I Ahmed Wani:
The debate over restoring statehood to Jammu & Kashmir is heating up, with local parties like the National Conference (NC) and Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) pushing it as the ultimate fix for the region’s troubles. They argue it will heal the wounds left by the 2019 scrapping of Article 370. But this is a risky idea. Full statehood, without checks, could open the door for radical groups to sneak into governance, weaken security, and exploit elections. Instead, J&K needs a balanced system—a mix of elected local leaders and strong central control over critical areas like law, order, and anti-terrorism. This isn’t about curbing democracy; it’s about protecting the region from sliding back into the dark days of militancy.
Since Article 370 was revoked, the Kashmir Valley has seen real change. The Union Home Ministry’s crackdown on terror groups, like the ban on Jamaat-e-Islami (JeI) extended in February 2024, has helped bring peace. JeI, branded an “unlawful association” under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act, was a key player in fueling terrorism, anti-India propaganda, and separatism. Its network, including the Falah-e-Aam Trust (FAT), ran over 215 schools in Kashmir, with 51,000 students and nearly 4,000 staff. These weren’t just schools—they were hubs for radicalizing young minds, pushing separatist ideas under the cover of education.
Recently, on August 23, 2025, the government took over these FAT schools, handing their management to district officials. This followed reports of expired managing committees and intelligence linking them to JeI. Education Minister Sakina Itoo clarified it’s a temporary step—cluster principals will run things until new, clean committees are formed—to safeguard students. But parties like the PDP and Peoples Conference cried foul, calling it an “attack on identity” or “surrender to Delhi.” They conveniently ignored the March 2024 tribunal ruling that upheld JeI’s ban for its ties to terror groups like Hizbul Mujahideen. This shows how local politics often puts ideology over children’s welfare—a problem that full statehood could make worse.
Before 2019, groups like JeI operated freely, feeding instability. The bans have since cut terror funding, reduced infiltrations, and boosted tourism 31,55,835 visitors came in March 2022 and 34,98,702 in 2023 alone. Stone-pelting has dropped, and fewer youths are joining violence. The current Union Territory model, with Delhi handling security, has driven this progress. Full statehood without safeguards would hand power back to local parties chasing votes, who might lift these bans and invite trouble.
The local political scene is messy, driven by vote-bank politics that often cozy up to separatist sympathizers. Take Altaf Bukhari of the Apni Party, once a PDP leader, who tried to get JeI’s ban lifted. Despite his business smarts, he criticizes moves like the FAT school takeover to win votes in areas where JeI has influence. Then there’s PDP’s Mehbooba Mufti, who recently protested the transfer of hardened terrorists, including Lashkar-e-Taiba operatives, from Srinagar jails to safer ones outside the Valley. She called it a “human rights” issue, ignoring the security need to prevent jailbreaks and radicalization, like the 2018 escape of LeT’s Naveed Jatt from Srinagar Central Jail.
Sajad Lone of the Peoples Conference is another example. His father, Abdul Gani Lone, a moderate Hurriyat leader, was killed by Hizbul Mujahideen in 2002. Yet, Sajad now softens his stance on JeI, slamming the school takeover to appeal to its supporters in north Kashmir. Similarly, Imran Ansari, a former PDP minister with strong Shia ties, flirts with separatist rhetoric to boost his vote base. Even Sakina Itoo, whose father and uncle were killed by militants, isn’t immune. Her party, the NC, has faced flak for trying to reinstate sacked employees with terror links, including Hizbul Mujahideen supporters, citing “procedural errors.” These moves, driven by electoral pressures, show how local leaders prioritize votes over security.
It’s especially unfortunate that when Chief Minister Omar Abdullah is pressed on his party’s 2024 election promises—like better roads, jobs, or power supply—he blames the hybrid UT system for tying his hands. Yet, when it suits his comfort or ego, he and his cabinet wield power confidently, acting like untouchable rulers. This hypocrisy echoes an old saying: *“Kumzor muqabil hai toh foulad hai momin, Angrez muqabil ho toh aulaad hai momin”*—meaning, when the opponent is weak, they’re bold as steel, but when faced with a real challenge, they back down. This double standard undermines trust and shows why unchecked statehood is dangerous.
If J&K gets full statehood now, these issues will worsen. Local governments, desperate for votes, might protect terror-linked employees or weaken anti-terror laws. Police and institutions could be infiltrated by JeI sympathizers or Hizbul operatives. The 2018 Srinagar jailbreak, involving terrorists like Zia Mustafa (tied to the 2003 Nadimarg massacre of 24 Kashmiri Pandits), shows the risks of lax control. PDP’s 2025 push to bring these inmates back to Srinagar jails, citing “family access,” is reckless and could spark new militancy.
A hybrid system—elected assembly with Delhi overseeing security—is the answer. It gives locals a say in development while keeping terror groups in check. The Centre’s API service, which monitors threats in real-time with J&K police, proves this can work. Full statehood would let parties like Bukhari’s, Mufti’s, Lone’s, or Ansari’s play vote-bank politics, shielding radicals and undoing peace. It risks bringing back the bloodshed of the 1990s.
In short, rushing into statehood would empower the same old politics that bends to radical lobbies for votes. It could let groups like JeI creep back, weaken institutions, and threaten the Valley’s hard-earned stability. A hybrid system is the way forward—supporting democracy while protecting J&K from chaos. The people deserve a future free from recycled separatism dressed up as autonomy. Let’s choose peace over danger.
