Umair Ashraf:
In the shadow of the Himalayas, where snow-capped peaks whisper tales of timeless beauty, a darker story unfolds—one that doesn’t make it to postcards or travel brochures. Kashmir, a land long torn by conflict, has become a battlefield not just for soldiers, but for the tender minds of its children. The recent massacre in Pahalgam on April 22, 2025, where 27 lives were snuffed out by unidentified terrorists, is yet another scar on a region already bleeding from decades of violence. But while the world watches India and Pakistan trade diplomatic blows—India cutting river waters, Pakistan blocking air routes—no one stops to hear the silent screams of a 7-year-old Kashmiri child. What does this endless war sound like to them? It’s not just a clash of nations; it’s a war on their innocence, a war on their neurons, a war on their right to grow up free from fear.
The children of Kashmir are not just collateral damage in a geopolitical chess game—they are the frontline of a psychological warzone. Each gunshot, each headline, each furious shout from a parent watching the news over dinner plants seeds of trauma deep in their developing minds. Neuroscience tells us that a child’s brain absorbs emotional data like a sponge, far more than logical reasoning. When a father curses a neighboring country, his voice trembling with rage, his child doesn’t hear politics—they feel fear, anger, and mistrust. These emotions, repeated night after night, become the bricks of a mental wall, one that traps them in a prison of conditioned agony. These children are not learning to think critically; they are being taught who to hate, and the weight of that lesson is crushing their spirits.
The media, too, is a weapon in this invisible war, firing bullets of words that pierce deeper than any blade. In India, primetime news channels turn tragedy into a shouting match, quick to paint the entire Kashmiri population as either sympathizers or scapegoats of terrorism. Hashtags like #KashmirBurns flood social media, accompanied by slurs and slogans that echo in the ears of a Kashmiri teenager scrolling through their phone. This isn’t news—it’s a daily assault on their identity, a digital explosion of hate that leaves them feeling like strangers in their own country. Across the border in Pakistan, the same child’s image is twisted into a symbol of victimhood, a rallying cry for resistance that fuels more anger, more division. In both nations, Kashmiri children are not understood—they are used, their pain weaponized to stoke nationalist fervor. They grow up caught between two flags, neither of which offers them safety or solace.
The toll of this psychological warfare is devastating. Prolonged exposure to violence—border firings, loss, and the constant hum of fear—etches deep scars into their minds. These children are not just surviving a conflict; they are being rewired by it. Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), nightmares, and crippling anxiety are their unwelcome companions. Their bodies bear the burden too—headaches, stomachaches, and chronic stress manifest as physical echoes of their emotional pain. Some, unable to cope, turn to substance abuse, seeking escape from a reality that feels like a minefield of hate. They struggle to connect with others, their trust eroded by years of isolation and fear. In the classroom, their minds wander, unable to focus, their academic dreams slipping through their fingers. This isn’t just a childhood lost—it’s a generation at risk, shaped by trauma they never chose.
Beyond the borders and ceasefire lines, the real battleground is the mind, and it’s a fight we’re losing. We’re raising a generation taught that peace is weakness, that hate is strength, and that coexistence is betrayal. In Kashmir, early trauma breeds emotional numbness and identity confusion. Outside the region, Kashmiri students face discrimination, beatings, and social exclusion—acts that poison the very idea of national pride. If India and Pakistan truly seek power, it won’t come through controlling rivers or airspace. It will come through saving the minds of their future generations. Mental health must become a national priority, a cause as urgent as any military defense. Kashmir’s children deserve more than flags and funerals—they deserve freedom from fear, from hate, from this inherited war.
The time for change is now. We must end the relentless feed of violent media and hate-driven narratives that fuel this cycle of trauma. Kashmir’s children are not pawns in a political game; they are the heartbeat of a region yearning for peace. Let’s give them a chance to grow up with hope in their hearts, not fear in their eyes. They deserve a future where their dreams, not their nightmares, take flight.
(Umair Ashraf, a Master’s in Psychology and an independent scholar in molecular neuroscience, is a passionate advocate for mental health. He can be reached at Umairvani07@gmail.com.)
