party hasn’t kept a single promise. How can I face the voters now?” Strong words, but notice what he didn’t do: he didn’t quit JKNC, didn’t back another candidate, and didn’t rally his supporters to shake things up. Instead, he said he’ll vote, showing he believes in democracy, but won’t campaign. It feels like a careful move—making a fuss without burning bridges. Some say he’s playing smart, maybe trying to push JKNC to pick a candidate he likes, someone who’ll focus on Budgam’s problems like bad roads, power cuts, or jobless youth. If he gets his way, the drama might fizzle out; if not, he’ll likely turn up the heat.
This isn’t just about Ruhullah—it’s how politics works in the Valley. We love the noise of debate. We post, argue, and protest online, but when it’s time to vote or demand real change, many of us hesitate. Ruhullah knows his young supporters will back him on social media or join small marches, but for votes, he needs JKNC’s loyal voters—the same ones who helped the party win 42 seats in 2024. Why risk losing them by breaking away? It’s a clever game: look like a rebel without actually rebelling.
There’s an old saying by Abraham Lincoln: “You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” In Kashmir, it feels like we’re okay with being fooled, at least for a while. Look at JKNC’s 2024 election campaign. They came out with a big manifesto, promising everything—bringing back Article 370, restoring statehood, scrapping harsh laws, creating one lakh jobs, even talking to Pakistan about Kashmir. It was a grand show, and they spread the word well, getting enough voters—about 24-25%—to back them. That was enough to win 49 out of 90 seats and form the government. Omar Abdullah was back as chief minister, and everyone celebrated.
But a year later, that manifesto looks like a shiny wrapper with nothing inside—a “lollipop,” as we’d say. Promises of statehood? Stuck. Jobs? Barely any progress, with the Lieutenant Governor holding the reins. Political prisoners? Most are still behind bars. The young voters who showed up in 2024, ignoring pressure calls, now feel let down. They scroll through social media, grumbling about broken promises. In Budgam, where people struggle with poor infrastructure and unemployment, this by-election is a chance to show their frustration. Will they vote against JKNC, or stick with what’s familiar?
Things are different now compared to the past. Back in 2002-2008, leaders like Mufti Mohammad Sayeed and Ghulam Nabi Azad knew how to win elections. They’d hold lively rallies with folk songs and promises, and sometimes hand out benefits like funds or projects to win hearts. It was like a big show—part music, part charity. But today, that’s tough. The police don’t answer to the chief minister anymore; they’re under the Union Territory’s control. Handing out cash or favors? The Election Commission is watching closely, with 173 polling stations in Budgam set up with cameras, ramps, and water to keep things fair. This opens the door for others—PDP’s Muntazir Mehdi, who carries his family’s separatist legacy, could tap into anti-JKNC anger. AIP’s Nazir Ahmad Khan might pull in young voters looking for something new. Even independents or smaller parties like Apni Party have a shot.
So, who’ll win Budgam? JKNC has the experience—a strong network built over years and a loyal voter base. But they’re short on tricks this time. Ruhullah’s refusal to campaign could split their votes, especially among Shias. Omar’s “soft” approach makes him look weak to some, and the empty promises of 2024 aren’t helping. The BJP, focused on seats like Nagrota, isn’t a big player here, but PDP and AIP are ready to pounce.
Still, the real issue isn’t just the parties—it’s us, the people of the Valley. We’re quick to rant online, share memes, and call out leaders, but when it’s time to act, we often back off. We vote for the same old names or don’t vote at all, hoping things will sort themselves out. This by-election is a chance to change that. It’s not just about picking a winner; it’s about whether we can stop being just talkers and start being doers. Ruhullah’s half-step—making noise but not breaking away—shows the problem: lots of drama, little substance.
At 48, I’ve seen this cycle too many times—big promises, big letdowns. But there’s still a spark of hope. Budgam could be where we say “enough” to empty talk and demand real results. If young voters turn their online anger into votes, if they back someone who’ll actually deliver, we might move beyond being political animals who just roar. We could become people who act, who shape our future. Until then, we’ll keep posting, praying, and waiting—for God, or maybe the Election Commission, to decide our fate.
