I. Ahmad Wani
In the rugged hills of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK), also known as Azad Jammu and Kashmir (AJK), the echoes of desperation grow louder even as the Pakistani state tightens its chokehold. As of June 6, 2026, the region stands on the brink of a major confrontation. The Joint Awami Action Committee (JAAC or JKJAAC), the primary platform voicing the grievances of ordinary residents, has been banned under the Anti-Terrorism Act 2014. Internet and mobile services remain suspended across key districts, security forces including Rangers and reinforcements from Punjab patrol the streets, and reports confirm at least one civilian death—Sha Zaib Habib in Rawalakot—with funerals held amid restrictions. A region-wide shutter-down and wheel-jam strike is called for June 9, yet the Pakistani establishment responds not with dialogue but with proscription, blackouts, and bayonets.
This is not an isolated incident but the latest chapter in Pakistan’s decades-long colonial project in the territories it illegally occupies. The people of PoK—our Kashmiri brethren—demand basic rights: affordable electricity, subsidized flour, an end to elite privileges, quality healthcare, education, and genuine local governance. Instead, they receive batons, bullets, and bans. The JAAC, a broad civil society alliance of students, traders, professionals, and citizens, had organized peaceful protests. Far from addressing root causes, the AJK government, acting as a proxy for Islamabad, has labeled this legitimate dissent as “terrorism” and “mob rule.” AJK’s Prime Minister Faisal Mumtaz Rathore and the Home Department notification explicitly accuse the JAAC of creating insecurity, promoting hatred, and threatening public peace.
The communications blackout is deliberate and draconian. Mobile, internet, and landline services have been curtailed to prevent coordination and to hide the scale of repression from the world. Similar tactics were employed in previous waves of protests in 2024 and 2025. History repeats: promises are made, partially fulfilled on paper, then broken, leading to renewed unrest. Today, with talks having failed, the June 9 strike looms, and a travel advisory urges tourists to leave until June 20. The message from Rawalpindi and Islamabad is clear—your voices will be silenced before they reach Muzaffarabad’s streets.
Pakistan’s response to peaceful demands has repeatedly turned deadly. In the 2024 protests, four people died and over 100 were injured after clashes in Muzaffarabad and other areas, with paramilitary Rangers opening fire. One police officer was killed, and civilians suffered gunshot wounds. In October 2025, protests escalated dramatically: at least 8 to 10 people were killed (including civilians and police), with hundreds injured over several days of clashes. Reports detailed three policemen and multiple civilians martyred in Muzaffarabad, with direct firing, tear gas, and baton charges. Neelum Bridge turned into a battleground. Similar patterns of raids, arrests, live firing, and injuries to leaders like Umar Nizar continue today. These are not aberrations but a pattern of suppressing the ordinary Kashmiri’s cry for dignity.
What makes this tragedy profound is the structural disenfranchisement. PoK exists in a constitutional limbo under Pakistani control. Its so-called “Interim Constitution” and assembly (53 seats, with reserved slots for “refugees” settled in Pakistan) ensure that real power remains with Islamabad. The 12 reserved seats in the AJK Assembly for diaspora refugees have long been a point of contention—protesters demand their abolition as they favor outsiders over locals. Local leaders and citizens feel reduced to second-class status in their own land, subsidizing Pakistan’s elite while facing inflation, power shortages, and neglect. The JAAC’s demands reflect this accumulated frustration: no more special perks for bureaucrats and politicians, restoration of student unions, and an end to the exploitation that treats PoK as a buffer zone rather than a homeland.
Pakistan’s response—banning a civil society body, deploying extra forces, and imposing blackouts—exposes the hollowness of its “Azad” (free) Kashmir claim. This is not freedom; it is subjugation. While Pakistani officials blame “external forces” (a familiar refrain pointing towards India), the grievances are undeniably domestic—economic hardship, governance failures, and denial of democratic rights. The people are protesting not for accession to India but for dignity within the system they are trapped in. Yet even peaceful demands are crushed, revealing Pakistan’s intolerance for dissent in its occupied territories.
Contrast this brutal reality with the democratic ethos across the Line of Control in India’s Jammu and Kashmir. In a landmark constitutional and moral gesture, the Jammu and Kashmir Legislative Assembly maintains 24 seats reserved specifically for representatives from Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoJK/PoK). These seats, rooted in the original J&K Constitution of 1956 (originally 25, later amended to 24 under Section 48), remain vacant. They symbolize India’s unwavering claim that PoK is an integral part of the nation and keep the door open for its people when the time comes.
The framework post the Jammu and Kashmir Reorganisation Act, 2019, provides for a total of 114 seats on paper (sometimes referenced up to 119 with nominations). This includes 90 elected seats in Indian-administered areas (43 in Jammu Division, 47 in Kashmir Division, with reservations for SC and ST), plus the 24 reserved for PoJK, which are excluded from quorum, voting majorities, government formation, or day-to-day functioning. Delimitation exercises, including recent ones, have left these 24 seats untouched. Additional nominated seats (up to 5 by the Lieutenant Governor for Kashmiri migrants and displaced persons) further underscore inclusive intent. Section 14(4) of the Reorganisation Act explicitly retains these vacant seats until the occupied areas are liberated.
The Question of Silence
Yet, tragically, these reserved seats sit empty—not just physically but in spirit. There is no elected voice from PoK in the J&K Assembly to raise these atrocities in legislative debates, question the central or elected government on diplomatic responses, or amplify the suffering of civilians facing Pakistani repression. No representative stands up to protest the killings in Rawalakot, the blackouts, the banning of peaceful platforms, or the systematic denial of rights. In a vibrant democracy like India’s, where even the smallest voices find echo in assemblies and Parliament, the absence of PoK representation means our Kashmiri kin’s cries go unrepresented in the very forum that symbolically awaits them.
This silence from the elected government in J&K is puzzling and concerning. With 24 seats constitutionally reserved as a beacon of hope and sovereignty, why does the Assembly not convene special sessions, pass resolutions condemning Pakistani atrocities, or use the platform to extend solidarity? Political parties, civil society, and elected members in Srinagar and Jammu must address this vacuum—through resolutions, delegations, or inviting PoK activists for hearings. The people of PoK deserve to know that Jammu and Kashmir has not forgotten them; their pain echoes in our valleys. Symbolism must translate into action. The moral void of those empty seats demands filling with resolve.
The broader geopolitical context deepens the irony. Pakistan, which projects itself as the champion of Kashmiri self-determination internationally, denies the same to those under its boot. It diverts resources to sponsor terrorism across the border while its own administered areas burn with discontent. Reports of heavy troop movements, including from Punjab, and restrictions on movement reveal a state more concerned with control than welfare. Past agreements with JAAC have collapsed, breeding cynicism. The current ban and crackdown risk pushing moderate voices towards radicalization or deeper alienation. International human rights bodies and media have noted similar patterns before—deaths in custody or clashes, followed by blackouts that obscure truth. The world must not look away.
For us in the Kashmir Valley, this is personal. We have lived through decades of conflict, propaganda, and fear, only to witness post-2019 revival—normal Eid celebrations, booming tourism, declining militancy, and evolving the grassroot democracy. Our younger generation breathes freer, unburdened by the daily dread that once defined life. Yet across the LoC, the cycle continues: fear, suppression, and unfulfilled promises. The ordinary Kashmiri in PoK, much like the protagonist in reflective narratives of obedience manufactured by propaganda and waiting for external saviors, now stirs in awakening. Their protests are a mirror—highlighting what genuine integration and development can achieve versus colonial exploitation.
India’s position remains principled. We maintain the constitutional framework for PoK’s eventual return, with reserved seats as a beacon. But symbolism alone is insufficient. Stronger diplomatic outreach, consistent highlighting of human rights abuses in global forums, support for PoK voices in exile, and robust internal discourse in our assembly are needed. Elected representatives must fill the moral void of those empty seats by vociferously protesting Pakistani actions—tabling motions and ensuring the narrative of oppression reaches Parliament in Delhi.
The iron fist in PoK will not crush the human spirit indefinitely. History teaches that suppressed voices eventually resurface stronger. On June 9 and beyond, as PoK faces its test, let India’s J&K Assembly not remain silent. Fill those 24 seats with resolve—protest the atrocities, amplify the cries, and reaffirm that the complete Kashmir, free from occupation and oppression, remains our shared destiny. Only then can the wounds of division heal and the common Kashmiri, on both sides, embrace a future of self-reliance, justice, and prosperity.
