1st September 2025, on Syed Ali Shah Geelani’s fourth death anniversary, Kashmir has spoken in silence. No protests. No shutdowns. No stone pelting. No violence. Just normal life, schools, shops, and markets open, public transport bustling, and people going about their daily routines. This silence is historic, a stark departure from the decades of unrest that once defined the Valley in response to Geelani’s calls for strikes and resistance. Where are those who once congratulated Kashmiris for paralyzing their own homeland with shutdowns? Where are the voices that glorified chaos as “resistance”? They are silent because their script has ended. The absence of disruption is not emptiness—it is clarity, a resounding rejection of separatist politics that long held Kashmir hostage.
For years, separatist leaders, wielding Geelani’s image as their banner, built wealth and power while ordinary Kashmiris paid the price in blood, lost opportunities, and shattered dreams. Geelani, a towering figure in the Kashmiri separatist movement, was portrayed as the unyielding champion of “azadi” (freedom), advocating for Kashmir’s merger with Pakistan. Yet, his own words tell a different story, revealing contradictions that unravel the myth of his movement. He described Pakistan’s role as merely “moral, political, diplomatic,” insisted Kashmiris were not enemies of Indians, and dismissed Indo-Pak talks as delaying tactics. Despite these nuanced statements, separatists twisted his image into a permanent tool of unrest, weaponizing his name to fuel a cycle of strikes, violence, and boycotts that suffocated the Valley’s economy and future.
Geelani’s legacy is a paradox, a blend of ideological conviction and strategic manipulation. Born in 1929 in Zurimanz, in the Aloosa tehsil, in the Bandipora district of North Kashmir to a poor family, he rose from a schoolteacher to a three-time MLA from Sopore, serving over 18 years under India’s Constitution—a system he later urged Kashmiris to reject. He thrived in Indian democracy, winning elections in 1972, 1977, and 1987, taking oaths of allegiance to the very Constitution he denounced as a betrayal of Kashmiri aspirations. This double standard—participation for leaders, boycott for the masses—became a hallmark of his movement. While he called for election boycotts, recent polls in Kashmir saw a 65% voter turnout, the highest in 25 years, signaling a growing embrace of democratic processes over separatist rhetoric. His calls for hartals (strikes) crippled livelihoods, shuttering schools and businesses, yet his own family enjoyed privileges—sons trained as doctors, daughters employed abroad, and grandchildren educated in elite Indian schools. This hypocrisy fueled accusations that Geelani and his allies demanded sacrifices from ordinary Kashmiris while securing personal comfort.
By 2020, Geelani himself exposed the rot within his own camp. In a dramatic resignation from the All Parties Hurriyat Conference (APHC), he accused its leaders of corruption, nepotism, and misusing his name for personal gain. The architect of the separatist movement had lost faith in the very “struggle” he had built, revealing its fragility and opportunism. If Geelani himself acknowledged the betrayal within his ranks, what does that say about the so-called fight for “azadi”? It lays bare a harsh truth: the movement was less about liberation and more about control, with separatist leaders acting as brokers of instability, exploiting Pakistan’s support to serve their own interests while ordinary Kashmiris bore the cost.
The narrative of “resistance” peddled by separatists was, in reality, manipulation. Pakistan’s role in Kashmir, far from being merely diplomatic, has been linked to funding militancy, with allegations of Geelani receiving Rs 700,000 monthly from Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) via his cousin Ghulam Nabi Fai, a US-based lobbyist convicted in 2011. The National Investigation Agency (NIA) probed Geelani for terror funding, fining him Rs 14.4 lakh for foreign exchange violations. His politics, tied to Jamaat-e-Islami and later the APHC, were accused of radicalizing youth and fueling violence that claimed over 100,000 lives, including the 1990 Kashmiri Pandit exodus. Critics like Omar Abdullah argue that Geelani’s calls for militancy and strikes led to economic stagnation and eroded the Valley’s pluralistic Sufi traditions, replacing them with a rigid Islamist ideology that stifled dissent and women’s rights.
The stories of ordinary Kashmiris reflect the human toll of this manipulation. Javiad from Central Kashmir recalls the “dark days” of hartals, when he walked from Budgam to Srinagar to buy baby food for his son during a Geelani-led shutdown. “Why should I remember him on his death anniversary?” Javiad asks, his voice heavy with resentment. “Those strikes only brought suffering.” Sara Begum from Ganderbal shares a more personal tragedy: her only son, a master’s student at Kashmir University, lost his eyesight to a pellet gun during protests incited by separatist calls. “Geelani is a villain to me,” she says, her grief underscoring the thousands of young lives sacrificed for a cause that enriched its leaders while leaving families broken. A person from Kulgam offers a scathing assessment: “Geelani was not a leader who followed the common masses’ opinion. He supplanted Hurriyat for his own personality, then tired of Jamaat-e-Islami to cement his own legacy.” These voices reveal a growing disillusionment, a recognition that Geelani’s movement prioritized his image over the people’s welfare.
The silence on 1 September 2025 is not just an absence of protest—it is a powerful statement. Kashmiris have chosen peace, education, and livelihoods over the chaos of separatism. Schools are open, markets are thriving, and the Valley is witnessing development—new infrastructure, booming tourism, and economic opportunities—that contrast sharply with the “dead ends” of Geelani’s era. This shift is not imposed by India, as some pro-Geelani voices claim, but embraced by a population weary of being pawns in a geopolitical game. Pakistan’s failure to script Kashmir’s destiny is evident in this quiet rejection of its proxies. The high voter turnout, the bustling streets, and the absence of violence signal a new chapter, one where Kashmiris are reclaiming their agency from the grip of separatist politics.
Geelani’s political legacy is a study in contradictions. To his supporters, he remains a “torchbearer” of resistance, honored with Pakistan’s Nishan-e-Pakistan in 2020 and eulogized on his 2025 anniversary by leaders like Asif Ali Zardari and Ishaq Dar, who praised his “unwavering resoluteness.” Rallies in Muzaffarabad and conferences in Islamabad hailed him as “Quaid-e-Kashmir,” crediting him with globalizing the Kashmir cause. His autobiography, *Wular Kinaray*, and fiery speeches during the 2008–2016 uprisings inspired generations, with slogans like “Na Jhukne Wala Geelani” (The Unbending Geelani) becoming war cries. Yet, this narrative crumbles under scrutiny. His own resignation from APHC exposed the movement’s internal corruption, and his family’s disassociation—most notably granddaughter Ruwa Shah’s 2024 pledge of loyalty to India—underscores the cracks in his ideology. Even his personal physician, Kashmiri Pandit Dr. Sameer Kaul, described him as “humble” yet “incorruptible,” a complex figure whose convictions were exploited by others.
Geelani’s legacy is further tainted by his manipulation of institutions he once embraced. His tenure as an MLA, enjoying state pensions and facilities, contrasts sharply with his calls for boycotts that disrupted education and commerce. His founding of Tehreek-e-Hurriyat and leadership of APHC’s hardline faction entrenched a politics of confrontation, yet he distanced himself from the very organizations he built when their flaws became undeniable. The Kulgam resident’s critique—that he sidelined Hurriyat and Jamaat-e-Islami for personal glory—reflects a broader sentiment that Geelani’s leadership was less about collective will and more about his own cult of personality.
The truth is undeniable: Pakistan and its separatist proxies exploited Kashmir for decades, using Geelani’s image to perpetuate instability while offering nothing tangible in return. The “azadi” they promised was a mirage, a tool to control rather than liberate. The 2025 anniversary proves it—Kashmiris are choosing life over lies, progress over protest. This is not India imposing peace; it is Kashmiris embracing it, reclaiming their future from the shadows of a failed movement. Let the world take note: separatism thrived on manipulation, but Kashmir’s silence is its victory, a testament to a people who have seen through the deception and chosen a path of clarity and hope.
