Peerzada Masarat Shah
Democracy pulverizes arrogance without mercy—it bides its time until the electorate delivers the fatal blow. Omar Abdullah’s recent tirade has detonated a firestorm of rage, disillusionment, and political nausea, rippling not only through opposition corridors but corroding the foundations of his own Jammu & Kashmir National Conference (JKNC).
The Assembly confrontation with Syed Bashir Ahmad Veeri wasn’t trivial sparring; it unveiled a malignant affliction in leadership—morphing stewardship into brazen entitlement. When an Honorable MLA articulates authentic grievances from his constituency, the retort must embody duty, not derision. Authority doesn’t bestow the privilege to demean; it amplifies the imperative to heed.
Every MLA is Honorable—for the masses, adversaries, and crucially, their own party comrades. Omar’s venomous critique of Veeri demeaned him as a mere underling, implying that Bijbehara’s voters, who propelled him to victory, are akin to bonded laborers shackled to the JKNC’s whims. This isn’t governance; it’s aristocratic hubris, trampling the democratic ethos that elevated Omar himself.
Dr. Bashir Veeri is no dynastic heir or clandestine pick. As the progeny of a stalwart leader who relentlessly thwarted Mufti Mohammad Sayeed’s bids in Bijbehara—despite the Valley’s master schemers orchestrating against him—Veeri forged his path via relentless grassroots warfare and unyielding public endorsement, dismantling formidable establishments. To belittle him isn’t mere personal affront; it’s an assault on the electorate’s sovereign judgment. In authentic democracy, such conquests command deference, not disdain.
For the JKNC, forged in the crucible of popular uprisings and street-level authenticity, this imperious demeanor is a death knell. Parties don’t disintegrate solely from external assaults; they fracture when loyalists sense degradation, marginalization, or obsolescence. Omar’s snub threatens to splinter his inner circle.
Compounding the peril is the festering narrative of regional disparity. South Kashmir, notably Anantnag, seethes with accusations of political abandonment. Dismiss perceptions at your own risk—they crystallize into unyielding truths. When administration reeks of bias toward insulated voter enclaves, indignation morphs into insurgency.
I spoke to a senior NC worker from Anantnag, a veteran with decades in the trenches, who confided: “It looks like Omar Abdullah and the top leadership are working hard to get back PDP in the 2029 elections. It seems his arrogance is as destructive as it was for Mehbooba Mufti in 2016.” His words cut deep, echoing a sentiment that’s gaining traction: Omar’s hubris mirrors Mehbooba’s fatal overreach a decade ago, which alienated allies and voters alike, paving the way for her party’s electoral annihilation.
History in Jammu & Kashmir is a graveyard of arrogant rulers felled by their own excesses. Recall Sheikh Abdullah’s 1953 ouster—his “Lion of Kashmir” persona, once heroic, devolved into autocratic isolation, culminating in his arrest amid accusations of overcentralized power that ignored regional voices. The 1977 elections saw his National Conference rebound, but only after humility supplanted hubris. Fast-forward to 1987: Farooq Abdullah’s rigged polls bred widespread resentment, birthing militancy that scarred the Valley for generations. His arrogance in manipulating mandates didn’t just cost seats; it ignited a firestorm of unrest.
Mehbooba Mufti’s 2016 tenure offers a stark parallel. Fresh from a coalition with the BJP, her initial confidence curdled into defensiveness. Dismissing protests as “Pakistan-sponsored” and cracking down harshly during the Burhan Wani unrest, she alienated South Kashmir—her own bastion. By 2019, her PDP splintered, reduced to irrelevance in assembly polls. As my Anantnag source noted, Omar seems hell-bent on scripting a similar self-sabotage, ostensibly paving the road for PDP’s revival by 2029 through his own missteps.
Internationally, echoes abound. Winston Churchill warned, “The price of greatness is responsibility,” a maxim Omar might heed—Churchill’s own 1945 electoral rout stemmed from wartime heroism morphing into peacetime aloofness, voters rejecting his perceived arrogance. Nelson Mandela, emerging from apartheid’s chains, embodied humility: “I am not a saint, unless you think of a saint as a sinner who keeps on trying.” Contrast that with Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe, whose early liberation glory decayed into tyrannical conceit, hoarding power until a 2017 coup. As Lord Acton famously quipped, “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely”—a timeless indictment of leaders who mistake mandates for monarchies.
In ancient Rome, Julius Caesar’s hubris—declaring himself dictator for life—invited the Ides of March daggers. Closer to home, Indira Gandhi’s 1975 Emergency, born of paranoid arrogance, led to her 1977 defeat, a voter backlash that reshaped Indian politics. These vignettes aren’t relics; they’re warnings. Arrogance in victory sows defeat’s seeds.
The unpalatable reality: Hubris germinates in triumphs but perishes in ballots. Chronicles brim with potentates who deemed mandates immortal—none endured. Electorates absolve blunders, but debasement? Unforgivable.
Omar’s public flogging of party MLAs like Veeri forges fissures, broadcasting that allegiance is compulsory while esteem is elective. Catastrophic calculus. Foot soldiers aren’t rungs; they’re bedrock. Fracture them, and the fortress crumbles unannounced.
Broadly, this smacks of regal fantasy cloaked in democratic garb. Unassailable dominion courts savage public uprising—history’s judgment is merciless.
Authority is borrowed, not bequeathed. Polls renew the pact with public quill. Disregard it, and the clock winds down.
Contemporary fury transcends a solitary Assembly barb or haughty jest. It’s accrued weariness from figures who harness communal zeal to climb, then haughtily disengage atop the summit.
Leaders, internalize this: Masses mold you—and dismantle you. The ascent scaffold of faith, modesty, and liability? Dismantle it, and the plunge is assured.
Should Omar and his cadre persist in branding dissent as offense and communal agony as ambient hum, the reprisal won’t thunder at onset. It’ll murmur. And muted wrath is deadliest—it vocalizes solely at urns, dooming destinies.
Power devoid of humility isn’t fortitude; it’s the express route to oblivion. In J&K’s volatile arena, where history’s ghosts whisper of fallen titans—from the Dogra Rajas’ 1947 downfall amid ignored pleas for reform to the PDP-BJP alliance’s 2018 collapse under weight of mutual arrogance—Omar must pivot. As Abraham Lincoln intoned, “Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Omar’s test is now; failure invites the electorate’s unmaking.
