Jammu and Kashmir: the death of a cause

Praveen Swami
The Hindu, 31 January

Mirwaiz Umar Farooq has candidly acknowledged that the Islamist rebellion of 1989 has failed. The APHC chairman should now join in an inclusive, multi-party dialogue to marginalise terrorism.

MIRWAIZ MOHAMMAD Farooq's body lies in the Bihisht-e-Shauda-e-Kashmir in Srinagar, a sprawling graveyard built to honour those who have given their lives during the Islamist campaign against Indian rule that began in 1989. His assassin, the Hizbul-Mujahideen-linked terrorist Abdullah Bangroo, is buried just a few metres away. Both the murderer and his victim, to the faithful, are martyrs: martyrs, moreover, for the same cause.

If the presence of Bangroo's grave in the Bihisht-e-Shauda — Persian for martyr's paradise — gives offence to Mohammad Farooq's son, the All Parties Hurriyat Conference chairperson Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, he has never shown it in public. Mirwaiz Farooq's authority owes not a little to his status as a spokesperson for the cause of his father's jihadist opponents, an ugly irony that has often drawn taunts from his opponents.

Now, however, the Srinagar cleric has finally spoken out. Addressing a January 20 dinner meeting hosted by Pakistan-administered Kashmir Prime Minister Sardar Attique Ahmad Khan, Mirwaiz Umar Farooq finally delivered the unequivocal rejection of violence that peace advocates have long called for — and, unnoticed by most commentators, a candid admission that the Islamist rebellion of 1989 had failed.

"We have already seen the results of our fight on the political, diplomatic and military fronts," the cleric said, "which have not achieved anything other than creating more graveyards." While he understood the sentiments of those engaged in the armed struggle, the Mirwaiz said, "as far as the APHC is concerned, we are not prepared to sacrifice any more of our loved ones."

Mirwaiz Farooq's remarks came hours after he met Pakistan's President Pervez Musharraf, as part of a dialogue process that is dramatically transfiguring Jammu and Kashmir's political landscape. General Musharraf had turned to the APHC for the legitimisation of a four-point plan his opponents have bitterly criticised — a plan that in essence involves accepting existing borders, in return for wide-ranging autonomy for both parts of Jammu and Kashmir, free transnational movement, and phased demilitarisation.

At first glance, Mirwaiz Farooq's remarks seem startling. Only in May, after all, the APHC chairman had called for the "political, diplomatic and military fronts" of the "Kashmiri resistance" to work "in unison" against Indian "occupation." In reality, however, the APHC chairman's call for an end to the jihad in Jammu and Kashmir merely reflects the centre-ground among secessionists. As early as 1997, Jammu and Kashmir Jamaat-e-Islami chief Ghulam Mohammad Bhat said the armed struggle had "served its purpose" — no small assertion coming from one of the Hizbul-Mujahideen's mentors.

Such sentiments became increasingly common. In April 1999, the APHC's Abdul Gani Butt called for a dialogue between secessionists and political groups such as the National Conference. The outcome of this dialogue, he suggested, would constitute the will of the people of the State.

Remarkably similar to the round-table dialogue instituted by Prime Minister Manmohan Singh in 2005, Mr. Butt's ideas constituted a sharp departure from the APHC's longstanding demand for a three-way dialogue involving India, Pakistan, and itself.

While the Kargil war interrupted efforts to put such a dialogue in place, APHC centrists were able to facilitate the unilateral ceasefire declared by dissident Hizbul-Mujahideen commander Abdul Majid Dar in 2000. Although Islamist groups, with the support of Pakistan, succeeded in sabotaging the ceasefire, a succession of developments worked to strengthen the APHC centrists. Pakistan's longstanding sponsorship of terrorism became increasingly untenable in a world transfigured by the tragic events of September 11, 2000. The near-war provoked by the Jaish-e-Mohammad strike on India's Parliament, moreover, brought home to Islamabad the potentially catastrophic costs of its proxy war strategy.

In mid-April 2002, Mirwaiz Farooq and Abdul Gani Lone — a one-time supporter of far-right jihadi groups who was eventually assassinated by a Lashkar-e-Taiba hit-squad in May 2002 — travelled to Sharjah for discussions with the powerful Pakistan-administered Jammu and Kashmir leader Sardar Abdul Qayoom Khan and Pakistan's then-Inter-Services Intelligence chief, Lieutenant-General Ehsan-ul-Haq.

"If the [Indian] government is not ready to allow self-determination," Lone said soon after, "the alternative is that they should be ready to settle the dispute through a meaningful dialogue involving all parties concerned."

Facing the backlash

Ever since 2004, when the APHC leadership first held formal discussions with the Government of India, that dialogue process has been in motion — but at snail-like speed. Part of the problem is that the Mirwaiz's appetite for personal risk is low — the outcome of the sustained terrorist threat to his family, and the fact that there is, so far, no male heir to his clerical throne. As important, the APHC, with its limited on-ground political influence, fears the outcome of dialogue in which it would be just one of several voices from Jammu and Kashmir rather than the sole spokesman for its people.

After meeting Prime Minister Manmohan Singh in 2005, APHC leaders had promised to come back with detailed proposals for discussion through an institutional mechanism. The promise wasn't kept, for fear of upsetting jihadi groups hostile to the APHC's engagement with New Delhi. Again, in March 2006, APHC leaders promised mediators they would attend Prime Minister Singh's second round table conference on Jammu and Kashmir, but backed off after threats from the Hizbul-Mujahideen.

Now, the APHC hopes, President Musharraf's support will secure them from personal attack and thus facilitate a serious dialogue with New Delhi. Just how well-founded this belief will prove, though, isn't clear. On January 15, for example, terrorists lobbed grenades at Mirwaiz Farooq's home in suburban Srinagar. Jihadi front-organisations like the Save Kashmir Movement have already held out express death threats to him. A United Jihad Council spokesperson warned the Mirwaiz to "not teach the lesson of cowardice and hopelessness to the caravan of freedom seekers."

Underpinning this violence are jihadi fears that the APHC will run away with the prizes of two decades of violence. Speaking to journalists on January 21, the hardline Islamist leader Syed Ali Shah Geelani observed: "leaders who are today talking of ending militancy owe their popularity to these militants only."

Mr. Geelani's rejection of talks might be unprincipled — as late as August 19, 1989, after many of his Jamaat-e-Islami colleagues had joined the Hizbul-Mujahideen, he participated in all-party called by Farooq Abdullah as Chief Minister and advocated negotiations with armed groups — but the fact is his Tehreek-e-Hurriyat has the support of terrorist groups, and therefore the power to sabotage the dialogue process. On January 17, as the APHC delegation prepared to leave for Pakistan, a strike called by the Tehreek succeeded in shutting down much of the Kashmir valley. Backed by the Hizbul-Mujahideen and Lashkar-e-Taiba, the strike even paralysed life in Mirwaiz Farooq's downtown Srinagar heartland, a fact of no small consequence.
APHC centrists hope Pakistani pressure will marginalise their jihadi opponents. Under intense pressure from the United States, and aware of the risks of a confrontation with India when it is under an existence-threatening siege from within, Pakistan has understood it cannot sustain the jihad in Jammu and Kashmir at levels that pose a serious threat to India. On the ground, this has meant organisations such as the Hizbul-Mujahideen are strapped for cash, short of weapons, and low on morale.

Most important, General Musharraf has found his relationship with Pakistani Islamists growing increasingly adversarial. Heading into elections scheduled for later this year, Qazi Husain Ahmad's Hizbul-Mujahideen-linked Jamaat-e-Islami Pakistan, and the Lashkar-backed Markaz Dawah wal'Irshad have charged General Musharraf with betraying both Pakistan's national interests and Islam. As such, the General shares the APHC's interests in stripping Islamist terror groups of military muscle.

Still, the fact is the dialogue process' opponents command clout. If the jihad in Jammu and Kashmir is, in fact, to be brought to an end, Mirwaiz Farooq will have to join in a genuinely inclusive dialogue — the sole instrument through which those who advocate violence can be marginalised.

Mirwaiz Farooq has demonstrated he understands this fact by supporting multi-party working groups set up in Pakistan-administered Jammu and Kashmir to evolve a consensus on the State's future. APHC leaders are hoping to meet Prime Minister Singh to take forward the dialogue. Should they do so, the Prime Minister could suggest the Mirwaiz adopt the same standard on the Indian side of the LoC, and lead the APHC into the round-table dialogue it rejected last year.

Eventually, the APHC would become just one of several competitive political actors in Jammu and Kashmir.

Why should the APHC walk into such an uncertain future? Several reasons could be conceived of — but the most compelling is that there is no option. APHC reluctance to join competitive politics has cost lives — but also helped mainstream political parties such as the People's Democratic Party to encroach on much of its political space. If Mirwaiz Farooq is indeed serious that he wants no more martyrs without a cause, the time has come for him to sacrifice his organisation's insistence on being the single author of Jammu and Kashmir's destiny.