What is the Greatest Myth About Kashmir?

That this conflict is simply about India versus Pakistan.

It is not.

At its core, it is a conflict between the state and the political rights of a people. Borders, nationalism, sovereignty, geopolitics, and competition among international powers come afterwards.

For nearly eight decades, Kashmir has been presented as one of the world’s most enduring disputed territories. During this period, India and Pakistan have fought three wars, experienced countless border clashes, engaged in repeated debates at the United Nations, and developed into nuclear-armed states.

China, too, has become an increasingly important actor in this equation. Yet throughout this long history, the least-heard party has remained the Kashmiris themselves.

Wars have been fought in their name. Diplomacy has been conducted in their name. International statements on human rights have been issued in their name. Yet their political aspirations, representation, and consent have almost always been subordinated to the strategic interests of states.

This is why the current violence in Pakistan-administered Kashmir should not be understood simply as an episode of electoral unrest. It is an expression of a much deeper and longer crisis involving state legitimacy, political representation, centre–periphery relations, security politics, and the unequal structures of state formation in South Asia.

Since the Partition of 1947, Pakistan has framed the Kashmir question internationally through the language of self-determination. United Nations resolutions, demands for a plebiscite, and criticism of human rights violations in Indian-administered Kashmir have all centred on the Kashmiris’ right to determine their own political future.

But this raises a fundamental question: To what extent has the state that invokes self-determination internationally applied the same principle within the territory under its own administrative control?

This is not a question for Pakistan alone. It is also a question for international politics.

States often present themselves as norm entrepreneurs. They use the language of human rights, democracy, and self-determination to construct a position of moral authority in international affairs.

But when the same state applies a different standard to the people under its own control, a profound normative inconsistency emerges. The distance between a state’s declared principles and its actual conduct produces what international relations scholars describe as a credibility gap.

The historical roots of this crisis are not new.

Under the 1949 Karachi Agreement, administrative control over Gilgit-Baltistan was transferred to Pakistan, while the question of direct local representation remained unresolved for decades. Later, the 1974 Azad Jammu and Kashmir Interim Constitution Act established an elected government.

Yet defence, foreign affairs, security, and many of the most consequential policy powers relating to Kashmir remained effectively under Islamabad’s control.

The word “Azad,” therefore, carries greater symbolic than substantive meaning. In practice, the region’s autonomy has remained incomplete.

Many scholars describe this arrangement as a form of hybrid autonomy or managed self-government: elections exist, a legislature exists, and a government exists, but sovereign political authority remains restricted.

This structural contradiction has generated longstanding concerns about representation, accountability, and the actual distribution of power.

The rise of the Joint Awami Action Committee, or JAAC, should be understood within this historical continuity.

It would be a mistake to reduce the movement to electricity bills or economic hardship. The reality is much deeper. Political sociology has long shown that economic grievances rarely remain purely economic.

When people believe that decisions are being imposed upon them, while they have little meaningful participation in the process through which those decisions are made, economic dissatisfaction gradually turns into political discontent.

The movement that began in 2024 over electricity tariffs, wheat prices, taxation, and economic inequality quickly evolved into a broader challenge concerning representation, constitutional arrangements, and Islamabad’s influence. It was therefore not merely a cost-of-living crisis. It was also a crisis of political representation.

This is where another important concept from political science becomes relevant: securitization.

According to Barry Buzan and Ole Wæver, when a political demand or social movement is framed as a security threat, the state creates legitimacy for measures that would ordinarily fall outside normal democratic politics.

The Pakistani government’s recent language follows this familiar pattern. The demonstrators are no longer described as “protesters.” They are now labelled “rioters,” “extremists,” “militants,” and “foreign-backed actors.”

This shift in vocabulary is not accidental. It is a well-established state strategy for transforming political opposition into a security problem.

An analyst, however, must remain cautious.

The government claims that automatic weapons were recovered from protesters and that members of the security forces were also killed. JAAC, by contrast, says that its mobilization was peaceful and that security forces opened fire on unarmed civilians. Without an independent and impartial investigation, it is impossible to determine conclusively which account is accurate.

Accepting the state’s narrative without evidence would not be responsible analysis. But neither would be dismissing it automatically without evidence.

One point, however, is already clear: the state’s first response was not political dialogue. It was the activation of the security apparatus.

This is not unique to Pakistan. It is a recurring pattern across South Asia. The purpose of this politics of delegitimization is to deny the political legitimacy of dissent itself.

It is politically difficult to justify firing on citizens. It is far easier to legitimise force against those who have first been redefined as terrorists, militants, or foreign agents.

This is where Pakistan faces a profound normative dilemma.

For decades, Islamabad has sought international support against human rights violations in Indian-administered Kashmir. But if political protest in Pakistan-administered Kashmir is answered with bullets, mass arrests, and anti-terror legislation, the credibility of Pakistan’s moral position is inevitably weakened.

Yet this criticism applies equally to India.

India highlights human rights abuses by Pakistan. Pakistan highlights those committed by India. But beneath their competing narratives lies a fundamental similarity in state behaviour.

Both treat Kashmir first as a security issue and only later as a political question. Both prioritize territorial control over democratic consent.

Both are vocal about human rights violations committed by the other, yet far more comfortable interpreting allegations within their own administered territories through the language of security.

This moral dualism has helped prolong the Kashmir conflict. The international community also deserves serious criticism.

Although the United Nations has treated Kashmir as a disputed territory for decades, international diplomacy has gradually retreated from conflict resolution to mere conflict management.

The priorities of major powers have changed. Today, they view Kashmir primarily through the lenses of nuclear stability, counterterrorism, China’s rise, the Indo-Pacific strategy, and regional security. Human rights remain important in rhetoric, but are frequently subordinated to strategic interests.

Within this geopolitical landscape, the China–Pakistan Economic Corridor, or CPEC, is especially significant. With investments exceeding $60 billion, the corridor is one of the central pillars of China’s Belt and Road Initiative. India, meanwhile, regards the project as a violation of its sovereignty because part of it passes through disputed territory.

For Pakistan, Kashmir is therefore a question of security. For China, it is a question of strategic connectivity. For India, it is a question of sovereignty. For Kashmiris, however, it is a question of political dignity, representation, and civil rights. And among these four perspectives, the Kashmiri voice remains the least heard.

That is the central political tragedy of Kashmir. India says Kashmir is an integral part of its territory. Pakistan says it is an unfinished international dispute. Global powers treat it as a question of regional security. But Kashmiris themselves still do not possess an equal role in determining their political future.

They have become subjects of diplomacy, but rarely agents of politics.

If self-determination is truly a universal principle, should it apply only to the territory controlled by one’s adversary, or equally to the people living under one’s own administration?

Because when a principle is used only against an opponent, it ceases to be a principle. It becomes a geopolitical instrument. And from that moment, Kashmiris are once again reduced to pieces on the strategic chessboard of states-people about whom everyone speaks, yet whom hardly anyone truly listens to.

Dr. Lubna Ferdowsi is an academic and researcher based in England.