Let Kashmir heal

The time has come to stop mourning what we have lost and find the courage to restore what we have damaged.

By Mauzam Bakshi

There is a question we have avoided for far too long. We have asked what happened to Kashmir, why its natural systems are under increasing pressure and why the Kashmir we remember seems to be slipping away. We have written about it, spoken about it, warned about it and expressed concern. But there is another question, more difficult and more consequential: What are we prepared to do about it?

Knowing is no longer enough. Concern is no longer enough. Regret is certainly not enough. The time for merely describing the wound has passed. The time for restoration has arrived.

Restoration, however, will demand something from all of us. It will require restraint, patience and courage. Most importantly, it will require us to accept something our generation has increasingly found difficult – sometimes the most effective form of restoration is to step back.

For decades, we have become accustomed to taking from nature, modifying landscapes, occupying natural spaces and attempting to control ecological processes. Yet a damaged natural system cannot recover when the pressures responsible for its decline continue unabated. Restoration therefore requires a different approach. It requires us to give nature space, to recognise ecological limits and to allow damaged systems sufficient time to recover.

Perhaps the greatest contribution we can make to Kashmir is not what we are prepared to build or spend, but what we are prepared to restrain ourselves from doing.

There will be circumstances in which we must allow nature to reclaim space. There will be occasions when immediate human demands cannot take precedence over the long-term ecological security of the land. There will be situations in which patience and protection are more valuable than intervention.

This is not weakness. It is ecological wisdom.

Nature has been adapting and regenerating for millions of years. Our responsibility is not to replace that inherent resilience with endless intervention, but to create the conditions in which natural recovery can take place. Restoration, therefore, is not merely the repair of damaged ecosystems. It must also involve a fundamental change in our relationship with nature so that the same damage is not repeatedly recreated.

We cannot ask Kashmir to heal while continuing to do what prevents its recovery.

There is another sacrifice we must make and perhaps it is the most difficult of all: we must sacrifice our silence.

Our greatest failure may not be that we did not know what was happening. It is that we knew and too often remained silent. We saw landscapes changing. We saw natural spaces vanish. We saw ecological degradation becoming normalised. Yet too often we assumed that somebody else would speak, somebody else would object, somebody else would protect what was being lost. But somebody else is not coming. We are the somebody else.

There comes a point when silence ceases to be neutrality. It becomes surrender.

This does not require anger, confrontation or political division. It requires responsible citizenship – the willingness to speak when conscience tells us that something of lasting value is being lost. If we remain silent while something is destroyed, we cannot later claim that we had no responsibility for its disappearance.

Perhaps this is where genuine citizenship begins, not by asking what Kashmir can continue to provide for us, but by asking what we owe Kashmir.

For those of us shaped by the values of Islam, that responsibility carries an even deeper meaning. Creation is an Amanat – a trust. We are beneficiaries of what ALLAH has created, but we are also its custodians. An Amanat is not something entrusted to us so that we may exhaust it. It carries an obligation to protect it, use it responsibly and pass it on with care.

There is also the profound principle of Mizan – the balance. The balance of creation existed before us. We did not establish it but we inherited it. We are only one generation within a much larger continuum of life. If we have disturbed that balance, our responsibility is to recover the humility necessary to respect it.

This requires us to recognise that nature often needs restraint more than intervention. It needs time, space and protection from the pressures that have weakened it. This may be difficult for a generation accustomed to believing that every problem can be addressed simply by doing more. Sometimes the answer is to do less. Sometimes it is to stop. Sometimes it is to protect what remains and allow nature to breathe and recover.

Our responsibility becomes even greater when we consider those who are not yet here. Our coming generations have no voice in today’s decisions. They cannot object to what we damage today. They cannot ask us why we allowed a wetland to disappear, a river to deteriorate, a forest to decline or a landscape to lose its ecological character. But one day they will inherit the consequences of our decisions.

Perhaps they will look back at our generation and ask a question without words.

You knew. You saw what was happening. What did you do?

What answer will we give? That we discussed the problem. That we expressed concern. That we understood the consequences.

Or will we be able to say that, when there was still time, we chose to change.

That is the real test of our generation. It is not how much we built, how much we consumed or how many environmental commitments we announced. It is whether we had the courage to change our relationship with the natural world.

Whether we were willing to exercise restraint. Whether we were willing to speak when silence was easier. Whether we understood that the Earth and our Kashmir valley does not belong exclusively to one generation.

Kashmir existed before us.

Its mountains stood before our cities. Its rivers flowed before our roads. Its forests grew before our buildings. Its wetlands, lakes, springs and meadows functioned as part of an ecological system long before we understood their importance.

We inherited all of it and one day we will hand it over. That is why we must stop thinking like owners. We are custodians.

A custodian has a simple but profound duty, to protect what has been entrusted to you, repair what has been damaged, prevent further harm and hand it over with care.

Perhaps this is the moment for us to make that transition – from lament to action, from degradation to restoration and from restoration to enduring conservation.

We have spent enough time counting what we have lost. Let us now begin asking what we can still save.

Let us give Kashmir what it needs most from us, not another speech, not another expression of regret, but the courage to change. The courage to step back when nature needs space. The courage to speak when silence is easier. The patience to accept that ecological recovery takes time and the wisdom to understand that some sacrifices made today are not losses at all, but investments in tomorrow.

We are only passing through. Kashmir will remain after us. Its mountains will remain. Its rivers will continue their journey. New generations will walk these valleys and inherit whatever we choose to leave behind.

When our brief moment in Kashmir’s long history is over, we will not be remembered for how frequently we spoke about its decline. We will be judged by what we did when there was still time to change its course.

The choice before us is, therefore, not simply whether Kashmir can be restored. The deeper question is whether we possess the courage, humility and patience required to restore it.

Can we step back when nature needs space. Can we speak when silence is easier. Can we accept that healing takes time. Can we protect what survives and give damaged ecosystems a genuine opportunity to recover.

We have inherited an Amanat. We have inherited a delicate Mizan. We have inherited a Kashmir that does not belong to us alone.

Our generation has been given only a brief moment to hold that trust.

Let us not be remembered as the generation that watched Kashmir disappear while discussing its decline. Let us be remembered as the generation that decided to restore it back.