How many more Pahalgams must be written into our national tragedy before someone in power finally stands up—not with hollow statements or political blame games but with real accountability? The horrific terrorist attack in the serene Baisaran Valley of Pahalgam has once again shattered the illusion of normalcy in Kashmir. Twenty-six innocent lives were extinguished in a hail of bullets, and the question that echoes louder than the gunfire is, ‘Why was this allowed to happen again?
With every such attack, we witness a predictable ritual: condemnation from the government, outrage on social media, candlelight vigils, and then silence. Until the next massacre. But this is not just about public mourning—it is about institutional failure at the highest level. The intelligence agencies, armed forces, and the government machinery were caught napping again. Why is our response always reactive, never preventive?
This massacre was not an isolated incident—it was a calculated, symbolic strike, executed during the high-profile four-day visit of US President JD Vance. Have we learnt nothing from the past? The Chittisinghpura massacre of 2000 happened on the eve of President Clinton’s visit. Thirty-five Sikh villagers were massacred by men in army fatigues who introduced themselves as Indian soldiers before lining up the victims and executing them. Even today, the truth of who perpetrated that attack remains murky, shrouded in state secrecy and political expediency.
In 2017, Lt Gen KS Gill openly claimed that a report was submitted to the then Home Minister L.K. Advani. Where is that report now? Why hasn’t it been made public? Why has no action followed? If our own institutions cannot come clean about past failures, how can we expect justice for today’s victims?
Kashmir has become a carefully curated news cycle of blood and apathy. Pulwama, Chittisinghpura, Uri, Nowgam, and now Pahalgam—each tragedy is consumed with outrage, only to be forgotten and replaced. We call these “incidents” when in reality they are manifestations of a broken security doctrine, repeated proof that something is deeply wrong with our intelligence gathering, counter-terror strategy, and political will.
The “Kashmir Resistance” group, which claimed responsibility for this latest attack, cited “demographic change” as the reason, referring to the settling of 85,000 outsiders. How is it that armed militants have access to such precise grievances while our agencies remain clueless? How does a group penetrate such a sensitive tourist zone and operate with impunity in a highly militarised region?
Despite the abrogation of Article 370 and the promise of peace and integration, what we are witnessing is not normalcy—it’s managed chaos. Kashmiris are caught between two extremes: foreign-backed terror and domestic political manipulation. And now, tourists too have become collateral damage in this game of blood and betrayal.
It is no longer enough to blame Pakistan for every failure. That script is tired. Yes, Pakistan sponsors terror. Yes, they harbour criminals. But what about us? What about the state’s responsibility to prevent attacks on its soil? What about the promises made by leaders, the declarations of peace, development, and security?
Every time Kashmir bleeds, the response is a display of state power after the fact—flag marches, helicopter evacuations, increased troop deployment. But by then, the blood has already soaked the soil, and the dead can no longer hear the speeches.
Where are the heads rolling in Delhi? Who has resigned? Who has been sacked? Who has taken moral responsibility? Why are bureaucrats and ministers still in office after repeated security collapses? If this were any other democracy, there would be public enquiries, resignations, and swift corrective action. Here, there is silence.
The people of India deserve better. The people of Kashmir deserve justice. And the victims of Pahalgam deserve far more than our sympathy—they deserve truth, accountability, and above all, a system that values their lives enough to prevent the next massacre.
Until that happens, Kashmir will remain a graveyard of promises—where the only constant is grief, and the only question that remains unanswered is: how many more must die before someone is held accountable?
