Kashmir’s ‘I-me-myself’ problem

By: Syed Nazish

I have often wondered why we Kashmiris complain so loudly about the absence of democracy in our political life while practising so little of it in our own homes, mohallas, mosques, institutions and civil society organisations. We demand leaders who listen to us, yet we rarely listen to one another. We want accountability from those in power, but how often do we hold ourselves accountable?

Look around. In many mohallas and colonies, a person who heads the local mosque committee, or leads prayers, gradually assumes the unelected role of permanent head of the entire neighbourhood. No election, no term limit, no meaningful consultation. The position becomes a personal inheritance, as though public trust were a family estate.

It is a strange urge among certain people in Kashmiri society who want to remain in power and limelight for ever. These individuals feel the world revolves around them and no one else can do what they perceive themselves to be doing.

I have seen similar tendencies in literary, environmental and other civil society circles. Someone starts an initiative and soon begins to believe that nobody else is doing anything worthwhile. The organisation becomes an extension of one person’s ego. Recognition must come to the founder, the convenor, the president and preferably to nobody else.

Our academic institutions are not immune. In seminars and conferences, everyone wants to speak. Everyone has an opinion. Everyone wants the microphone. But how many are genuinely interested in hearing what the other person has to say?

In literary forums, this problem is especially painful. We gather to celebrate creativity, yet often show little patience for another person’s poem, story or essay. We wait for our turn to speak. We check our phones. We prepare our own intervention. The creative work of others becomes merely a bridge to our own performance.

A literary gathering without listening is like a library where every book is shouting and nobody is reading.

George Orwell’s Animal Farm offers us a warning that remains painfully relevant. The animals overthrow their human master in the hope of building an equal society. But power gradually concentrates in the hands of the pigs. The famous principle “All animals are equal” is eventually altered to “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

That is how democracy dies in small places, not always through a dramatic coup, but through the quiet conversion of collective institutions into personal fiefdoms. And that is what manifests in Kashmir.

The tragedy is that we often recognise this behaviour in others but excuse it in ourselves.

We need to ask: Why should a mosque committee head remain in office for life? Why should a literary organisation have only one recognised voice? Why should an academic seminar become a contest for visibility rather than an opportunity for learning? Why must every initiative have a single hero?

Rabindranath Tagore imagined a society where the mind is without fear and the head is held high. But a fearless mind must also possess the humility to listen. John Stuart Mill argued that the clash of opinions is essential to the discovery of truth. We cannot discover truth if we insist that our own voice is the only one worth hearing.

Democracy is not merely the right to vote every few years. It is the daily practice of sharing space, respecting dissent, rotating leadership and accepting that someone else may have a better idea.

Kashmir needs a bottom-up democratic culture.

Let mosque and mohalla committees hold regular elections, publish accounts and adopt term limits. Let literary and environmental organisations create space for younger voices and independent contributors. Let academic institutions reward dialogue, not merely the loudest intervention. Let every association develop transparent rules for leadership and succession.

Most importantly, let us learn to listen.

We do not need fewer leaders. We need fewer people who believe they must lead everything.

The future of Kashmir’s democracy will not be secured only in parliament, assemblies or political parties. It will be secured in the mohalla meeting, the mosque committee, the classroom, the literary gathering and the ordinary citizen’s willingness to say:

“I may be wrong. You may have something important to teach me.”

That is where democracy must begin, not handing over meaningless “awards” and plaques to each other for barely anything extraordinary!

The writer is a student of law